“Oh, I know what it is,” cried Mary, clasping her hands with delight.  “There,” she said, pointing to the old gardener, who was approaching by way of one of the paths.  There was an inimitable smile on his face, and he carried tenderly and gingerly a double handful of brown branches on which clustered delicate pink blossoms.

“It’s the cherry blossoms!  They are in bloom!” Mary shouted in her enthusiasm.  “That’s why they are all so delighted.  The dears!  They are just like a lot of children.”

The crown of the year for the Japanese had indeed arrived, the season when every cherry tree becomes a magnificent nosegay which has caught the sunset’s glow, and all the world goes forth to view the splendid sight.

The love of these people, young and old and of all classes, for flowers, and particularly for cherry blossoms, is touching in its simplicity and sincerity.

The old gardener was himself a delightful picture in his blue cotton, tunic-like coat, queer, tight-fitting trousers and an enormous hat that resembled an inverted flower basket.  Against the coarse blue of his tunic rested the delicate rosy cloud of blossoms.  With an elaborate bow he presented Mr. Campbell and each of the ladies with a branch.  “Him muchly more big soon all same,” he said.

“Thank you, Saiki.  They are very beautiful,” said Miss Campbell, speaking in the distinct, loud tone she used for persons not understanding her own language.

The girls exclaimed and admired and Mr. Campbell was delighted.  He felt a kind of reverence for the old man’s simple unaffected love of beauty.  In the meantime, the regiment of servants who had witnessed and enjoyed the ceremony of presenting the first cherry blossoms to the master and mistress of the house retired to their various occupations.

The pleasure and surprise of the foreigners over the beauty of the cherry blossoms would be a memory for these humble people to cherish all their lives.  Perhaps they had never seen the like before, these honorable barbarians; certainly nothing so perfect as the double blossom, of a delicacy and shade not to be surpassed.

Later at the breakfast table Billie concocted a scheme.

“Papa,” she began, “can’t we take the ‘Comet’ and go sight-seeing?  It would be such fun, and while the ’rikshas are very nice, we are so separated, we can’t all sympathize together as we usually do.”

“A kind of sympathy in detachments, is it?” asked Mr. Campbell.  “But I wanted to go with you on your first ride in the ‘Comet.’  I don’t know just how the people will take to a girl’s driving a red ‘devil-wagon,’ as they call it.”

“Why not let Komatsu go along?”

“What do you think, Cousin?” asked Mr. Campbell.

Up to this time Miss Campbell had kept out of the discussion.  The truth is, she yearned to relieve the tedium of life by taking a trip in the red motor car.

“Couldn’t you get away and go with us?”