MY JAPANESE WIFE.
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She is learning English, and even the English alphabet, so books are becoming of interest to her, especially those with pictures in them.
“What is there?” she inquires eagerly in Japanese, pointing to the parcel which the coolie carries on ahead of us up the garden-walk.
“Books.”
“Books? More books!”
My slender library, contained on shelves about five feet high and three feet six broad, appears illimitable to her.
“Yes,” I replied, smiling.
“Are there pictures in them?”
“I expect so.”
“Hi!” to the coolie staggering under the weight of the parcel. “Hayaku! Walk faster! Run!”
And then, almost before I know she has left my side, she is gone, hurrying with short steps up the moss-bordered walk
