curiosity concerning me. They think my waist is very funny and they
measure it with their hands and laugh aloud. One girl asked me in all
seriousness why I had had pieces cut out of my sides, and another
wanted to know if my hair used to be black. You see in all this big
city I am the only person with golden tresses, and a green carnation
would not excite more comment.

Yesterday we went shopping to get some curtains for my room. Such a
crowd followed us that we could scarcely see what we were doing. When
we went into the stores we sat on the floor and a little boy fanned us
all the time we were making our selection.

Monday, Miss Lessing asked me to begin a physical culture class with
the larger girls who are being trained for teachers, so I decided that
the first lesson would be on _skipping_. It is an unknown art in
Japan and the lack of it makes the Kindergarten work very awkward.

I took fourteen girls out on the porch and told them by signs and
gestures to follow me. Then I picked up my skirts, and whistling a
coon-song, started off. You never saw anything to equal their look of
absolute astonishment! They even got down on their hands and knees to
watch my feet. But they were game, and in spite of their tight kimonos
and sandalled feet they made a brave effort to follow. The first
attempt was disastrous, some fell on their faces, some went down on
their knees, and all stumbled. I didn't dare laugh for the Japanese
can stand anything better than ridicule. I helped and encouraged and
cheered them on to victory. The next day there was a slight
improvement, and by the third day they were experts. I found that they
had spent the whole afternoon in practice! Now what do you suppose the
result is? An epidemic of skipping has swept over Hiroshima like the