“That must be one of the Pilgrim Clubs,” announced Nicholas.  “There are hundreds of them in Japan and they are fearfully expensive to join.  The dues are from eight to fifteen cents a year.  Every summer a club selects a delegate to take a nice little walking trip to a shrine and bring back blessings for the other members.  His expenses are paid and lots of the other members go on their own hook.  All the inns make special rates and it’s come to be a jolly way to spend one’s vacation, combining pleasure and religion.  You see they’ve got the costume down to the finest point,” he continued.  “They wear umbrellas on their heads, and the matting hanging around their necks serves as a raincoat, seat and bed.  It’s the coolest, lightest and most complete walking equipment I ever saw.”

“They make me feel terribly worldly-minded and luxurious,” exclaimed Billie.  “I never thought of bringing back a holy blessing to a friend.”

“We can take back a blessing for Miss Nancy, if you like,” said Nicholas, smiling.  “A flask of water from a spring on the sacred mountain would do, wouldn’t it?”

“But we haven’t any flask.”

“We have the thermos bottle,” put in Elinor.  “That would keep it cool enough for her to drink.”

“She shouldn’t drink it.  She should sprinkle herself with it, or bathe in it,” said Nicholas, amused at this ultra-modern way of carrying back a heavenly blessing.

But Billie recalled the suggestion later and actually did fill the thermos bottle from a little spring that bubbled at the foot of Fuji and trickled down a green slope where the company had stopped for luncheon.

“I do wish Nancy had come,” she found herself saying while she spread the white cloth on the grass and opened the treasures of the luncheon hamper, which consisted of cold chicken and sandwiches and eggs prepared in a peculiar pickly way, as some one had described it.  “It was a shame for her to miss this lovely trip.  I am sure Fuji would have cured anybody’s headache.  It’s so beautiful and so majestic.”

“It’s cured mine,” remarked Mr. Buxton, “either Fuji or something even more potent.”  Here he cast a languishing and eloquent glance toward Miss Campbell who flicked the grass with the end of her parasol and pretended not to have heard a word.

Nicholas and Reggie grinned openly.  Mr. Campbell stifled a smile behind a large sandwich and the girls carefully avoided each other’s eyes.

“He’s got it bad, Miss Billie,” whispered Nicholas.  “Is this a common occurrence with Miss Campbell?”

“It is, indeed,” answered Billie.  “There is always one and sometimes several wherever we go.  Once, in Salt Lake City, it saved us no end of trouble and brought two lovers together, because a horrid old Mormon gentleman caught the fever.  He had it so badly that we thought he would just carry Cousin Helen off by force, but he was deathly afraid of her.”

“Remember your promise, Miss Elinor,” called Mr. Campbell presently.  “Where’s your guitar?”