Читать книгу A Japanese Blossom онлайн

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Through the paper walls little fingers were cautiously thrust; little black eyes peered at the new-comers from behind these frail retrenchments.

When his mirth had subsided, Mr. Kurukawa favored his wife with a sly wink, and then quick as a flash he pushed back one of the shojis, disclosing the little figure behind it. He lifted it up by the bow of its obi. Something strange stuck closely to it and invited the gaze of Mrs. Kurukawa. It was the corset!

At the same time the father perceived it, and, pulling it off, held it aloft.

“Ah, ha!” he cried, “here is surely a little flag of truce.”

He threw it aside and caught the little, trembling Plum Blossom in his arms, hugging her tightly. She hid her face in his bosom. After a time he set her down upon the floor.

“This,” he said, “is Plum Blossom. In America she would be called Roly-poly—she is so fat, and, like her father, good-natured,” and he pinched her cheek. “Go now,” he bade her, “and kiss your new mother.”

She went obediently, but with fear in her eyes, towards Mrs. Kurukawa. The latter knelt and held out both her arms. She was crying a bit, and possibly it was the tears and the sweet sound of her voice that won Plum Blossom. She tried to remember the speech she had learned, but the only words that came to her lips were: