Yuki San's keen eyes detected a torn place in the paper door which
separated the guest-chamber from the narrow hall.

A puzzled little frown drew her black brows together, but it soon fled
before her smile.

"Ah!" she cried, "idea come quickly! I write picture of bamboo on
teared place."

With paint and brush she fell to work, and beneath her skilful fingers
the ugly tear disappeared in a forest of slender _take_ which
stretched away to the foot of a snow-capped mountain.

With a last touch she sank back on her heels and viewed her work with
deep satisfaction. "All finished," she said, opening wide her arms;
"no more to do now but wait for that time 'Merican sensei call
jollyful!"

A laugh behind her made her turn her head quickly, and there in the
doorway stood a tall foreigner, with outstretched hand of welcome.

Hand-shaking was an unknown art with Yuki San, so after one startled
upward glance she touched her head to the floor in gracious courtesy.

All her gay spirits and freedom of speech vanished, and she was
instantly enveloped in a mist of shyness and reserve that Merrit's
direct look did not serve to lessen.

With lowered eyes, she ushered him into the larger living-room, and
bade him be seated and accept all the hospitality her father's poor