r of the
far-away groom, did up her hair as a married woman should and went
back to work.

To-morrow she sails for America, and we are all going down to wave
her good-by and good luck.

She is married all right. There will be no further ceremony.

I would not dare tell you all the stories they told me. For I
would never stop writing and you would never stop laughing or
crying.

The end of all things comes sometimes. The beautiful afternoon
ended too soon. But for the rest of time, this day will be crowned
with halos made with the mightiness of the love and the dearness of
the girls who were once my students, always my friends.

It took some time to assort the babies and make sure of tying the
right one on the right mother's back. Not by one shaved head could
I see the slightest difference in any of them, but mothers have the
knack of knowing.

Out of the big gate they went and down the street all aglow with
the early evening lights twinkling in the purple shadows. Their
_geta_ click-clacked against the hard street, to the music of their
voices as they called back to me, "Oyasumi, Oyasumi, Go kigen yoro
shiku" (Honorably rest. Be happy always to yourself).

My gratitude to this little country is great, Mate. It has given
me much. It was here life taught me her sternest lessons. And
here I found the heart's-ease of Jack's love. But for nothing am I
more thankful than for the love and friendship of the young
girl-mothers who were my pupils, but from whom I have learned more
of the sweetness and patience of life than I could ever teach.

November, 1911.

Mate, there is a man in Hiroshima for whom I long and watch as I do
for no other inhabitant. It is the postman. You should see him
grin as he trots around the corner and finds me waiting at the
gate, just as I used to do in the old teaching days. I doubly
blest him this morning. Thank you for your letter. It fairly
sings content. Homeyness is in every pen stroke.

Please say to your small son David that I will give his love to the
"king's little boy" _if_ I see him. My last glimpse of him was in
Nikko. Poor little chap. He was permitted to walk for a moment.
In that moment he spied a bantam hen, the anxious mother of half a
dozen puff-ball chickens. Royalty knew no denial and went in
pursuit. The bantam knew no royalty, pursued also. The four men
and six women attendants were in a panic. The baby was rescued
from a storm of feath