stone image beyond the pool. With a touch as soft as the wings she
held, the girl lightly balanced the now thoroughly warmed butterfly on
the broad forehead of the Goddess of Mercy.

In sharp contrast to the spirit of the scene came the clear,
rollicking strains of an American air, whistled by some one coming
down the steps.

For a moment Yuki San stood motionless, pressing her lips softly to
the rose she held. Then, with a swift pitter-patter, she ran back to
the house.

"The top of the morning to the honorable Miss Snow," said Merrit, who
quite filled the doorway.

Not willing to be surpassed in salutation, Yuki San laid a hand on
each knee, and bending her back at right angles, replied with mock
gravity:

"Ohayo Gozaimasu-Kyo wa yoi O tenki."

Merrit knew she had him at a disadvantage in her own language, but,
always delighted to see the play of her dimples and the soft pink
creep into her cheeks when he teased, he stood by her now, big and
stern, and growling.

"See here, Yuki San, otherwise Miss Snow, you just come off your high
stilts of that impossible lingo, and speak nice English suitable for a
little boy like me to understand."