The little Japanese gentleman kept ahead in spite of his silk hat and frock-coat. When he got to me he grabbed me by the arm and shook me.

“Where is he?” he says, his voice shaking with worry and excitement. “Has harm come to him?”

“No,” says I, “but it was comin’ rapid when I saw him last. Bring on your army.”

I turned and ran toward the citadel, with the whole pack of them at my heels. Just as we got to the bridge The Man Who Will Come, with a couple of his men at his back, came tearing down-stairs, but as soon as they saw the reinforcements they stopped and hesitated and then began to climb back again.

The little Japanese gentleman shouted something in an angry voice and put on more steam, so that he passed me and got to the stairs first. We all ran up in a crowd. For a minute The Man stood at the top as though he’d make a fight for it, but panic got him, I guess, and he turned like he’d lost his head, and tried to scoot three ways at once.

We pounded right up and two of our Japanese grabbed him by the arms. He didn’t even struggle. Three of his followers huddled back in a corner of the gallery, glowering and sullen, but frightened, and the reinforcements attended to them.

“Where is he?” the little Japanese gentleman demanded, and I pointed through the door just as Mark and Motu shoved the fourth of The Man’s men out of the way and stepped into sight. Then a surprising thing happened.

The dignified little Japanese gentleman, silk hat and frock-coat and all, went right down on his knees and bowed so his face was almost rubbing against the boards, and in a strangled voice said something in their own language to Motu, who stopped with the greatest look of surprise at sight of him. Then Motu stood still and drew himself up to his full height, and smiled. It’s hard to say just how he looked, but I guess stately is the only word for it. He looked like a boy who was used to having folks go down on their knees and rub their noses in the splinters for him.

He said something to the little Japanese gentleman, who got up on his feet, his face working and his eyes blinking as if he was so happy he was about to cry.

“It is well you have come,” Motu says to him in English. “The ears of my serene uncle shall hear how you arrived—and there shall be fresh honors and distinctions for one who already stands among the foremost.”

“You are safe? You are untouched by the hands of these pigs? If one has so much as defiled your sacred person with the touch of a finger—”

“Good friend,” says Motu, with a gentle smile, “we are in America.”

“True.” The little gentleman glared back at The Man and his army. “Here they are safe. But let them once return to their home—!”

“That shall be their punishment,” says Motu. “Never again in life shall they set foot on the shores of our land; never shall their unworthy eyes gaze on its beauties, never again behold the majesty of sacred Fuji Yama. In foreign lands, far from the graves of their ancestors, shall they pass away, and in their native villages their names shall be spoken with bitter words and reviling. That is my will in the matter.” While Motu spoke his face had been stern, but not cruel or vindictive. He had spoken like a great and just judge passing sentence on the guilty.

Now he turned to us—the four of us, for Plunk and Binney were with us again, rumpled and battered a bit, with their clothes ready to go into the rag-bag.

“My friends,” says he, “let me present to you Count Takisuji, minister from the Imperial Court of Japan to the United States.”

Well, sir, you could have bought me for a cent. Here was a boy smaller than me, and a foreign minister went down on his knees and risked getting a sliver in his nose at sight of him. I felt all fluffy inside. None of us had ever seen a great man before—a man great enough to be the representative of an empire at the capital of our country—and now that we saw him we discovered we’d been hobnobbing with and bossing and fooling around with a fellow that such a man bowed and scraped to. It was sure amazing.

Motu went on speaking: “These four, Count,” says he, “are the best and bravest friends I have ever known. They came upon me in trouble—a foreigner, poor, wearing the clothes I now wear. But they asked no questions, sought no reward, befriended me out of the largeness of their hearts for the honor of their fatherland. Motu I was to them, and nothing more—a poor Japanese boy who needed friends. They took me in, fed me, gave me lodging. Then when he came”—here Motu nodded toward The Man Who Will Come—“they fought for me—fought for me like warriors of ancient days when men were greater and wiser and stronger than they are to-day.” Then he set to and told them the whole story from beginning to end. He didn’t omit a thing. He told about Mark Tidd’s strategy and about my swimming and about the bravery and faithfulness of Binney and Plunk, and everything. Then he introduced each of us by name.

“Here,” says he, “is Mark Tidd, our general. But for the wisdom and cunning of his brain your coming would have been useless.”

“There wouldn’t have been any comin’,” says I, forgetting myself and interrupting.

The count frowned, but Motu smiled and asked why.

Then I told him about the letter Mark wrote to the Japanese minister, and how he had figured out that Motu was somebody important.

The minister nodded. “It was the letter brought me,” says he.

“I might have known,” says Motu. “Who but Mark Tidd could have brought you? But how did he send the letter, Tallow?”

Now that was embarrassing. I didn’t want to do any bragging about myself, and I muttered under my breath, and got red and felt like I was standing close to a furnace. Out of the tail of my eye I saw Mark Tidd grin. He knew how I was feeling, all right.

“It was like this, Motu,” says he; and again I saw the count frown, but Motu shook his head at him. “Tallow s-s-sneaked off the other night and swam the l-lake with the letter, and got a man to mail it. He was just swimmin’ back again when the enemy made a l-landin’ on our island.”

Motu bowed to me as natural and graceful as could be, and I tried to bow back, but I was pretty clumsy about it. We don’t have much practice in that sort of politeness here, which, maybe, isn’t any credit to us.

“It was a fine deed, a brave deed, Tallow. The story of that swim, the story of your dive from the balcony, shall not die.”

He went on introducing us, and the minister shook hands with each of us.

“They are of the Samurai,” says Motu, and the count raised his eyebrows with surprise. I couldn’t see why then, but later I found out. “Each of them, Count, is entitled to wear the short sword and to see the face of majesty.”

“Maybe,” says the count, “it would be well to tell these young men for whom they have been fighting. In these days when your secret was not known they have grown familiar. It did no harm, but now—it is not seemly for them, or for you.”

Motu smiled again and patted Mark on the shoulder. “Always it shall be as it is now. To these four I shall be Motu, their true friend and companion in dangers. They shall speak to me by no title, nor shall they bow to me or treat me otherwise than as one of themselves—an American boy. So shall I be proud to be known and accepted. But you may tell them, Count, who I am.”

The count bowed low. “His highness is kind beyond the power of words to express. You have been honored as few have been honored, yet I, Count Takisuji, say it is deserved. Him whom you have served is his Highness, Prince Motu, nephew to his Ineffable Majesty, Emperor of Japan.”

“Whee!” says I, half under my breath, “but we caught a big fish.”

Motu laughed. “But remember,” says he, “to you I am still Motu—always I shall be but Motu, your true friend, forever at your service.”

Mark Tidd was squinting his little eyes and wrinkling his stub of a nose.

“I d-don’t want to act like I was curious,” says he, “but what in t-t-tunket is a royal p-prince doin’ alone in the mountains here? From what I’ve read of princes it ain’t exactly a habit with them to be ten t-thousand miles from home alone, in borrowed pants.”

“You shall know, Mark Tidd, for it is your right. The story reflects small credit on a part of my countrymen. You know, Mark, that of late there has been talk of war between your land and mine. It has made the heart of my uncle heavy with sorrow, for he knows much of your United States and his friendship is truly yours. But misunderstandings have arisen. Our people have been inflamed against you by men who are no better than traitors. Your people have been made to feel bitter against us. Even those in power at Washington and in Tokio have been led astray. But his Majesty, my uncle, was not led astray, and he knew your President was wise and just. So, saying nothing to any, he sent me, his relative, as a special and personal envoy to your President with words and assurances of peace. A message he gave to my keeping which would assure your President that a lasting peace depended on you alone.” He stopped and thought a moment, then went on: “But my mission was discovered by traitors who desire war because it will be of profit to them. They want to see battle-ships built and cannon manufactured—and men slain. Well they knew the state of the public mind, how a spark might cause an explosion that even the Emperor could not withstand. With me they planned to make that spark.

“In my land,” says Motu, “the people are kind to me; they have given me their affection. It is good. So these traitors said to themselves, if harm comes to Prince Motu in the United States there will be war. The people will lay the blame on the United States, and peace will be destroyed. So they made their plot.

“I came with but two attendants. None knew my name. As a simple Japanese boy I traveled. I came across your country for days; then, one night as............