He is garden crazy. I can imagine how conceited he will be showing around his western sea flowers when they are in bloom. I asked my uncle to translate the directions. Isn’t it handy to keep a secretary? I’ll not miss signing my name on the translation. My daddy may think it was done by myself. Woman is a snob. Now what for mamma? 18th—Mother Schuyler took me to her church. Such a heathen me! I felt that I was “sitting on needles,” when I slipped into the Meriken church without glancing at even one page of the Bible. It was as risky a venture as to face an examination before fitting. The service hadn’t begun. Many ladies were introduced to me by Mrs. Schuyler. They talked about—what?—anything but religion. I was fanned continually by an offensive odor. Some one had left her perfume at home. Honourable arm-pit smell! Amerikey cultivates many a disagreeable sort of thing, doubtless. The ladies seemed to regard the church as another drawing parlor. My mind was calmed within ten minutes. Ureshiya! The Meriken church is not a difficult place at all. A Japanese church is ever so sad-faced. No woman under thirty is seen there. I laughed at the thought of an “incense-smelling” young girl. Isn’t it strange that Meriken girls love the church? Is it because they cannot marry without it? Sunday amusement doesn’t begin before noon. What would girls do if there were no church where they could burst into song? How classically the bald head of the minister shone! There is nothing more pleasing than a sweeping sermon on a bright day. But my mind strayed, wondering why all those ladies were so homely. I snatched my hat off, wishing to be different from the rest. I fancied the reason why their hats were eternally glued to their heads was because their hair was never in first-rate order for exhibition. Many years ago I used to steal into a Buddha temple, being a little “otenba,” and tap an idol’s shoulder, saying: “How are you getting along, Hotoke Sama?” Not one idol here! No incense! How uninteresting! How silly I was inventing some clever thing for the occasion when I should be forced to confess! The church was not Catholic. When we returned home, Mrs. Schuyler asked me what was the text. “Let me see——” I made as if I had been a listener to the sermon. “Dear Mrs. Schuyler, what was it?” I exclaimed as if I had accidentally forgotten. 19th—Miss Olive offered to show me how to play golf. I went to her home at Pasadena. Pasadena is a luxurious Winter resort of cheerful aspect. Its water is blessed. Even the street cars run like a well-bred gentleman. The dog never growls around. It only wags its tail. No beggars. America’s outdoor diversion demands a great deal of strength. What an imbecile “anego!” After fifteen minutes I found two bean-like blisters on each palm. I gave up the game.