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 grape leaves pinned together with thorns. On this rustic plate were piled some bunches of luscious purple grapes.

“Oh, how pretty!” I exclaimed. “That is just the way Japanese serve fruit.”

“And this is the way they carry flowers,” she said, putting down the grapes on the step and releasing a big bunch of long-stemmed tiger lilies from under her arm. “Why do Japanese always carry flowers upside-down?”

I laughed and said, “It looked very odd to me, when I first came, to see everybody carrying flowers with the tops up. Why do you?”

“Why—why—they look prettier so; and that’s the way they grow.”

That was true, and yet I had never before thought of any one’s caring for the appearance of flowers that were being carried. We Japanese have a way of considering a thing invisible until it is settled in its proper place.

“Japanese seldom carry flowers,” I said, “except to the temple or to graves. We get flowers for the house from flower-venders who go from door to door with baskets swung from shoulder poles, but we do not send flowers as gifts; and we never wear them.”

“Why?” asked Miss Helen.

“Because they wither and fade. And so, to send flowers to a sick friend would be the worst omen in the world.”

“Oh, what a lot of pleasure your poor invalids in hospitals are losing!” said Miss Helen. “And Japan is the land of flowers!”

Surprised and thoughtful, I sat silent; but in a moment was aroused by a question. “What were you thinking of when I came—sitting here so quietly with that big bundle on your lap? You looked like a lovely, dainty, picturesque little peddler.”

“My thoughts were very unlike those of a peddler,”