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Updated: June 16, 2025
There was the secret wound that was ever sore and bleeding. There was no son to perpetuate the name. His most vital hope was dead, his greatest desire crushed, and by a creature out of the West, who not only stole his daughter but fathered this girl whom no true Japanese would want as a wife. To a man of Kishimoto San's traditions the hurt was deep and cruel.
They were Sanford's summer companions, with occasional visits from his cousin Denis, whose mother disapproved of the valley and Onnie. "I really don't see how Sanford can let the poor creature fondle him," she said. "Denny tells me she simply wails outside San's door if he comes home wet or has a bruise. It's rather ludicrous, now that San's fourteen. She writes to him at Saint Andrew's."
At last I have told him of Sada San's plight; and he is for starting for Kioto to-morrow to "wipe the floor with Uncle Mura," as he elegantly expresses it. But of course he 's still too weak to even think of such a journey. He makes me join in the gaieties that still go on despite the turmoil and unrest. I must tell you of one dinner which, of the many brilliant functions, was certainly unique.
Once only I visited Kishimoto San's house and had an interview with him. He was courteous, and his formality more sad than cold. He would never again take Zura into his house; neither would he interfere with her. Her name had been stricken from his family register. As long as I was kind enough to give her shelter, he would provide for her.
She selected an obi of rare brocade, the betrothal gift of Saito, the great length of which expressed the hope of an enduring marriage. As she dressed, her mother flitted about her, chatting volubly and in such high spirits that Yuki San's heart was warmed.
Yuki San's plans found favor with her parents, chiefly because of their great desire to give her pleasure, and incidentally because the board of the foreigner would swell the fund that was needed for her marriage.
I no understand that funny 'Merican tongue. Merrit San so many time call me little sister, and he say my soul all white like my name. What is my soul? Ah, that same spirit what leave my body and go out 'cross that many seas to safe Merrit San's journey. I keep that soul all purely and white all of because Merrit San call me Little Sister Snow. One day I take Merrit San with me to very old temple.
Monotonously he tramped up and down the long narrow room, unconscious of time, until at last he dropped on to a chair beside the writing table and laid his head down on his arms with a weary sigh. The little still body seemed present with him. O Hara San's face continually before him piteous as he had seen it last, joyous as she had greeted him and thoughtful as when he had first seen it.
Then above the noise and curses and threats Kishimoto San's voice rang out. "Stop! you crawling vipers of the swamp! How dare you brawl before this sacred place? How dare you touch one of my blood! My granddaughter accounts to me, not to the spawn of the earth such as you! Disperse your dishonorable bodies to your dishonored homes! Go!" Blind to reason, they cowered before a masterful mind.
On the day of Merrit's expected arrival, when the last flower had been put in the vases, and the last speck of dust flecked from the matting, Yuki San's keen eyes detected a torn place in the paper door which separated the guest-chamber from the narrow hall. A puzzled little frown drew her black brows together, but it soon fled before her smile. "Ah!" she cried, "idea come quickly!
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