“Yes!” he said. “After that--” He stopped because they heard her aunt calling his name from the balcony overhead. “Yes!” he answered. “What is it?” “I wondered where you had gone,” she called down. “I just missed you.” “He’s telling me a story,” said the girl, looking up. “He ought to be seeing these things of Kano Masanobi,” her aunt replied. “You are awfully good to worry about me,” he said. “My mind isn’t worth it.” She made no reply and went back into the temple. “Please go on,” said the girl. “Where was I?” he said. “Oh, yes, Bradshaw was hit and we were in the church, and that is about all there was to it. We had to stay there till we were relieved.” “But you were wounded,” she said. “Yes!” he answered. “It came near being serious, but it really was funny.” “What do you mean?” she asked. “You remember,” he said, “the last summer that I was home?” “Yes.” “Do you remember that I took some snapshots of a lot of you in the sailboat?” “Yes,” she answered. “It was the day when you climbed part way up the mast and took us in the cockpit. You never sent me any of the prints.” “Is that so?” he said. “Well, you see most of them turned out badly, but there was one that I found in my kit when I got out to the Islands, and sometimes I used to carry it about in a card-case.” (He put his hand where the left breast-pocket would have been in a khaki blouse.) “In fact, I rather got into the habit of carrying it, as one gets into the habit of carrying a bunch of keys that don’t unlock anything, or a pocket piece. Besides, when it was hot up-country, it was refreshing to have a look at the cool lake and all you people in the boat. Well, when I was hit the bullet came through the left breast-pocket.” “And went through the picture?” she said. “That was the funny part of it,” he answered. “When we started on this particular hike--” “What’s that?” she asked. “They call any expedition or march a hike.” “Go on,” she said. “Well, when we started I took a blouse along, although one generally hikes in a blue shirt like the men.” He paused and she looked at him inquiringly. “But you see,” he went on, “I wore a soiled blouse and carelessly left the card-case at my quarters in a clean one.” She looked at him with a perplexed expression. “Then the bullet didn’t go through the picture?” she said. “No, that was the joke on the bullet. Instead of having the picture in my pocket what do you suppose I did have?” She thought for a moment. “A locket,” she suggested, “or a prayer-book.” “No,” he said, smiling, “a tooth-brush. The bone handle made the bullet glance so that instead of going through, it went around and did nothing worse than scrape a few ribs.” She looked at him wonderingly for a moment and then dropped her eyes. “Would you like to see it?” he asked. “The tooth-brush,” she queried, “or the bullet?” “No, the picture,” he said, laughing. “Yes,” she answered.