“But,” resumed Omassa, with perfect conviction, “Frank Sen meaned goodness for me when he called me ’wave’—­I know that.  What you think that big American man do for help me little Japan baby—­with no sense?  Well, I will tell you.  When daylight circus-show over, he take me by hand and lead me to shady place between tents—­he sit down—­put me at he knee, and in what you call primer-book with he long brown finger he point out and make me know all those big fat letters—­yes, he do that.  Other mens make of him fun—­and he only laugh; but when they say he my father and say of me names, he lay down primer and fight.  When he lay out the whole deck, he come back and wash he hands and show me some more letters.  Oh, I very stupid Japan baby; but at last I know all, and then he harness some together and make d-o-g say dog, and n-o say no, and so it come that one day next week was going to be his fete-day,—­what you call birsday,—­and I make very big large secret.”

She lifted herself excitedly in bed, her glowing eyes were on her nurse’s face, her lips trembled, the “lantern” was alight and glowing radiantly.

“What you think I do for my Frank Sen’s birsday?  I have never one penny,—­I cannot buy,—­but I make one big great try.  I go to circus-lady, that ride horse and jump hoops—­she read like Frank Sen.  I ask her show me some right letters.  Oh, I work hard—­for I am very stupid Japan child; but when that day come, Frank Sen he lead me to shady place—­he open primer—­then,” her whole face was quivering with fun at the recollection, “then I take he long finger off—­I put my finger and I slow spell—­not cat—­not dog—­oh, what you think?—­I spell F-r-a-n-k—­Frank!  He look to me, and then he make a big jump—­he catch me—­toss me, high up in air, and he shout big glad shout, and then I say—­’cause for your birsday.’  He stop, he put me down, and he eyes come wet, and he take my hand and he say:  ’Thank you, that’s the only birsday gift I ever received that was not from my mother.  Spell it again for me,’ he said; and then he was very proud and said, ’there was not any-other birsday gift like that in all the world!’ What you think of that?

“Then the end to season of circus come—­Frank Sen he kneel down by me—­he very sad—­he say, ’I have nothing to give—­I am such a fool—­and the green-cloth—­oh, the curse of the green-cloth!’ He took off my Japan slippers and smiled at them and said, ‘Poor little feet’; he stroked my hands and said, ‘Poor little hands’; he lifted up my face and said, ‘Poor little wave’; then he look up in air and he say, very troubled-like, ’A few home memories—­some small knowledge, all I had, I have given her.  To read a little is not much, but maybe it may help her some day, and I have nothing more to give!’

“And I feeling something grow very fast, here and here” (touching throat and breast), “and I say, ’You have nothing to give me? well’—­and then I forget all about I am little Japan girl, and I cry, ’Well, I have something to give you, Frank Sen, and that is one kiss!’ And I put my arms about he neck and make one big large kiss right on he kind lips.”