"Sunshine on a quiet plain in spring,
The perfume of the blooming cherry-blossoms,
The joy of the gathering crowd,
Filled with love, forget the care of life."
And then, as always, abandonment and laughter.
"Aha, ha, ha! Aha, ha, ha! What you thing, liddle maiden? Tha' 's good song 'bout sorrow, an' death, an' heaven? Aha, ha, ha! What—you—thing? Speak! Say so!"
She tossed the samisen to its place, and sprang savagely at the maid.
"If that Mr. B. F. Pikkerton see us doing alig those—" ventured the maid, in the humor of her mistress.
"O-o-o! You see his eye flame an' scorch lig lightening! O-o-o! He snatch us away to the house so-so-so!"
The baby was the unfortunate subject for the illustration of this. He began to whimper.
"Rog-a-by, bebby, off in Japan,
You jus' a picture off of a fan."
This was from Pinkerton. She had been the baby then.
"Ah, liddle beggar, he di'n' know he go'n' make those poetries for you! He don' sus-
