Lady of the Decoration | Page 9

a little wagon into the yard and begin to unload. I couldn't
imagine what was taking place but pretty soon Miss Dixon came in
with both arms full of papers, pictures, magazines and letters. It was all
my mail! I just danced up and down for joy. I guess you will never
know the meaning of letters until you are nine thousand miles from
home. And such dear loving encouraging letters as mine were! I am
going to sit right down and read them all over again,

November 24th, 1901.
Clear sailing once more, Mate! In my last, I remember, I was blowing
the fog horn pretty persistently.
The letters from home set me straight again. If ever a human being was
blessed with a good family and good friends it is my unworthy self!
The past week has been unusually exciting. First we had a wedding on
hand. The bride is a girl who has been educated in the school, so of
course we were all interested. Some time ago, the middle-man, who
does all the arranging, came to her father and said a young teacher in
the Government school desired his daughter in marriage. The father
without consulting the girl investigated the suitor's standing, and
finding it satisfactory, said yea. So little Otoya was told that she was
going to be married, and the groom elect was invited to call.
I was on tiptoe with curiosity to see what would happen, but the
meeting took place behind closed doors. Otoya told me afterwards that
she had never seen the young man until he entered the room, but they
both bowed three times, then she served tea while her mother and father
talked to him. "Didn't you talk to him at all?" I asked. She looked
horrified. "No, that would have been most immodest!" she said. "But
you peeped at him," I insisted. She shook her head, "That would have

been disgrace." Now that was three months ago and she hadn't seen him
until Monday when they were married.
At our suggestion they decided to have an American wedding and I was
appointed mistress of ceremonies. It was great fun, for we had a best
man, besides brides-maids and flower girls, and Miss Lessing played
the Wedding March for them to enter. The arrangements were
somewhat difficult owing to the fact that the Japanese consider it the
height of vulgarity to discuss anything pertaining to the bride or the
wedding. They excused me on the ground that I was a foreigner.
The affair was really beautiful! The little bride's outer garment was the
finest black crepe, but under it, layer after layer, were slips of rainbow
tinted cob-web silk that rippled into sight with every movement she
made. And every inch of her trousseau was made from the cocoons of
worms raised in her own house, and was spun into silk by her waiting
maids.
After the excitement of the wedding had subsided, we had a visitation
from forty Chinese peers. They came in a cavalcade of kuramas,
gorgeously arrayed, and presenting an imposing appearance. I ran for
the poker for I thought maybe they had come to finish "Us
Missionaries." But, bless you, they had heard of our school and our
kindergarten and had come for the Chinese Government to investigate
ways and means. They made a tour of the school, ending up in, the
kindergarten. The children were completely overpowered by these
black-browed, fierce-looking gentlemen, but I put them through their
paces. The visitors were so pleased that they stayed all morning and
signified their unqualified approval. When they started to leave, I asked
the interpreter if their gracious highnesses would permit my unworthy
self to take their honorable pictures. Would you believe it? Those old
fellows puffed up like pouter pigeons, and giggled and primped like a
lot of school girls! They stood in a row and beamed upon me while I
snapped the kodak. If the picture is good, I'll send you one.
This morning I had to teach Sunday School. I'll be praying in public
next. I see it coming. The lesson was "The Prodigal Son", a subject on
which I ought to be qualified to speak. The Japanese youths understood
about one word out of three, but they were giving me close attention. I
was expounding with all the earnestness in me when suddenly I
remembered a picture Jack used to have. It was of a lean little calf

tearing down the road, while in the distance was coming a lazy looking
tramp. Underneath was the legend:
"Run, bossy, run, Here comes the Prodigal Son."
That settled my sermon, so I told the boys a bear story instead.
How I should love to drop in on you to-night and sit on the floor before