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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.
Yuki Chan returned to her playground beneath the tree, and taking her captured petals from the folds of her kimono, began to count her trophies. "Ichi, ni, san, ichi, ni, san," she rhythmically droned, three being the magical number that would bring good luck if the petals were properly arranged and the number repeated often enough.
Yet, Yuki, though she loves Bigelow, does not marry him because she loves him, but because she wishes with the money he gives her to help her brother through college in America.
Not willing to be surpassed in salutation, Yuki San laid a hand on each knee, and bending her back at right angles, replied with mock gravity: "Ohayo Gozaimasu-Kyo wa yoi O tenki."
At the call of her mother, Yuki San silently pushed open the screen and made her low and graceful greeting. Custom forbidding her to take part in the conversation, she busied herself with serving the tea, listening while Saito San recounted various incidents of the picturesque court-life, or told of adventures in the recent war.
In sharp contrast to the spirit of the scene came the clear, rollicking strains of an American air, whistled by some one coming down the steps. For a moment Yuki San stood motionless, pressing her lips softly to the rose she held. Then, with a swift pitter-patter, she ran back to the house. "The top of the morning to the honorable Miss Snow," said Merrit, who quite filled the doorway.
There is a quite indescribable freshness in the art of this pretty novelette it is hardly of the dimensions of a novel which is like no other art except in the simplicity which is native to the best art everywhere. Yuki herself is of a surpassing lovableness. Nothing but the irresistible charm of the American girl could, I should think keep the young men who read Mrs.
One morning, when the heavy mists of the valley lay in masses of pink against the deeper purple of the mountain, and his Highness, the sun, his face flushed from his long climb, was sending his first glances over the sunny peaks of Fuji-yama, Yuki San arose, after a sleepless night, and faced the morning with sorrowful eyes.
"You'll be good, won't you?" he went on coaxingly, "not drown any more cats and things?" Yuki Chan, with the intuition that only a child can have, suddenly bridged the gulf of strange language and understood. With the quick movement of a nestling bird, she bent forward and laid her cheek against the boy's shoulder. It was not only complete surrender, but allegiance to the conqueror.
"See here, Yuki San, you are fast developing the symptoms of a coquette." She quickly straightened her back, and with a smile of bewilderment, exclaimed: "Me croquette? No, no; croquette, him li'l chicken-ball what you eat. I no can be eat!" Merrit shouted with delight, then grew grave. "No, Yuki San, you don't ever want to be a coquette.
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