called back, ’Help me care for the many that are left.  I will never forsake you nor them.’  After that, Mr. Hoda knew what his work was.  He fought so hard to follow his vision he burned all his doctor’s books for fear he might be tempted.  He had gone hungry to buy those books.  A long time after, Mr. Hoda didn’t care about them, for his vision brought him the beautifulest faith.  He knew food and clothing for the children would come, and often there hasn’t been a bite nor a penny in the house and almost time for the dinner bell to ring, when from somewhere food or the way to buy it, would come pouring in as though that Orphan Asylum was built in a land filled with manna and flowing with honey.  Mr. Hoda and his flock of orphans have waited but never wanted.  I’m waiting; but I am just as sure of my dream as I am of my friends.”

“Of course you are,” encouraged Page.  “Talk of removing mountains!  Why, a faith like that would set a whole Himalayan range to dancing.  You are a great little missionary, Miss Gray.”

“Thank you, Mr. Page; missionaries are not great.  We can’t help living what we believe.  Wouldn’t you be very happy if you were as certain and sure of all your dreams as we are?”

“Happy!” cried the boy, getting up and walking about.  “I’d give a life-time to know—­never mind.  Your hospital will come true.  When it does we will ask the city to decorate as it is doing to-day for some big festival.  My! the streets look like bargain day in Christmas trees,” he ended, recovering some of his light spirits.

“That’s so.  There is a festival.  What is it, Miss Jenkins?”

I explained the meaning of the festival, which was more strictly observant of ritual and old customs than any other of the year, and I told of Kishimoto San’s invitation to me.

Miss Gray exclaimed anxiously, “But you are not going?” Jane was slow in shaking off the limitations of the doctrine that branded all religions in a foreign country as idolatrous and contaminating.

I said I intended going.

“Oh, Miss Jenkins,” Jane cried, “do be careful!  They might ask you to bow down before one of those heathen idols, and maybe they might make you offer at its feet a stick of something smelly in one of those insect burners.”

For the first time since I had known Page Hanaford, he shouted with laughter.  “Sweet aroma of incense, that’s a blow for you!” he said.  “Come to think of it, I believe I’ll happen along and see how it’s done.”

X

ZURA GOES TO THE FESTIVAL

On my way to join the festival party at the appointed time I passed through the streets of the city, brilliant with decorations of flags and lanterns.  Gay crowds sauntered beneath graceful arches of pine and lacey bamboo.  For the time worry and work were laid aside with every-day dress, and like smiling, happy children on a picnic, the vast throngs moved toward the temple where the great “Matsuri” was in progress.  A man deaf and blind would have known it was a holiday by the feel in the air.  He would also have felt as I did the change in the atmosphere as he neared Kishimoto’s house.