“I must present Captain Rodgers and his officers, Helen,” the ambassador returned, his face anxious. “I thought you were quite satisfied with the plan. You are very uncertain,” he added in some annoyance. “You know how much the Japanese think of etiquette in these formal affairs.” “Why not go in with Mr. Perry and me?” Sydney asked, as he stepped forward eagerly to the girl’s side. “We are not important--midshipmen don’t count for much with all this rank about.” Phil smiled broadly on his companion for so ably saving the situation; the ambassador appeared greatly relieved, while Helen gladly accepted the offered escort. “They are going in now,” she exclaimed, letting go her father’s arm as a Japanese aide-de-camp of high naval rank bowed ceremoniously to the ambassador and offered himself as their companion to escort them into the presence of their Majesties. The two midshipmen experienced that sensation that every one has felt who has marched behind a band as they walked slowly between two lines of Japanese imperial guards, their rifles held rigidly at the “present,” while the Emperor’s band played the impressive national anthem of Japan. Ahead of them were many notables; the diplomatic corps in their court dress, their breasts emblazoned with jeweled orders and decorations; officers of the army and navy, and with these were the naval and military attachés from foreign lands. Helen and her midshipmen followed after the military and naval men, while behind them came the court set of Tokyo. Neither of the lads remembered afterward much of what happened when they were once inside of the spacious receiving tent; its walls hung with flags to represent one great red and white chrysanthemum, emblematic of both the flower and the Mikado’s family crest. To Phil the Emperor’s face had been a blur, while the Empress he could recall only as a slight figure in black with many sparkling jewels. It was over in a moment, and the three young people found themselves strolling together along one of the beautifully kept garden paths. “Isn’t it marvelous?” Helen exclaimed as she saw the wonder in the lads’ faces. “The Japanese are the most artistic people in the world. Every place they touch turns into a fairy-land.” “What strikes me most forcibly,” Phil replied enthusiastically, “is how such matter-of-fact, serious people as they are can find time to be so artistic. Now with us in America we find ourselves too busy keeping up with the progress of the day to indulge in art and beauty. We leave that to those who have nothing else to do.” “I know,” Helen said sorrowfully, “and more’s the pity. We are so prosaic in America; while here even the poorest artisan has the magic gift of beautifying what he creates. A thing that displeases the eye, never mind how strongly it is made, is a failure.” “And all this fuss is being made over the blooming of a flower,” Sydney said questioningly. “We don’t have any such fête in our country.”