Sweetcakes and tea are indulged in by the visitors, and before they leave an agreement is entered into by which I am to visit their school in the morning before leaving and hear them sing “Bonny Boon” and “The fire-fly’s light,” in return for riding the bicycle in the school-house grounds.  “The fire-fly’s light” is sung to the tune of “Auld lang syne,” the Japanese words of which commemorate a legend of the tea-district of Uji near Lake Biwa.  The legend states that certain learned men repaired to a secluded spot near Uji to pursue their studies.  On one occasion, being out of oil and unable to procure the means of lighting their apartment, myriads of fire-flies came and illumined the place with their tiny lamps sufficient for their purpose.

My compact with the “three little maids from school” takes me down into the city on something of a detour from my nearest road out next morning.  The detour is well repaid, however; besides the singing and organ-playing promised, the many departments of industrial study into which the school is divided are very interesting.  Laces and embroidery for the Tokio market, dresses for themselves and to sell, are made by the girls, the proceeds going toward the maintenance of the institution.  One of the most curious scholarships of the place is the teaching of what is known as the “Japanese ceremony.”  It seems to be a perpetuation of some old court ceremony of making tea for the Mikado.  Expressing a wish to see the ceremony, I am conducted to a small room divided off by the usual sliding paper panels.  A class of girls are kneeling in a row, confronting a very neat-looking old lady who sits beside a small brazier of coals.  The old lady is the teacher; when she claps her hands, one of the paper screens slides gently aside and one of the scholars enters, bearing a small lacquer tray with tiny teapot and cups, a canister of tea, and various other paraphernalia.  There is really very little to the “ceremony,” the graceful motions of the tea-maker being by far the more interesting part of the performance.  The tea used is finely powdered and comes from Uji, where it is grown especially for the use of the Mikado’s household.  The tea-dust is mixed with hot water by means of a curiously splintered bamboo mixer that looks very much like a shaving-brush.  The result is a very aromatic cup of tea, delicious to the nostrils, but hardly acceptable to the European palate.

My jinrikisha-man of yesterday precedes me through the streets, shouting the “honk, honk, honk.” of the mail-runners, to clear the way.  To see him cleave a way through the multitudes for me to follow, keeping up a six-mile pace the while, swinging his arms like a windmill, one might well imagine me a real dai-mio on wheels with faithful samurai-runner ahead, warning away the common herd from my path.

At Kioto begins the Tokaido, the most famous highway of Japan, a road that is said to have been the same great highway of travel, that it is to-day, for many centuries.  It extends from Kioto to Tokio, a distance of three hundred and twenty-five miles.