need them again. Go—go—go! Aha, ha, ha! An' Trouble—make a picture of him! He will be Trouble no longer after to-day. He go'n' git new name—mebby Joy!—Joy!"
Her commands were obeyed. Within the appointed hour the house was decked as for a festival, and not a flower remained upon its stem. The baby had indeed become a picture; and so had Cho-Cho-San and the maid and the house.
Then they hid behind the shōji, recklessly making peep-holes with their dampened fingers, as they had planned. There was one very low down for the baby, so that he could sit on the mats,—which he did not choose to do,—and one each for the others. Cho-Cho-San sang as she fixed herself at her peep-hole so as not to disarrange her finery:
"Rog-a-by, bebby, off in Japan,
You jus' a picture off of a fan."
The maid tossed the baby like a ball into her lap.
"Aha, ha, ha!" laughed Madame Butterfly once more.
