This morning we have had a visit from mother-in-law and the little monkey of an Aki. It appears that Kotmasu has told her—and what is more, has made her at last believe—that we are really going away to England.

Mother-in-law is unlearned except in the housekeeper’s art, and this conveys nothing very definite as regards locality to her mind. England, Europe even, is as indefinite a place as the Shinto heaven. Somewhere out beyond the harbour, which she can see from our verandah, even beyond green-wooded Hoyaki and Cape Nomo, but that is all she knows or can imagine. We are going away, therefore she will not be the further recipient of the[198] “handsome presents” in which her soul delights. I quite comprehend that this is the direction her thoughts will take, and it is really to assure herself that Kotmasu’s statement is absolutely true that she has toiled up the hillside in the hot sun so early in the day.

Why she has brought Aki to the family council I cannot conceive; but Aki has brought a tortoise about the size of a silver dollar, with which he contentedly plays in the sun on the verandah, where I can see his funny little shaven head, with its tufts of black hair, bobbing about, above the edge of the lower half of our sliding-panel window as we talk. No doubt he has brought some fantastically shaped and gorgeously coloured doughtoy out from the folds of his outer garment to keep the tortoise company.

“So you are going away?” says mother-in-law in Japanese, Mousmé’s efforts to[199] teach her even a few words of English having proved quite unavailing.

“Yes,” I reply; “we are going to England soon.”

I somehow feel as though I were committing a robbery; and her next remark serves rather to deepen my disquietude.

“You are going to take my daughter with you, honourable sir?”

“Yes.”

“I thought you would only require her whilst you remained in Nagasaki.”

I have never yet succeeded in making my mother-in-law understand the permanency of my attachment, and I do not hope to accomplish the feat now; but I explain, hinting that there will be “handsome presents” to all the members of her (for me inconveniently large) household when we take our departure.

This, if nothing else, she comprehends; and she offers no further objection to Mousmé’s accompanying me.

[200]

In many respects I like this queer little painted doll of a mother-in-law, who has really wonderfully beautiful brown hair, and a childish way and smile, notwithstanding her seven children, and underlying native rapacity on a small and engagingly frank scale. So I suggest that Mousmé and I shall give a farewell entertainment to my Japanese relations, and this idea meets with her most cordial approval.

I smile to myself at having mollified her so easily, and reflect that, as Kotmasu once philosophically remarked, marriage was cheaper after all, and I should have no cash payment to make for permission to take Mousmé with me.

Mother-in-law is quite content now, and as firmly convinced as ever that I am a “velly much rich honourable English sir,” for thus Oka always describes me. She insists upon prostrating herself most outrageously, to the disarrangement of her obi,[201] on the end of which she unfortunately steps when she takes her leave, which she does as soon as she is satisfied that it is really my intention to ask all my relations to a farewell fête.

Mousmé is, I fancy, a little alarmed at the prospect; for as soon as her mother has gone with Aki weeping at her side, and apparently refusing to be comforted by his mother’s more or less specious promises, because of the disappearance of his tortoise, which has doubtless fallen down amongst Oka’s progeny through a crack in the verandah floor, she exclaims in an awe-struck voice:

“Cy-reel, do you know how many there are?”

“No,” I am forced to admit.

“They are as numerous as the bees in the garden.”

“Very well,” I answer resignedly; “we must do our best.”

[202]

“They are very strange, some of them, very strange persons indeed,” she continues, with a look of surprise that I am not frightened.

“The more bees, the greater the honey,” I reply, quoting a maxim that may be hers, or her mother’s, or one of national adoption.

Her little face—perhaps she is dreading all the fuss and bother and pain of taking leave of people she may care for—becomes more sober than ever.

“But there is a barber!”

I exhibit no surprise.

She takes my hand to prepare me for the last and greatest shock of all.

“Cy-reel, I am afraid that there may be a sampan boy.”

This is coming down in the world with a vengeance. But what are the odds? So I reassure her.

“Mother is sure to let it be known. Perhaps, even, people who are not relations[203] may come, people I should not care to know,” resumed Mousmé, drawing herself up, and looking ridiculously funny in her sudden affectation of pride—and after the sampan man, too!

I shall have a queer party, it is certain. Never mind. Only, I must caution Mousmé not to mention her uncle the barber to Lou when we get to England, nor refer even casually to the brother-in-law who earns a living as a sampan rower.

During the next few days Mousmé is very busy. She knows, if I do not, what a superior and lavish entertainment will be expected of the “very much rich English sir;” men and women from the town seem to be clicking our wicket gate after them all day long, and walking up the path to the house interminably.

Mousmé has ordered everything which can in any way assist in confirming their belief in my importance and wealth. The[204] piéces de résistance of the feast are different sorts of Huntley and Palmer’s biscuits. I know well how little Aki’s eyes will gleam at the mere sight of the sugared ones.

These biscuits, strange to say, will stamp the entertainment as one of superior character. They are, of course, very dear, and Mousmé knows they will be duly appreciated.

She tells me in an awed voice that her numerous relatives will come early and depart late.

“Will, perhaps, not go until all these wonderful biscuits have disappeared.”

I smilingly pretend to be very terrified.

We have entertained our vast collection of relatives; and possibly more than one stranger unawares.

What a quaint conglomeration they proved! How they all could be related[205] still puzzles me; but related undoubtedly most of them were, from “gilded youths” (some of Mousmé’s numerous cousins-in-law) in their bowler hats and other pseudo-European garments, with the silly faces of idlers, to the much-feared sampan rower, who proved quite a gentleman in manners.

Mousmé and I received them, and listened to their profuse compliments, whilst I, at least, was inwardly amused at their salutations and kow-towing, performed even by the ladies on all-fours.

Oka and his wife hand round tiny cups of tea, equally minute plates of candied beans, plums in sugar, and cherries in vinegar; and as our guests’ tastes are satisfied, they pass out into the garden, gay with lanterns, and full of music performed by some strolling samisen players whose services I secured.

These really play well. If only they would not sing!

[206]

My numerous relatives are in no hurry to go. But at length, quite late, the last family has left us, with their lanterns in their hands and reiterated good wishes and compliments on their lips; and the garden is again silent save for the chirruping cicalas, who, like the poor, are indeed always with us, the splash of the fountains, and the hoarse, sepulchral croak, croak of awakened frogs.

We linger, Mousmé and I, a little while in the garden, which at the end of the month we shall give over into other hands, and then we go in, and Mousmé smokes a little pipe ere retiring to rest. It took me some time to get accustomed to the habit, which seems to afford her such unqualified delight, but now I am resigned. The tobacco is so mild, and the little silver pipe with its thimble-sized bowl looks so toy-like and innocent; and now I find, from the papers and magazines Lou sends[207] me, that it is becoming quite the fashion for women and girls in England to smoke mild and scented cigarettes sub rosa.

Mousmé knocks out the ashes from her pipe on the edge of her little ember bowl, with a metallic pin, pin, pan, and then, taking off her day garment of plum-coloured brocade, slips into a dressing-gown robe of blue linen, with wide slee............