A look resembling a shadow of hope came into their faces as she finished, and when, at a sign, Zura haltingly played, “I Need Thee Every Hour,” and the people stumbled along with the music in an attempt to sing, the burden of the sound as well as the song was a cry for help.

The song finished, one part of the crowd seemed to fade away, the others stayed and gathered about Jane as if only to touch her meant something better than their own sin-stained lives.  She moved among them speaking gently to this one, earnestly to that one.  Tenderly she smoothed the covers over the sick bodies, leaving a smile and word of cheer wherever she stopped.

Sentimentalism dropped from her like a garment worn for play.  It was the spiritual woman only I was seeing, one who faced these real and awful facts of life with the calm, blissful assurance of knowing the truth, of giving her life for humanity because of love.

Jane Gray was indeed a “Daughter of Hope.”

* * * * *

A little later, Zura—­here, there, everywhere, like a bright autumn leaf dancing among dead twigs—­found me conversing with a man who all the afternoon had kept very near to me and evidenced every desire to be friendly.

“Belovedest,” exclaimed the girl gaily, her face glowing as she approached, “come with me quick or you will miss the sight of your young life.  You may come, too, sir, if you wish,” addressing my persistent companion, who apparently had decided to spend the rest of his natural life in my presence.

Zura led us toward the rear of the house.  As we approached a closed room there came to us sounds of splashing water and happy squeals.  She slid open the paper doors.  Before us were two big tubs full of small children.  The baths were wide enough for six and so deep only the cropped heads showed above the rims as they stood neck high.  The lower ranks of young Japan were engaged in a fierce water battle of ducking and splashing and a trial of endurance, as to who could stay under longest.  Their thin yellow bodies gleamed in the sun of the late afternoon as they romped and shouted.

The fun growing so boisterous, and a miniature war threatening, the one attendant, a very old woman, was outclassed.  Without invitation Zura rolled up her sleeves and took part in the fray.

Instantly there was quiet.  A bath was strange enough to those waifs, but to be touched by a foreigner who looked like a princess made them half fear while they wondered.  They soon found she knew their games as well as their talk; then everybody claimed attention at once.

She scrubbed them one by one playfully but firmly.  She stood them in a row and put them through a funny little drill, commanding them to salute, and when they finished they were clothed ready to march out to the street in perfect order.