Half-way down the descent, Asamayama came out from behind the brow of
a hill, sending his whiffs of smoke dreamily into the air; and a
little lower still, beyond a projecting spur on the opposite side,
the train appeared, waiting in the plain, with its engine puffing a
sort of antiphonal response. The station stood at the foot of the
tramway, which tumbled to it after the manner of a cascade over what
looked to be a much lower pass, thus apparently supporting the theory
of "supererogatory climb." The baggage passed on, and Yejiro and I
followed leisurely, admiring the view.

Either the old trail failed to connect with the railway terminus,
which I suspect, or else we missed the path, for we had to supply a
link ourselves. This resulted in a woefully bad cut across a
something between a moor and a bog, supposed to be drained by
ditches, most of which lay at right angles to our course. We were
not much helped, half-way over, by a kindly intentioned porter, who
dawned upon us suddenly in the distance, rushing excitedly out from
behind the platform, gesticulating in a startling way and shouting
that time was up. We made what sorry speed was possible under the
circumstances, getting very hot from exertion, and hotter still from
anxiety, and then waited impatiently ten good minutes in our seats in
the railway carriage for the train to start. I forget whether I
tipped that well-meaning but misguided man.

The tram contingent had already arrived,--had in fact finished
feeding at the many mushroom teahouses gathered about the station,--
and were now busy finding themselves seats. Their bustle was most
pleasing to witness, till suddenly I discovered that there were no
first-class carriages; that it was my seat, so to speak, for which
they were scrambling. The choice, it appeared, began with