* * * * *

Kishimoto's home was lower down in the city than mine and very near the
sea. The house was ancient and honorable. Its air of antiquity was
undisturbed by the great changes which had swept the land in the ages it
had stood. The masters had changed from father to son, but the house was
as it had been in the beginning, and with it lived unbroken and
unshifting, the traditions and beliefs of its founders.

It was only a matter of a few minutes after passing the lodge gates
until I was ushered into the general living-room and the center of the
family life.

The master being absent, the ceremony of welcoming to his house a
strange guest was performed by his wife.

One could see at a glance that she belonged to the old order of things
when the seed of a woman's soul seldom had a chance to sprout. She
performed her duties with the precision of a clock, with the soft alarm
wound to strike at a certain hour, then to be set aside to tick
unobtrusively on till needed again.

The seat of honor in a Japanese home is a small alcove designated as
"the Tokonoma." In this ancient house simple decorations of a priceless
scroll and a flowering plum graced the recess. Before it on a cushion of
rich brocade I was asked to be seated.

Etiquette demanded that I hesitate and apologize for my unworthiness as
I bowed low and long.