Before I left the steamer, I had a surprise in the way of Uncles.
Next time I will pause before I prophesy. But if Uncle was a blow
to my preconceived ideas, I will venture Sada startled a few of his
traditions as to nieces. Quarantine inspection was short, and when
at last we cast anchor, the harbor was as blue as if a patch of the
summer sky had dropped into it. The thatched roofs shone russet
brown against the dark foliage of the hills. The temple roofs
curved gracefully above the pink mist of the crepe myrtle.

Sada was standing by me on the upper deck, fascinated by the
picture. As she realized the long dreamed-of fairy-land was
unfolding before her, tears of joy filled her eyes and tears of
another kind filled mine.

Sampans, launches and lighters clustered around the steamer as
birds of prey gather to a feast: captains in gilt braid; coolies in
blue and white, with their calling-cards stamped in large letters
on their backs, and the story of their trade written around the
tail of their coats in fantastic Japanese characters. Gentlemen in
divided skirts and ladies in kimono and clogs swarmed up the
gangway. In the smiling, pushing crowd I looked for the low-browed
relative I expected to see. Imagine the shock, Mate, when a man
with manners as beautiful as his silk kimono presented his card and
announced that he was Uncle Mura. I had been pointed out as Sada's
friend. A week afterwards I could have thought of something
brilliant to say. Taken unawares, I stammered out a hope that his
honorable teeth were well and his health poor. You see I am all
right in Japanese if I do the talking. For I know what I want to
say and what they ought to say. But when they come at me with a
flank movement, as it were, I am lost. Uncle passed over my