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“Please to welcome to my house!”

The words and the voice, with its fascinating accent, took me back, in thought at least, to a country far across the sea. I should have been entering a little house with a deep blue or pink roof, with sliding walls of paper shoji, wide spaces of shining matting, soft tatamis on which to kneel. My hostess would be serving me tea in a tiny handleless cup, and perhaps there would be a sweetmeat or fruit on my plate, perhaps a little omelet formed in the shape of a blossom. We would sit on the floor and sip our tea and discuss the flower decoration in the slender vase or the history of the kakemona scroll in the Tokonoma (Place of Honor).

But no! I was not in Japan. I was entering a very ordinary little American house. At the door, smiling and bowing, were Mr. And Mrs. Sojin Kamiyama.[1]

[[1]]

“Kamijama” in original. Later, the name is spelled “Kamijami.”