good-morning. I opened my eyes to see a golden gleam flooding the
still-shut shoji, and a diamond glitter stealing through the cracks
that set the blood dancing in my veins. Then, with a startling
clatter, my princess rolled the panels aside.

Windows are but half-way shifts at best. The true good-morning comes
afield, and next to that is the thrill that greets the throwing your
whole room wide to it. To let it trickle in at a casement is to wash
in a dish. The true way is to take the sunshine with the shock of a
plunge into the sea, and feel it glow and tingle all over you.

The rain had taken itself off in the night, and the air sparkled with
freshness. The tiny garden court lay in cool, rich shadow, flecked
here and there with spots of dazzle where a ray reflected found a
pathway in, while the roofs above glistened with countless
starpoints.

Nor was mine host less smiling than the day, though he had not
overcharged me for my room. I was nothing to him, yet he made me
feel half sorry to go. A small pittance, too, the tea money seemed,
for all that had gone with it. We pay in this world with copper for
things gold cannot buy. Humanities are so cheap--and so dear.

The whole household gathered in force on its outer sill to wish us
good luck as we took the street, and threw sayonaras ("if it must be
so") after us as we rolled away.

There is a touch of pathos in this parting acquiescence in fate.
If it must be so, indeed! I wonder did mine host suspect that I did
not all leave,--that a part of me, a sort of ghostly lodger, remained