long ago hiding in the corn crib until recovery was possible caused me
now to shake with laughter.

The fire in Zura's eyes began to burn. "Think it's funny? I don't. Have
one." She flung a package of cigarettes in my lap.

Ignoring the impertinence of her speech and act I hastened to explain
the cause of my amusement. I told her of my desolate childhood, of the
quiet village in which my uneventful girlhood was passed, where the
most exciting thing that ever happened was a funeral about once in four
years.

When I finished she showed the first signs of friendliness as she
exclaimed, "Heavens! Didn't you have any 'movies,' any chums, any boys
to treat you now and then to a sundae?"

Kishimoto San certainly stated a fact. Her English was strange. I was
sure the words were not in my dictionary. But I would not appear stupid
before this child who had no business to know more than I did. So I
looked a little stern and said that my Sundays never seemed a treat;
they were no different from week-days. If the other things she talked
about were in a circus, I had never been to one to hear them.

At this such a peal of laughter went up from the girl as I dare say at
no time had ever played about the ancient beams. The maid, just entering
with hot tea, stood as if stunned. The old grandmother sat like a statue
of age with hand uplifted, protesting against any expression of youth
and its joys.

Mrs. Wingate pushed aside the paper doors, gently chiding, "Zura, yo'