The Motor Maids in Fair Japan written by Katherine Stokes

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THE MOTOR MAIDS IN FAIR JAPAN

BY KATHERINE STOKES

AUTHOR OF "THE MOTOR MAIDS' SCHOOL DAYS," "THE MOTOR MAIDS BY PALM AND
PINE," "THE MOTOR MAIDS ACROSS THE CONTINENT," "THE MOTOR MAIDS BY ROSE,
SHAMROCK AND THISTLE" ETC.

1913

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I. OFF FOR JAPAN

II. TEA IN THE GARDEN

III. SHOPPING IN JINRIKSHAS

IV. THE GARDEN IN THE RAIN

V. IN THE LIBRARY

VI. CHERRY BLOSSOMS

VII. A BAD QUARTER OF AN HOUR

VIII. THE COMPASSIONATE GOD, JIZU

IX. A BIRTHDAY PARTY

X. IN THE DARK

XI. THE COMET DISGUISED

XII. A THEATER PARTY

XIII. A FALLING OUT

XIV. A LETTER THAT CAME, THOUGH IT WAS NEVER SENT

XV. THE ANCIENT CITY OF SLEEP

XVI. THE STORM KING

XVII. A VISIT OF CEREMONY

XVIII. THE MAGNET AND THE SILVER CHURN

XIX. FATHER AND DAUGHTER

XX. THE TYPHOON

XXI. CONUNDRUMS AND ANSWERS

XXII. GOOD BYE, SUMMER

CHAPTER I.

OFF FOR JAPAN.

"The Motor Maids are off again," announced the West Haven Courier one
morning, as if every citizen in the gray old town on the coast was not
already well aware of it.

The four famous travelers and their chaperone, Miss Helen Campbell, were
always off somewhere in the red motor car. If they were not making a
voyage to England with the "Comet" stored in the hold of the ship for
immediate use on arrival, or taking perilous journeys across the American
continent in the faithful car, they were making excursions to Shell
Island or Seven League Island, or down the coast to the Sailors' Inn.

"Where is it to be this time, Nancy-Bell?" Captain Brown had asked his
daughter when she had broken the news to him that she must give up the
spring term at High School for something far more educational than mere
books. Perhaps the sea captain had intended to be stern when he asked
that question; but Nancy had her own peculiar methods of dispelling
sternness. A beaming anticipatory smile irradiated her face and
scattered parental disapproval even as the warm rays of the sun scatter
the morning mists.

"Japan!" she announced solemnly; and Captain Brown, who himself had made
voyages to Japan in his youth, pricked up his ears like an old hunting
dog when he hears the call of the pack. The name of High School faded
from his memory. It was the high seas he was thinking of--the great
desert of waters, the fresh salt breeze and the foam track left by the
little ship as it cut through the waves.

Without a word, he opened an old sea chest and drew out an atlas and
chart. Nancy blinked her eyes and smiled happily. She wondered if the
other girls were having as easy a time in breaking the amazing news to
their parents. Would Elinor Butler's father and mother consent to her
taking this long journey? Would Mrs. Price be willing to part with Mary
for many, many months while that young person journeyed to the other side
of the world? Captain Brown settled himself on a settee in front of the
crackling driftwood fire and Nancy seated herself beside him.

"You see, it's this way, father," she began, while Captain Brown turned
the leaves of the atlas with reverent fingers. "Billie Campbell's
father is a great engineer--"

"I've known him since he was a boy, child," interrupted the Captain.

"He's been invited by the Japanese government to go to Japan on some
consulting work, and he says he can't live without Billie another summer,
and Billie says she can't exist without us; so Mr. Campbell is to take a
house in Tokyo and we are all to go. Mr. Ignatius Donahue is going to
take us across to San Francisco in his private car. He says it's a very
small return for something we did for him once, and the end of the story
is that we are to sail for Japan in two weeks. Isn't that delightful,
Captain Brown?" she added, giving her father a tight hug and kissing him
on the end of his nose. "And aren't you overjoyed for your little
daughter to have such an opportunity to see the other side of the world?"

The Captain returned the kiss with good measure and resumed his study of
the maps and charts.

"You'll be a member of the Royal Geographical Society next," he observed.

"It's all happened because Billie Campbell has a mole on the sole of her
left foot and a Gypsy once told her that was the mark of the wanderer."

"But you and Elinor and Mary haven't any moles on the soles of your feet,
have you?"

"No, and neither has Miss Campbell."

"It's just as well," commented the Captain. "One is enough in the party
if it's going to take my little daughter away from her home most of the
time."

"Not most of the time, father," protested Nancy. "Only to Palm Beach and
across the Continent and to England--"

At this dangerous turn in the conversation, the
door was pushed open and Billie Campbell rushed
in, followed by Elinor Butler and Mary Price.

"It's all settled, Nancy-Bell," she cried. "Cousin Helen has consented
and the girls can go. Everything depends on you, now--"

"We are just studying the map," answered Nancy quickly, with a demure
smile.

Immediately the other girls seated themselves in a circle about the sea
captain and his charts, and Mrs. Brown, whose consent had already been
gained, presently appeared with a large platter of cookies.

So it was that the Motor Maids and Miss Campbell sailed through the
Golden Gate of San Francisco harbor one morning en route for the island
empire of Japan. On the long and sometimes tedious voyage we will not
dwell; nor shall we pause until we have left them on the piazza of their
new home in Tokyo, while seven Japanese servants are making profound
obeisances at the entrance and their attendant families, including three
grandmothers and five funny little children, bob and bow in the rear of
this formidable company.

Billie, who had scarcely left her father's side since the joyful moment
of their reunion, hung on his arm and smiled up into his face
inquiringly; while Miss Helen Campbell, his cousin, exclaimed:

"Dear me, Duncan; I thought we were to stay at a private house--not a
hotel."

Mr. Campbell, from his mysterious dwelling places in far distant lands,
had made so many things possible for the Motor Maids that Billie's three
friends had come to regard him as a kind of powerful spirit who had only
to will things to happen and they happened. At first they were rather shy
of the real Mr. Campbell, big and strong and splendid, the very image of
his daughter, Billie, if she had grown half a foot and cropped her light
brown hair closely all over her head.

"But, Cousin Helen, this is a private house," answered this human
presentment of the good spirit, a subdued humor lighting his gray eyes,
exactly as they had seen Billie's eyes kindle hundreds of times. "This is
your very own villa and this is your staff of domestics," he added,
indicating the regiment of servants who again bowed low like the chorus
in a comic opera. "You are to regard yourself as queen of this little
realm," he went on, pointing to the charming grounds and garden
surrounding the house, "and you are to be in absolute command. Nellie and
Nannie and Mollie and Billie are to be your maids of honor and I'll be
general factotum and protector. As for the staff," he continued in a
whisper, "their combined wages for one month amount to about one good
servant's hire at home."

The maid in the front of the cohort now stepped forth. She was much older
than the others; her hair was short and her blue cotton robe seemed
severe and plain in comparison to the gay colored kimonos of the younger
maids.

"This is our housekeeper and cook, O'Haru San," announced Mr. Campbell.
"I shall leave you in her charge now and keep an appointment."

So saying, Mr. Duncan Campbell kissed his daughter, smiled delightfully
on the company in general and hastened down the walk to the road, for the
villa was in the suburbs of Tokyo.

"Will honorable ladies enter humble, small house," said O'Haru making an
obeisance.

But before they could move an inch, the maids were at their feet deftly
unfastening their shoes.

"What in the world are they doing?" demanded Miss Campbell.

"One never wears shoes in the house, Cousin, don't you remember? Papa
told us so this morning," answered Billie slipping her feet into the
straw sandals provided.

"Perfect nonsense!" exclaimed Miss Campbell, shuffling into the hall in
her loose footgear. "I suppose I shall be expected to sit on the floor
and eat my meals on a door mat," she complained, "and that I positively
will not do. My old joints are far too stiff to be doubled up like a pair
of nut crackers."

The girls giggled and the four little Japanese maids giggled, too; not
that they understood a word of the language, but good humor is the
keynote of the Japanese character and strangers are treated with a
sympathetic courtesy and hospitality unequaled in any other country.

However, Miss Campbell's fears were immediately set at rest, for the
long, low-ceiled drawing-room of the villa was furnished in European
fashion with plenty of comfortable arm-chairs and sofas made of bamboo.
The floors were covered with thick soft mats and the front walls facing
the piazza were really sliding panels covered with opaque paper through
which the light cast a soft mellow luster. As a matter of fact, Dr. and
Mrs. Spears, the owners of the villa, had kept it as Japanese as possible
without interfering with their foreign ideas of comfort. The only
ornaments were several beautiful scrolls and screens and a few vases.

Instead of sitting down quietly and being served to tea, which was
evidently the next duty expected of them by these formal domestics,
Billie and her friends rushed from one room to another in a state of
eager curiosity. They poked their inquisitive little noses into the
charming bedrooms and even peeped into the mysterious kitchen quarters
where O'Haru reigned supreme,

"It's Japanese enough to be pretty and American enough to be
comfortable," observed Nancy, arranging her curls at one of the bedroom
mirrors.

"I don't know why you call it 'American,'" objected Billie. "I think you
should say 'international,' since beds may be imported from Turkey,
Russia, Prussia, England, or France, to say nothing of Germany and
Italy."

"Well, no matter what nationality it is, I'm glad I'm going to sleep on a
bed instead of on the floor as Japanese girls do, with a little bench for
a pillow to keep from rumpling my hair."

Just then a Japanese girl appeared in the doorway. She was quite young,
perhaps seventeen, perhaps older, and enchantingly pretty.

"Her eyes are like stewed prunes," wrote Nancy to her mother that night,
"rich and black and luscious. Her hair is as black as father's ebony box
and quite as shiny; her skin smooth and creamy. She has a little rosebud
mouth and a small straight nose and she wore the most beautiful kimono,
all blue with a cerise sash or _obi_, as it is called. Her name is
'Onoye' and she's the daughter of the cook, O'Haru. She is just one of
the maids in the house, I suppose, but she seems better class and she
speaks a little English. Her mother adores her and I suppose Onoye is
being spoiled Japanese fashion, which is very different from American
fashion. Japanese girls are the most unselfish, uncomplaining,
considerate, everything-that-I'm-not little souls I ever saw."

Nancy's description of O'Haru's daughter was not exaggerated in the
least. Little Onoye, pausing timidly at the entrance to their bedroom,
was a vision to charm the eye. She blushed, smiled deprecatingly and hung
her head.

"Will honorable ladies be pleased to employ humble refreshment?" she
announced in a funny high voice with a prim, precise accent.

The girls would have laughed if it had not been impolite. All their
impulsive actions must be checked in this land of perfect manners, or
they would certainly appear rude and rough.

"We should be most pleased and happy, I am sure," answered Billie,
feeling that she must not be outdone in lofty expression, "But what
excellent English you speak. Do you live here, too?"

Onoye looked up and her face brightened.

"I make studying of American language one time," she said.

"And are we to have tea now?" asked Nancy as the Japanese girl backed out
of the room.

"If pleasingly to gracious ladies," she answered.

With bobs and bows, she led the way to a summer house in the garden where
the others were already installed in comfortable chairs.

"These are certainly the most hospitable servants I ever saw," Miss
Campbell was saying to Mary and Elinor. "They make one feel like a guest
in one's own house. I am sure if I lived here long, I should learn to
meet myself at the front door and invite myself to take refreshments in
the garden."

The girls smiled lazily. They seemed somehow to have entered into a land
of unrealities and dream pictures. The bamboo and rice paper villa was a
doll's house, the lovely garden, a stage setting and the picturesque band
of Japanese servants gliding noiselessly about, the chorus.

And while they talked and sipped their tea, a fat, decrepit pug dog came
slowly toward them down the walk on spindle legs. As the aged creature
approached, O'Haru paused and made it a profound bow. The girls choked
and sputtered in their tea and Miss Campbell laughed outright. They
learned afterwards that this venerable animal was "Nedda," the Spears'
pet pug, eighteen years old, and that every servant attached to the
household regarded her with great respect because they believed that she
was really Mr. Spears' grandmother.

Old Nedda was very pleased to meet with a little human company of her own
social status. She wagged her twisted tail cordially and when she heard
American voices speaking the language of her youth, she gave a little
expressive whine of pleasure.

"You poor old lonesome thing," exclaimed the compassionate Billie.

Just then a maid hurried up with a cushion. She had evidently been
detailed to look after Nedda in the absence of the mistress of the house;
to feed and bathe her; to see that she was covered up at night; to guard
against her sleeping in damp places. Nedda stepped gingerly on the mat,
moved round and round in a circle several times, even as the most
primitive dog might do, and settled herself in a round heap for her late
afternoon siesta. Then O'Sudzu, the little maid, spread a wadded silk
cover over the pampered old Nedda and departed, bowing again.

They were still laughing over this absurd incident when Mr. Campbell
appeared on the walk with two companions. One was a good looking young
man about twenty-one and the other a Japanese in European clothes, and
very handsome, the girls thought him, in spite of his Oriental features
and dark complexion.

CHAPTER II.

TEA IN THE GARDEN.

Nancy Brown instinctively put her hand to her curls when she saw the
three approach. Elinor patted her coronet braids. Mary blushed and
shrank timidly into the depths of her chair, for she was very shy; and
Billie, whose candid nature had no coquetry, looked calmly interested and
remarked:

"Dear old Papa, there he is with two visitors."

"I'm not at all surprised," said Miss Campbell smiling, "your Papa is one
of the most general inviters I ever knew. He always loved to entertain."

"How do my five beautiful American ladies feel?" called her jovial
relation as he entered the summer house. "Rested with humble refreshment
in poor modest little house?"

"Yes, indeed, honorable father," answered Billie laughing.

"I want you to meet my two friends, Nicholas Grimm and Yoritomo Ito,"
went on Mr. Campbell.

Nicholas Grimm was apparently a young Dutchman. His figure was well set
up and stocky, his features regular, his mouth firm with a good square
chin, and his clear dark eyes under bushy brows gazed on the world with a
frank, good-humored expression.

Yoritomo Ito was the best type of Japanese, lithe and straight, rather
tall, with shrewd brown eyes and a smile that always hovered about his
shapely mouth. He was immaculately neat and his skin looked as if it
might have been scrubbed and then polished. Not a speck of dust marred
his spotless linen or his dark blue suit.

"Mr. Ito, will you sit on a mat on the floor or in a chair?" asked Miss
Campbell when the introductions were over.

"Oh, he can be Japanese or American, whichever suits him," interrupted
Mr. Campbell, "though I'll wager you didn't do much floor sitting when
you went to Harvard, did you, Yoritomo?"

The Japanese's smile broadened somewhat when he answered with a slight
accent:

"American floors are not intended to be used as chairs."

"Meaning, Mr. Ito, that the American floors are not as entirely free from
dust as the Japanese floors?" inquired Miss Campbell.

"Oh, no, Madam," protested the Japanese, horrified at this implication of
rudeness but unable to dispel the impression nevertheless.

"I grant you that our houses are not as clean as yours," went on Miss
Campbell, "but you see we haven't time to remove our shoes whenever we
enter the house, and then we have so much furniture and so many hangings
to catch the dust. I don't see how you Japanese can resist the collecting
habit in a country where there are so many beautiful things to collect."

"My dear Cousin, they are as great collectors as anybody, only they keep
their valuables stored in a fire-proof house--what is it you call it,
Yoritomo?" asked Mr. Campbell.

"It is called in English language a 'go-down.'"

"So it is, a 'go-down.' It always reminds me of a steep grade down the
side of a mountain. Here they keep all their best clothes and vases and
ornaments and only bring out one vase and one scroll at a time. When they
grow tired of those things, they are stored and something else is brought
out, so that there is perpetual variety in the Japanese home."

"I should hate to have my best clothes locked in a fire-proof house,"
announced Nancy. "Suppose one wanted to make a quick change and the
key was mislaid."

"Ah, Miss Nancy," laughed Mr. Campbell, "it is not difficult to see where
your heart lies."

Yoritomo looked at Nancy with polite though evident interest which
gradually developed into a cautiously veiled admiration. He was about
to speak, when he was interrupted by the troop of little maids headed by
Onoye with tea and refreshments. It was Onoye who served the young
Japanese. First she bowed before him until her forehead almost touched
the ground. Then she placed a mat for him to sit upon and a low lacquer
tray containing tea and rice cakes. But Yoritomo, ignoring these humble
services, sat himself in a chair next to Nancy and little Onoye hastened
to rectify her mistake.

In the meantime, Nicholas Grimm was talking to Billie and Elinor.

"Are you from Holland?" they asked him.

"Several hundreds of years ago I was. Kinterhook, New York, has been my
home for the last generation."

"Good," exclaimed Billie, "I thought you were a Dutchman and it's lots
nicer to be an American, don't you think so?"

"I wouldn't care to change," answered Nicholas solemnly. "America's good
enough for me."

"Are you one of the engineers on the new railroad they are building?"
asked Billie.

"I'm going to lay a few ties," he answered.

"Are you going to build those little funny openwork bridges over all the
streams?" demanded Elinor.

"Something like it. Everything is picturesque in this country from
beggars to railroad bridges, and, speaking of bridges, have you explored
the garden yet? There's a ripping little bridge down there. When Mrs.
Spears gave garden parties that was one of the strolling places."

"Why, we didn't know we had such a pretentious garden!" exclaimed Billie.
"Papa wrote that he had sublet a suburban villa near Tokyo with an acre
or so of ground around it."

"An acre or so?" repeated Nicholas. "That's an estate to them. They can
put as much into an acre without crowding it as other people put into
ten. Perhaps you would like to explore the garden if you have had enough
honorable refreshment?"

"Oh, yes," they answered eagerly, and drawing shy little Mary from the
depths of her chair, Billie followed Elinor and the new friend down the
garden path.

"Would you be interested in seeing the garden?" asked Yoritomo of Nancy.

"I might be induced," she answered drooping her long eyelashes, to the
great amusement of Mr. Campbell, and they also wandered off, leaving the
two older people for a cousinly chat.

The girls were amazed at the beauty of the garden back of the house.
Against the high wall surrounding the small estate clustered masses of
flowers. Everywhere were little winding paths and an occasional grove of
stunted pines that gave the impression of great age. It was in exquisite
order, the green turf clipped to the smoothness of a velvet carpet. In
all the garden there was not a leaf nor twig out of place. Back of the
house the land sloped slightly and at the foot of this gentle depression
trickled a musical little stream. Here was a stone lantern five feet
high, also the miniature curved bridge; and to make the picture complete
in every Japanese detail, leaning pensively on the railing of the bridge,
stood Onoye. She herself might have been a bright colored flower in her
gay kimono and sash.

Only Mary noticed that the little Japanese was weeping softly. When she
saw the Americans coming, she hastily withdrew down one of the paths and
in another moment had disappeared entirely.

"Poor little thing," thought Mary, "perhaps her mother has been scolding
her."

Perhaps she had, indeed, for O'Haru, the housekeeper, presently appeared
looking for her daughter. Shading her eyes with one hand, she scanned the
vistas of the garden.

Mary left the group of friends and hastened down the path.

"Are you looking for Onoye?" she asked the old woman.

"Yes, honorable lady," answered O'Haru, trying to replace her uneasy and
troubled expression with a pleasant smile.

"She was on the bridge a moment ago. Is she unhappy? I think she was
crying."

"Have greatly kindness to forgive humble Japanese girl," answered O'Haru
in a low voice.

Mary thought the housekeeper was going to say more and no doubt, if she
had poured out her confidences at that time, many later misunderstandings
might have been averted. As it was, they were interrupted by Nancy and
her Japanese cavalier who turned the curve of the path and came full upon
them quite suddenly.

Instead of hastening away as quietly as possible, O'Haru immediately fell
on her knees and began speaking in a low voice in her own language.

There was nothing unusual in this. All the servants seemed to be in a
continual state of "nervous prostration," as Billie expressed it, and
Nancy, smiling and dimpling, followed Yoritomo down the path without
thinking any more about O'Haru.

"What was she saying, Mr. Ito?" she asked.

"You might accuse me of being a flatterer if I told you," he answered.

"But I don't understand."

"I mean she was speaking of you. 'The honorable young American lady,'"
she said, "'is very beautiful.'"

Nancy was flattered, as who would not have been over this frank
compliment. A rosy flush spread over her face and the dimple deepened
in her cheek.

"You see, you are an unusual type in this country, Miss Brown," continued
the Japanese. "You must expect to arouse comment wherever you go. Hair
with so much color to it, like polished copper and curling, too, causes
much admiration. You are very different from the Japanese."

Again Nancy felt flattered.

"I really believe I am rather pretty," she
thought. What she said was: "You are very
kind, Mr. Ito, but I am sure I think the Japanese
girls are just as pretty as American girls. Little
Onoye, our maid, is charming. She is a perfect
picture."

For the rest of the day, however, vain Nancy was enveloped in a rosy
cloud of self-satisfaction. It was pleasing to be admired and still more
pleasing to feel that the admiration was justified.

The truth is, that admiration was quite as stimulating to Nancy as it is
to the rest of us, and when she realized that the young Japanese had
fallen an instant victim to her charms, she felt some pardonable pride in
the power of her blue eyes and bright curls.

By this time the others had returned to the pagoda-like summer house.

"Come, Nancy, dear," floated Miss Campbell's voice across the garden. She
was too careful a chaperone to permit one of her girls to wander
at dusk with a strange young Japanese.

Nancy quickened her pace. Nevertheless, she felt a little impatient with
all these restrictions.

"I am almost eighteen. I suppose I might be trusted to look after myself
occasionally," she thought with some irritation.

"May I not see you again to-morrow, Miss Brown?" Yoritomo was asking.

"I am afraid you'll have to ask Miss Campbell."

"It is now almost the American dinner hour," he went on thoughtfully,
looking at his watch. "If I should be strolling to-morrow at this time
down by the bridge, it would be very pleasant. We could have a few words
together."

"But--" began Nancy, and the voices of her friends interrupted her.

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