The Japanese boy sucked in his breath and bowed low. “Yais, sank you,” he said laboriously; “he is, what you say, temple man.” “Do you mean a priest?” asked his interrogator. “Sank you, ah, no, not priest,” sucking his breath again. “I sink perhaps priest, some day.” “Be careful, Auntie,” suggested the girl, in a low tone. “You know so many of them speak English.” “I haven’t said anything to hurt his feelings,” she answered. “It’s no disgrace to be a priest, for they are not exactly like other heathens. Ask him,” she added to the boy, “if he speaks English.” The boy had often seen Caswell, but he did not know what he was or whence, except that he was a friend of one of the priests. He put the question. Caswell muttered something in Japanese without looking up. “He say he spek no English.” “There,” said the aunt, “I knew he couldn’t understand.” “_You_ speak very well,” said the girl to the Japanese boy. The fat boy doubled over in a bow, sucked his breath, and beamed. “Ah, no! Sank you,” he said, “sank you ver’ much.” “Ah, yes,” said the girl, smilingly. “Where did you learn?” “At Kioto mission school,” he responded. “So you are going to be a missionary,” said the aunt. “How interesting! You are a good boy.” “Sank you,” said the boy, “yais, I am temple man boy; some day, perhaps, priest.” “Buddhist priest?” repeated the aunt in surprise. The boy sucked his breath and bowed. The young man laughed quietly. “I think this is rather extraordinary,” said the aunt. “It is rather the rule,” said the young man. “The Japanese appreciate our missionary efforts, only they use them in their own way. It is useful to have a temple boy who speaks a little English.” “Well,” said the aunt, “it ought to be reported or something. I don’t see why the people of America should pay for educating Buddhist priests.” “Neither do the Japanese,” replied the young man, “only they accept what they regard as our eccentricities without raising questions.” “The young man seems to be intelligent,” thought Caswell. The aunt made no reply, but stood meditating for a few moments. Then she opened the guide-book, in which she had her finger at the place. “In the second story, there are paintings by Kano Masanobi. At the top is the golden pavilion. We can give it half an hour. Take off your shoes,” she added; “we mustn’t waste time.” She leaned against the rail and extended a foot so that the Japanese boy could remove the shoe. The young man began unlacing his shoes, but Caswell noticed that the girl stood leaning on the rail. Presently she turned to her aunt. “I think I’ll not go in,” she said. The young man stopped unlacing his shoes, and Caswell saw that the girl noticed it. “But, my dear child,” said her aunt, “what an extraordinary idea! You must!” “No,” she said, gently but firmly; “if you will let me, I think I should rather wait here. You take Mr. Williams and show him the pictures and explain them to him.”