The House of the Misty Star by Frances Little (ereader for android TXT) 📕

  "Belovedest," exclaimed the girl gaily, her face glowing as she approached, "come with me quick or you will miss the sight of your young life. You may come, too, sir, if you wish," addressing my persistent companion, who apparently had decided to spend the rest of his natural life in my presence.

  Zura led us toward the rear of the house. As we approached a closed room there came to us sounds of splashing water and happy squeals. She slid open the paper doors. Before us were two big tubs full of small children. The baths were wide enough for six and so deep only the cropped heads showed above the rims as they stood neck high. The lower ranks of young Japan were engaged in a fierce water battle of ducking and splashing and a trial of endurance, as to who could stay under longest. Their thin yellow bodies gleamed in the sun of the late afternoon as they romped and shouted.

  The fun growing so boisterous, and a miniature war threatening, the one attendant, a very old woman, was outclassed. Without invitation Zura rolled up her sleeves and took part in the fray.

  Instantly there was quiet. A bath was strange enough to those waifs, but to be touched by a foreigner who looked like a princess made them half fear while they wondered. They soon found she knew their games as well as their talk; then everybody claimed attention at once.

  She scrubbed them one by one playfully but firmly. She stood them in a row and put them through a funny little drill, commanding them to salute, and when they finished they were clothed ready to march out to the street in perfect order.

  While this was going on the man who had attached himself to me stood close by, seemingly much interested. In a detached sort of way he began talking in broken English. "Miss Jaygray most wonderful of persons," he observed. "She come to this place of hell and make clean spot. She like gray owl too. She have see of all bad things. But learning of such stop right in her eye; it never get to her memory place. All time she talk 'bout one, two very little good thing what are in this street. Low womans in here give much works also rin and sen for to buy water tubs for babies. Bad mens give work of hands, for Miss Jaygray. She most wonderful of females. Maybe because she 'Merican. Hijiyama much honored by skilful 'Mericans: Jenkins San, Wingate San, Hanaford San too. He most skilful of all. You know Hanaford San?"

  Something in his voice made me look in the man's face. It was as expressive as biscuit dough. I acknowledged my acquaintance with Page.

  The man resumed: "Hanaford San nice gentleman. I give wonder why he stay this far-away place. I hear some time he have much sadful. Too bad. Maybe he have the yearn for his country. If this be truthful why he not give quick return to 'Merica?"

  I answered that Mr. Hanaford had lost all his money and his father and had come to Japan to begin anew. His success in teaching was reason enough for his remaining.

  Apparently indifferent my questioner mused as if to himself: "Him papa have gone dead. Badful news. And moneys have got lost. Most big troublesome for young man."

  I did not think it strange this queer person knew Page. The boy had all kinds and conditions in his classes, as Jane had in her Quarters. Neither was it unusual for a stranger to follow me around. When I went to a new part of the city, I was accustomed to being followed as if I were a part of a circus. But my self-attached friend's interest in Page's history caused me to observe him more closely. Except that his patched clothes were cleaner and he spoke English I could discover little difference between him and Jane's other guests.

  Criminal or not his carelessly put but persistent questions regarding Page, his habits, how long I had known him, how often he came to my house and many other things, so annoyed me that I arose to find Jane and suggest going home. Failing in my quest I returned to find my inquisitor gone and Zura putting on her coat and hat.

  "Zura," I said, "who was that man who stuck to me all afternoon like furniture varnish? He made me talk whether I wanted to or not. Such questions as he asked!"

  "Do you mean that clean, raggy little man who looked through you, but not at you?" she questioned. "Star of my Sapphire, you have made a hit. That was Kobu, the keenest detective the flag of the Rising Sun ever waved over. I thought you knew. He has been here a week trying to pry information out of Lady Jinny. You should hear their interviews. He asks the subtlest questions, and Jane Gray doesn't do a thing but let her tongue get locomotor ataxia, and Kobu can make nothing of her answers. It's as good as vaudeville to hear them. He'd just as well leave her alone. Torture wouldn't make her tell what she knows, and she doesn't have to either! Did he ask you about Page? He did me too. What does it matter? I told him all I knew. That is most all. Why shouldn't I? There's nothing wrong about Page. He just can't get over the loss of his father, and there is something about old money that worries him."

  She threw her arms around my waist.

  "What a happy day! Isn't Jane the realest saint you ever knew? You're a saint, too, Ursula, the nice sinnery kind that I love to play with. I am tired and hungry. Come on, let's find Lady Jinny and go home. Isn't the blessedest thing in the world to have one to go to? I dare you to race me to the corner." I was far from feeling playful, so declined.

  More than ever I felt the necessity of an interview with Page. I must know the truth. He must know the happenings of the afternoon.

  That evening, after dinner, while sitting with Zura in the living-room, I eagerly listened for Page's step in the hall. Soon it came, and as we arose to greet him I was made more anxious by his fever-bright eyes.

  I was reassured, however, when he replied to my inquiries by saying: "Quite all right, thank you. Head gets a bit rocky at times, but that does not matter. Awfully sorry I was unable to be among those present at Miss Jane's tea party. Tell me all about it—the guests and the costumes."

  Though he walked about the room, picking up books and small objects only to lay them quickly down, he gave the closest attention to Zura as she eagerly gave her account of the afternoon.

  I was about to interrupt with a request to Page to come with me for a private conference in the dining-room, when a summons came for me to go at once to the house in the garden where Ishi lived. The messenger thought Ishi was very ill, or gone crazy. I found him very drunk. Standing in the middle of the room, with rows of rare orchids ranged around the walls, he was waving a sharp-bladed weapon while executing a sword dance. In between steps he made speeches to the plants, telling them how their blessed brothers and sisters had had their heads cut off by a silly girl on whom he would have vengeance. He had sworn by his blood at the temple.

  It required me a good hour to reduce him to submission and to sleep. When I returned to the house Page Hanaford was gone. I was disappointed enough to cry. Zura said that the next morning was the time for him to go to the Government office to fill out the papers required for his position at the Normal College, and that he must make his last preparation for this. He asked her to say to me that he would accept the offer I had made to go with him as interpreter and would call for me on his way down.

  "But," I asked almost peevishly, "what made him go so soon?"

  "I am not sure. Maybe he wanted to study. Or, it may be, I made his head ache. I did talk a lot. I told him everything—about the babies in the bath and Jane's sermon and your detective."

  "Oh, Zura!" I said helplessly.

  "Yes, I did. Why not?"

  She leaned 'way over and looked at me steadily. Then with something of her old passion she cried: "Listen to me, Ursula! Don't you dare think Page Hanaford guilty of crime! There isn't anything wrong with him. I know it. I know it."

  "How do you know it, my child? Has he told you the real reason for his being in Japan? Has he told you why fear suddenly overtakes and confuses him? Or has he only dared to tell you other things?"

  A joyous little sob caught in her throat. "His lips have told me nothing, Ursula. His eyes and my heart have told me all."

  "And without knowing these things you love him, Zura?"

  "Love him," she echoed softly. "Right or wrong, I love him absolutely!"

  I looked at the girl in amazed wonder. There seemed to be an inner radiance as if her soul had been steeped in some luminous medium. She came nearer, her young face held close to mine. "Oh, I am so happy, so blissfully happy! For good or not, it's love for eternity. Dear, kind old friend!"—inclosing my face with her hands, she kissed me on the lips. In that faraway time of my babyhood my mother's good-by kiss was the last I had known. The rapture of the girl's caress repaid long, empty years. For a moment I was as happy as she. Then I remembered.

  All day I had seen love perform miracles, and, like some invisible power, regulate the workings of life as some deft hand might guide a piece of delicate machinery; but that anybody could be happy, radiantly happy, with shadows and detectives closing around the main cause of happiness was farther than I could stretch my belief in the transforming power of joy. Surely this thing called "love" was either farseeing wisdom or shortsighted foolishness.

  The North Wind began a wild song through the trees in the night. It tore at the mountains with the fury of an attacking army. It lashed the waters of the sea into a frenzy. With the dawn came the snow. Softly and tenderly it wrapped the earth in a great white coverlet, hushing the troubled notes of the savage storm music into plaintive echoes of a lullaby. As it grew light a world of magic beauty greeted my eyes. Winter was King, but withal a tender monarch wooing as his handmaidens the beauties of early spring. The great Camellia trees gave lavishly of their waxen flowers, brocading the snow in crimson. Young bamboo swinging low under the burden, edged its covering of white down with a lacy fringe of delicate green. The scene should have called forth a hymn of praise; but the feelings which gripped me more nearly matched the clouds rolled in heavy gray masses over land and sea.

  Page was to call for me at ten. Long before that time I was sitting on the edge of the chair, ready and waiting, trying to coax into my over-soul an ounce or so of poise, a measure of serenity. It needed no fortune teller to forecast that this visit to the Kencho would be productive of results, whether