ld save it at
least until their return journey from school before even touching it.
Seeing that the small man was becoming a little offended, I said, "Fire
away, Inchie,--what next?" "Well, when you come home after dinner, you
take the marble and hold it five inches from the gong. You shut one eye
and take aim; then you let go, and he goes ping! ping! and gentleman he
come and open the door." "No, he doesn't, Inchie," I shouted: "you're
wrong there--the gentleman doesn't open the door." "I no understand,"
said little Inchie, his face falling,--"why he no open the door?"
"Because," I explained, "when you come home late at night after dinner
you must have very sure habits of taking aim in order to strike that
miniature gong three-quarters of an inch in diameter." Inchie looked up
at me with bright pathetic little eyes, and said, "Berry fine daimio
door-knocker this, and it is not difficult for you to strike. I no
understand!" Then I took him on one side, not wanting to hurt his
feelings, and explained to him how almost impossible it would be for a
man coming home after dinner, having walked hurriedly and all that, to
take aim at his miniature gong. "You told me you could shoot a rifle,"
was Inchie's reply. After that there was no more to be said, for I
realised that one must necessarily be a rifle shot before you could get
home at nights.

[Illustration: PLAYFELLOWS]

The last I ever saw of poor little Inchie was when he came on board the
P. and O. steamer at Yokohama to see me off on my journey to England.
The authorities would not allow him to lunch with me in the saloon, and
the poor little fellow, who was far more refined and certainly had far
more intelligence than any one on board, captain and officers included,
was compelled to eat his luncheon standing up in the steward's pantry,
which hurt his feelings terribly. The only figure that I seemed to see
in the mist that enwrapped Yokohama wharf was poor little Inchie
standing there in his blue kimono and quaint bowler hat, watching me
with eager blinking eyes that had a suspicion of moisture about them,
and lips that twitched slightly; and the last thing I heard was, "I
think when you go to England you send me berry many letters--often you
send me." And I felt as the steamer moved away that I had lost a good
and a true friend.

When the decorations for my house arrived in London, the next and all
important question to be considered was how to put them up. Everythin