l. You give me the good heart, like sun make
flower-bud unclose. You telled me what is soul and purely, and you say
be very good wife.

One night when moon was big and round and red and river outside wall
go spank, spank, you call all my people to garden, and with the
'Merican _samisen_ you sing much songs.

Sometimes you very funny, but sometimes when moon specks slip through
big pine-tree, I see you very sadful.

Now moon speck come on _shoji_ and ache my eyes to look your face once
more.

I try so much to make picture of man's face I marry with. I no can see
anything but much medals on coat, and so many teeths. Merrit San's
eyes all blue and twinkly, and face so white and clean.

But now he make the joyful with girl with laugh in her eyes, and her
feet no touch the ground with much happy.

To-morrow I go to other house and no belong to my father and mother.
To-day I go temple, and I make promise I no more speak of Merrit San's
name; no more the think of his face in my heart.

Little book, I weared you close to my breast many days. To-night I
sleep with you tight to my heart. You gived me the courage to turn my
face to the rising sun of the to-morrow.

_Sayonara._

CHAPTER VII

The low, deep music of a temple bell rolled down the hillside and
echoed through the giant cryptomerias. It stirred to action the
creatures of the early dawn and passed out with infinite sweetness to
the red-rimmed east of another day.

The priests in the old temples chanted their prayers with weird
monotony, while a single bird poured out his morning song of love at
the door of his mate.

The old stone steps leading from temple to temple would have looked as
they had a thousand other mornings, gray, grim, and mossy, save for a
little figure that slowly took its way up a long and crooked flight.

Yuki San was on her way to make good her promise to the gods. Her
wooden shoes clicked sharply in the quiet morning air, then hushed as
she paused for rest on a broad step. Even the exertion of the long
climb had failed to color her white cheeks, but her lips were carmine
and her eyes luminous with purpose.

The one spot of color about her otherwise sober little figure was a
bright-red _furoshike_ held close, in which something was carefully
wrapped.

A noisy waterfall leaped past her down the hillside in a perpetual
challenge to race to the foot. Stern-faced images, grim of aspect,
stared at her as she climbed, but Yuki Sa