We were excellently treated by the chief, who ordered articles brought in for sale, and who at last, with extraordinary amiability, allowed us to examine the holiest of holies, the household _inao_, which stands in the extreme northeast corner of the house and ought never to be removed. It is an upright stick to which loose _inao_ curls are hung, from time to time, until the mass becomes great. It represents the spirit of the house and, underneath the mass of pendant curls, a notch is cut into which a coal from the hearth, called “the heart,” is bound. This was brought out for our inspection and we were even allowed to look at the place of “the heart.” The coal itself was gone, though the notch, blackened by the heat, remained, and a new heart was to be inserted at the next extraordinary festival of the house. Now passing outside, we found the house, which we had purchased, a wreck. A crowd of men, women, and children were engaged in wrapping, cording, and moving the materials to the station. It was evening, and, as we were very tired, we betook ourselves to the house of the local catechist, a Japanese, where we ate and slept. We had brought Mr. Inagaki with us, whose services as interpreter and caretaker of the Ainu, we had been so fortunate as to secure. The people speak no English, of course, but they all know some Japanese; Mr. Inagaki speaks Japanese and English. Born in southern Japan, he is studying for the Episcopal ministry at the theological school at Tokio, where he is well thought of by Bishop McKim. His health broke down, and, forced to discontinue study for a time, he was furloughed to Yezo, where it was hoped that outdoor life would do him good. He is willing and competent. When we left in the morning, he remained to superintend the shipment of the house to Muroran, coming up to Sapporo on the afternoon train. We had been promised a war-club, but could not secure it last night, as it was in the house where the feast was in progress. In the cold, fresh, bright morning, we walked out to secure it. It was a fine old specimen, well cut, with the inset piece of iron still in place, black with the accumulated dirt and smoke of years, and tied around with fresh _inao_ shavings in honor of yesterday’s feast. At the last moment the owner repented and hesitated about selling. But we secured it and hurried in triumph to our train. There is no equally good specimen at the Tokio University, nor in the Sapporo Museum and we might look long for another so good. [Illustration: OLD WAR CLUB: SHIRAOI.]