Central High School - Mirror Yearbook (Birmingham, AL)

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They became great friends, those two. Each day of that wonderful visit to the magic blast the American girl went up the hill to sit beneath the cherry tree with the little lady of Japan. It seemed an enchanted life. But as yet she had not heard the story and the time for her departure was already here. In truth, it was but one clay off. Perhaps Wistaria would tell her before she left. She hoped so. and she did not hope in vain. It was the evening before she left. They were watching the speck of a ship on the bay, far distant, silhouetted against the glory of a radiant sunset sky. The majesty and yet the daintiness of the scene, two things which it seemed could not belong together, impressed Elizabeth. It is very beautiful—the picture—is it not, Wistaria' ' A-a-ah, 1 lik if you call me that, lie call me that— is-tcer-ia. It sounded like the breath « f a flower, she whispered it » softly. aes, it ver beau'ful. He love it. lie say the.es mos' wonderful church, and sun he 1110s greatest wor-shipp-per of God. e v er' happy. Him an’ )takara an —an me. “You must have been. And look, W istaria. see the ship. Does it not seem almost like a phantom?” With a child-like movement she covered her eyes and uttered a sound that w as almost a sol). ‘Wo—no. Don't—an —an oh. I like if you know. I tell you? aes. 1 tell you. He go one da for paint the sea -a-ah. I hate the sea! He roar, he tear, the sea does. But he go out one day for paint him an he say he com’ back that night, -a-ah yaes, but he never com’ back. Sea get ver’ angry at being paint an’ rise up ver' terrible, an' nios’ high ladder of ( takara. he—he dead. There was a tense silence. The little lavender figure was very quiet. Then----- But me an’ Otakara. we don’ forget, cvcry night we pray in same church where mos’ August Sun worship an’ there one star -see. sec—he com’ now! It seem he there. Wo dream of silver star.” Two moist, slanting eves were raised t«» Elizabeth and in their velvet depths, she saw the love and reverence for the “silvery star with a tinkling song.” “Som' day I lik if Otakara be in United States. He goin’ learn United States languages too. You gnin’ home torn rp w. • u n • forget istaria.” “Indeed I shall not.” replied the girl fervently,” and I shall remember Otakara too.—always, for he is our treasure ship. She kissed the little figures at her side. The next day just at sunset her. ship moved out of the bay. She was on her way to cross the sea. She watched from the deck and saw the little lantern-maker and Otakara. The mother leaned over him singing her Japanese lullaby and above them the silver star came out. Evm after she was out of sight of land, Elizabeth could still see the star, and leaning hack in her chair, she quoted softly to he’rself. “Up from the sea there floats a sob.— Of the waves that are breaking upon the shore: As though they were groaning in anguish an I moanin ’. Bemoaning the ship that shall come no more. 20

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li was a glorious morn in Japan. Elizabeth Downclle rose early and stepped out into the dewy freshness of an Oriental day so that she might appreciate more deeply the beauties of this foreign land. The night before had been so strange that it seemed almost a dream. And it was all so beautiful— so gloriously, wonderfully beautiful. Even now the vision of lavender kimonos and wistaria parasols rose before her charmed eyes. She marveled at the abundance of low, graceful bunches of lavender blossoms and felt that she had been transported into a veritable fairyland. She took occasion at the breakfast table to mention the profuseness of wistaria. ‘ I knew you would like it. dear, replied her sister-in-law. “There’s a story connected with it all. You’ll love that too, Elizabeth. “And when will you tell this romance to me? 1 presume it is romantic, tor it seems to me that everything in Japan must be. “It is. Hut 1 shall not tell the story at all. There is a little widow in that house on the hill—you can see it from the window. She is the daintiest piece of Japanese womanhood imaginable. Go up there today. I told her you were coming and site is anxious to know you. Perhaps you will become such friends that she herself will tell you her story. Accordingly it was quite early that Elizabeth set out for the house on the hill. hat a picture the little widow made beneath her cherry tree! Near her the boy was playing and she was talking t » him softly in Japanese. She was painting. Around her were lanterns and parasols but they were not of the dainty lavender tints for as yet each waited its turn to come under the magic hand that turned it into a glowing mass of wistaria. Elizabeth could not speak Japanese but she knew the language of the heart, so pausing before the little figure she smiled. That was all. To her surprise the conversation was immediately opened in halting English which was nevertheless the most charming she had ever heard, for the words were accompanied with the sweetest of answering smiles. ‘‘You lady from over the sea? You com’ see Otakara an’ me. Speak for lady, Otakara. And she turned to the child who played beside her. He was quite a baby so he could not put his reply into words but he too smiled and gurgled happily. Delighted. Elizabeth stooped down to pick him up. “Why, his eyes are blue!” Vacs—purple, lik unto wisteeria. He ladder com’ from vour country— way ofT. “America? “Vacs,—Amer-ceka. An he lofc Japan. He artecste—tnak’ ver’ pretty picture. He teach me thees—an'-an’ thees—” She touched the gaily colored papers at her side and swung a parasol behind her. It made a charming background for her delicately flushed face. She half smiled, half sighed. Me an’ Otakara. we ver’ happy. We live lik that. We paint an’ sell thees. We ver' much artecste. me an Otakara.” Oh. cried the girl impulsively. “I shall buy so many—so many.” “A-a-ah how that is nizc.” Elizabeth liked to hear her say the Japanese names. His name is pretty. And yours, what is it?” Multijuga, it mean wis-tecr-ia. Otakara mean treasure ship.” Wistaria. How beautiful! And do you know, it is just like you.” 19

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“But sleep little pigeon and fold your wings,— Little blue pigeon with mournful eyes; Am I not singing? See. 1 am swinging, Swinging the nest where my darling lies.’ OR LIKE BARNETT. PINK SHAMROCKS “An' shure now, said Pat, pointing with his clay pipe, “shure. Miss, did ye iver be seein' such beauties as thim pinks?” Truly I had not. The path before the little thatch-roofed cottage was bordered with masses of pink. A pretty picture it was, indeed, and one that often caused me to come in the dog-cart from the town, down the white road between the wonderful green pastures of the Emerald Isle. On this particular afternoon the old man sat before the cottage smoking his pipe. 1 seated myself on the grass before him and gave my verdict concerning the beauty of the pinks. “I’ve been bearin' av green pinks,” said he with a twinkle in his merry eye, “that they be makin' in the town. An’. he chuckled, “speakin avc green an' pinks makes me remimber Katie O’Toole. “And what did Katie do? I questioned eagerly, scenting a story. “Shure. now, ’tis a long story, but since ve’re a gurrl yersilf. it can do yc no harm. Katie was a foinc, strong gurrl wit hair like a streak av smut on a white gate post; an’ the blue av the eyes av her—! an' clear white skin wi a dash av red in her cheeks. Och, she was a pretty coleen! An’ the voice av her was so soft the divil himself wud be as swate as sugar if he heard her spake. “Wan day, 'twas rale late in the avenin’ Katie was coinin’ along the road from the town. An’ be ye knowin’ it Katie O'Toole was mad. ‘An’ shure. says Katie. ’tis a shame! Such a beautiful piece av goods! Twud be most bccomin’P an’ Miss O’Toole tossed her head, ve see. Katie was vain. She cudn’t help knowin’ she was pretty an’ there wasn’t iver a lookin’-glass in the house. “Terence Coyle was aloving Katie. He was a foinc b’y. He had a blacksmith shop an’ a foinc still an’ there wasn’t iver a b’y in County Clare that Terence Coyle cudn’t lick. Faith an' ’twas true! The poor b’v was so mad about Katie that he quit eatin’ an stood around like a moon-faced donkey, r'hwat did ye say? Och. shure, she liked him. but she niver let on: niver a bit n-incouragemint. Tnstid she’d tease him an’ laugh. An’ whin Katie O’Toole laughed at a man all the usquebaugh in the kingdom cudn’t make a man madder or wantin’ her more. “Katie knew all this an’ began to think she’d kept poor Terence waitin’ Tong enough so whin he asked her to go wit’ him to the fair. Katie says. ‘Yis.’ Ye see that's why Katie was wishin' for the driss wit’ the pink shamrocks. 21