“Let us wait a little while,” said a round-faced, merry-eyed maid of fifteen, grasping the sleeves of girl friends.
Azalea was departing slowly when recalled by the raised voice of her friend. At a short distance from the other girls she paused and looked back inquiringly.
“Wait till they come out,” continued the speaker, Ume-san by name, “those beggars, and we will have some fun.”
“Oh, good!” agreed Koto, snapping her fan upon her hand; “we will find out what the white beast says to them.”
“Perhaps,” suggested Fuji, stretching herself—she was fat and indolent and the church seat was hard—“he pays them.”
“I wish,” said she wistfully, “he would pay me something.”
“Perhaps he will,” said Fuji, nodding her head slowly; “my honorable father says he is rich—very rich.”
“And my honorable father says so, too,” said Ume.
“Oh, all foreign devils are,” declared Koto conclusively.
“Well, but Matsuda Isami says he is not,” said Azalea. “And Matsuda knows surely.”
“Matsuda is jealous,” said Koto. “He wants to be always the richest. The gods despise avarice.”
Azalea was fluttering her fan somewhat nervously. She regarded it thoughtfully, then closed it sharply.
“I am avaricious,” she said, with the point of her fan touching her pretty red underlip.
Her friends laughed at her, and she blushed.
“Yes,” she said, “I am avaricious. The gods will despise me truly. I adore money. I would like to have one hundred yen all to myself.”
“What would you do with it?” questioned Ume, the oldest of the four.
“I would leave my step-mother’s house,” said Azalea simply.
“Here they come!” cried Koto. The girls fell into an excited little line by the church door, one behind the other. Out came the choir—their surplices doffed, their washed faces wide with smiles and their little eyes shining. Five sen rattled in the sleeve of each. The girls had drawn in hiding behind the church portico in order to surprise them. Now they sprang out into view, and grasped the boys by the sleeves. Thinking they were being set upon for their hard-earned sen, a series of angry shrieks and snorts burst out. Their fears set at rest by the merry laughter of the girls, they were finally induced to tell all they knew. The minister, it seems, had brought them to his house at various times, had fed them on sweet potatoes and rice cakes, and had taught them to sing just as he did. For this public effort in his temple, he had given them each—well, they did not propose to tell any one how much he had given, but the intimation was that it was a sum sufficient to keep them in luxury for some time to come. Furthermore, they, the members of his choir, were to have this same sum given to them as a weekly income, for singing, just like the white priest, in his church, each Sunday.