attended to. Five times Yuki San rewrote the short message, finding
her fingers less deft than her tongue in framing an English sentence.
Gravely and with effort she wrote:

"I give you all my house. Your lovely friend, Yuki."

But she shook her head over this and tried again:

"You have the welcome of my heart. Yuki."

This, too, fell short of her ideal, so she decided to send simply two
words of which she was quite sure:

"Please come."

The days that followed were crowded with busy preparation. The
difficulty of providing the ease and comfort that the presence of so
honorable a guest demanded taxed to the utmost Yuki San's resourceful
nature. Gaily she set her wits and fingers to work--placing a heavy
brass _hibachi_ over a black scorch in the matting, fitting new
rice-paper into the small wooden squares of the _shoji_, and hanging
_kakemono_ over the ugly holes made by the missing plaster in the
wall.

From one part of the house to another she flitted, laughing and
working, while the old garden echoed her happiness and overflowed with
blossom and song.

On the day of Merrit's expected arrival, when the last flower had been
put in the vases, and the last speck of dust flecked from the matting,