RECOLLECTIONS OF FULL YEARS
maid. Besides the Amah, there was only a cook, an excellent one, but the two contrived to run the house with a smoothness and an economy which I have never seen equalled. They were so economical, in fact, that we had difficulty in getting them to serve to us enough of their well-prepared food. There were six of us in family, not including Charlie, or Baby San as he was called, and at each meal Matsu would bring in just six portions of whatever there was, six chops, six croquettes, six little fishes, always six—no more. We resorted to strategy sometimes and announced, well in advance, that there would be guests.
"How many, O Ku San?" says Matsu cautiously.
"Well, maybe two," says we.
Whereupon we would get eight little chops, or eight little croquettes, or whatever it might be. But we couldn't play this game very often because we were afraid that if too many guests failed to materialise the time would come when we really would be giving a party and be forced to act out the "Wolf! Wolf!" story to our own very great embarrassment. I'm glad to say this never occurred; Matsu always obeyed orders; but when an unexpected guest dropped in we had to exercise the principle of "family hold back" in real earnest.
However, while Matsu was in command none of us had any cause for complaint. She had plenty of native shrewdness and didn't neglect her own interests to any appreciable extent, but she displayed none of the traditional oriental duplicity which we had been warned to look out for in all Japanese servants. She relieved us of all the responsibilities of housekeeping and left us free to wander around among the fascinating shops and to go off on long sight-seeing expeditions at our pleasure.
While we were still in the midst of the miseries of quarantine I got my first letter from my husband, and as he had
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