And yet how can I refuse to do as the old wood-cutter asks, for he has been as a parent to me these last three years? What shall I do? Oh! what shall I do?"

Day by day the old man pressed her to accept the suitor and day by day in great perplexity she put him off. At last, seeing no way of escape from being unfilial to the memory of her mother and from fulfilling the old man's wish, she made up her mind to die and put an end to the struggle.

At this time the _nakodo_ (go-between) of the marriage came and presented her with a roll of brocade for the _obi_ (wide sash) and of damask silk for the _kimono_, the betrothal gift of the bridegroom. The old man and his wife rejoiced at what they considered her good fortune and regarded the matter as settled, and the neighbours came to congratulate them and to catch a glimpse of the chosen bride of their chief.

Shiragiku, however, had made up her mind. That night during a rainstorm she stole out from the wood-cutter's cottage. She looked back wistfully many times at the place which had fed and sheltered her for so long; but she told herself that there was no other way than this, for she must hold as sacred law her mother's last behest. In the despair of the last few weeks, when this unexpected marriage was being forced upon her, she had lost the hope of finding her father and brother again; but she would die rather than marry a stranger against her foster mother's dying wish.

The night was dark, for the sky was clouded. Down the empty street of the village Shiragiku hurried with the tightly closed thatch-roofed cottages on either side. Out across the silent stretches of rice-fields she ran till she reached the blackness of a pine wood, seeking for some spot where she could die.

The roar of water at last reached her ears, and she knew that she had come to a river. The moaning of the wind in the pine trees sounded to her like the voices of pursuers. She stopped to look around, but there was no one to be seen. The path leading down to the river grew rougher and darker as she entered the shadow of the trees, but Shiragiku never faltered in her determination to reach its bank. At last the water glimmered like a wide white ribbon in the gloom of night.

"I will now die," said Shiragiku, weeping; "but alas! how sad my father and brother will be when they hear of my death. Forgive me," she cried aloud, "oh, my father, oh, elder brother, that I die first. I will await your coming beside my mother in Heaven."

Shiragiku now reached the edge of the bank and was about to dash down into the river with a prayer to Buddha on her lips when she found herself caught from behind and a familiar voice said to her: "Wait a moment! Tell me who you are and why you seek to take your life."

It was her brother Akihide. She gazed up at him in the dim light of the moon just coming forth from the clouds. They both clasped each other by the arms and burst into tears.

"Little sister!" "Elder brother!" cried the sister and brother both together in that shock of simultaneous recognition. In the speechless moments which followed they heard the sound of a flute from the village near by break the silence of the night--they watched the rain cease and the stars shine out one by one. Akihide led Shiragiku to a large stone; here they sat down and told each other all that had happened since they last parted.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SHIRAGIKU WAS ABOUT TO DASH DOWN INTO THE RIVER]

While they were talking the day broke; together they watched the sun rise in splendour and glisten and glow in thousands of rain-drops on the trees and gra.s.s around them.

"Let us go and tell the kind old wood-cutter and his wife all that has happened," said White Chrysanthemum, smiling through her tears; "I must bid him farewell and we must thank him, for indeed I owe him my life."

They walked to the village and went at once to the old man and told him their story. Shiragiku begged him to forgive her for not doing as he wished. Then Akihide told him that it had been his mother's dying wish that he should marry White Chrysanthemum and keep up the family name.

With tears the brother and sister thanked the old couple for their ever-to-be-remembered kindness to White Chrysanthemum in her distress.

They promised to come and see them whenever they could and to let them know all that happened to them in the future, a promise which they faithfully kept. They at last took leave with many gentle words on both sides.

Then Akihide and Shiragiku began a happy journey homewards, walking over the hills by day, and pa.s.sing the night at some farmhouse or cottage they came to on their way.

When the brother and foster sister reached the little house in the valley at the foot of Mount Aso, it was early in the month of May; the cuckoos were singing, and the air was fragrant with the scent of orange-blossoms. In spite of the years of desertion and neglect, the tiny home still stood safe and firm as when Shiragiku had left it, though the gra.s.s had grown tall and thick in the garden and moss covered the roof. The sun was shining brightly over all, and the balm and gladness of the spring morning rested on their young souls.

For a moment White Chrysanthemum paused at the bamboo gate and said: "This is our home, elder brother!" Then quickly they ran down the garden, quickly they pushed back the paper screen of the entrance and entered. Were they waking or were they dreaming? Who should they see coming forward to meet them but their father, whom they had almost given up as dead. For a moment they were all silent. It seemed as if their hearts must burst with inexpressible joy.

"Father! Father!" cried Akihide and Shiragiku together, "is it really you? Are you safe and well?"

"Children, my children!" cried the astonished father, "have I found you at last?"

Then Akihide knelt before his father, and with his face bowed to the ground, confessed everything, and begged his father's forgiveness for the past. He told him all--how bitterly he had repented his behaviour, how hard he had tried to make a new life for himself, how long he had searched for his parents in vain, his one wish being to make amends, how wonderfully he had met Shiragiku when he had at last despaired of ever finding any one of his family again, of all that had happened since her coming to the temple.

The father listened gravely to the long sad story; then with gentle words he forgave his son; he bade him to cease all self-reproach, and as he spoke the kind words his eyes grew dark with unshed tears. When Shiragiku told her story he commended her filial piety, her courage, and her patience. Now that they had as by a miracle of the G.o.ds found each other again, nothing should ever separate them.

Thus the little family found again the vanished happiness of other years.

Shiragiku now busied herself preparing the evening meal, and as she filled her father's and her brother's wine-cup the father told them all that had happened to him.

"When I went out hunting three years ago, I fell over a precipice, and found myself at the bottom of a chasm a hundred or more feet deep. I was quite unable to get out, so I lived on wild fruits and stream water for many days.

"One morning I chanced to see a band of monkeys climbing the chasm by means of a large wistaria-vine which formed a bridge from side to side.

I followed their example and soon found myself free on the hillside once more. I returned here with all haste, only to find that Shiragiku had disappeared. Imagine my distress. I inquired of every one in the village, but no one had seen her go away, and there was no one who could tell me anything about her. There was but one thing left for me to do and that was to try and find her. So I set out walking through province after province, looking for her, but all in vain. At last I gave up my quest as hopeless and returned here only yesterday."

The joy of the little family was great beyond all words. This unexpected meeting--the utmost desire of their souls--was a happiness which took away their breath and left them silent with wonder and thankfulness.

Only one thing saddened them--that the good mother, who had died of grief and anxiety, could not be present to share in this joyous reunion, and to know that her prayer was answered and that the long-lost son had returned to his family. But she was not forgotten--they spoke of her and missed her. Shiragiku rose and opened the little shrine standing in a closed recess at the end of the room, and taking some sticks of incense set them burning before the name-tablet set up in memory of her mother; for though Shiragiku now knew that she was not really her own mother, yet she always thought of her as such, for she had known no other.

Father and son and adopted daughter then knelt and with hands clasped and bowed heads prayed before the little altar.

Shiragiku now fetched and tuned her _koto_ (harp) and sang the songs she knew her father liked to hear. This done, she accompanied her brother, while he paced through some stately measures of the cla.s.sic dance. The father, calling Akihide and Shiragiku to his side, told them that he wished them to marry, as his wife had always planned.

He was now an old man, he said, and could not expect to live much longer, and before his death it was his ardent wish to see his house established.

He then named an early date for the wedding. Akihide, having only entered upon a religious novitiate, was able to obey his father without breaking any vows. He bowed his willingness and Shiragiku blushed happily. She was content in fulfilling her good foster mother's last behest.

Now the sun set, a crane cried on the hill at the back of the house, and the stars came out one by one in the soft and darkening turquoise of a May twilight, and peace and joy reigned in the home and the hearts of the three wanderers.

[1] The war of the Restoration.

[2] An autumn gra.s.s (Miscanthus sinensis).

THE PRINCESS OF THE BOWL

Long, long ago, in old j.a.pan, there lived near Katano, in the Kawachi Province, a prince named b.i.t.c.hu-no-Kami Minetaka or Lord Minetaka, as we should say in English. He was not only a very wealthy man, but it was reported that his house was full of rare and wonderful treasures. He was also a learned man and the master of many accomplishments. His life was pa.s.sed in the luxurious leisure of the rich, and he knew nothing of care or want--perhaps he hardly realized what such words meant.

But above all the treasures in his storehouse, beyond the wealth of his revenue which came pouring in year by year in bushels of rice, he prized his only child, his daughter. The prince and his wife brought this daughter up with great love and tenderness as if she were some rare flower or fragile b.u.t.terfly. So beautiful indeed was the young girl that in looking at her their friends and relations wondered whether the Sun G.o.ddess Amaterasu had not come to earth again in the form of the little Princess.

Nothing came to mar the happiness of this united little family till the daughter was fifteen years of age. Then suddenly the mother, who had never known a day's illness in her whole life, was taken ill. At first it seemed to be but a slight cold, but her health, instead of getting better, only grew worse and worse. She felt that she would never recover and that her end was very near, so she called her daughter beside her pillow, and, taking a large lacquer bowl from the bedside, she placed it on her daughter's head, saying: "My poor little child, I want you always to wear this bowl. At your innocent age you can understand nothing of the world in which I must leave you motherless. I pity you with all my heart; ah! if you were at least seventeen or eighteen years old I could die with more peace of mind. I am indeed loath to go, leaving you behind so young. Try to be a good daughter and never forget your mother."

The woman's tears fell fast as she spoke, and her voice was broken with sobs while she stroked her little girl's hand. But things are not as one wishes in this life. All the doctor's skill could not save the mother; she died and left her daughter behind motherless in the world.

Words cannot tell the grief of the bereaved father and child, it was so great. At last, after some time had pa.s.sed and the ordinary routine of life in Prince Minetaka's household was resumed, the father noticed the bowl which his daughter wore on her head and which fell so low as completely to hide her face; and calling her to him tried to take off the unsightly head gear. But his efforts were in vain. All the retainers and then the servants were summoned to see what they could do, but no one could remove the bowl; it stuck fast to the child's head. No one could understand the mystery. The bowl had been put on most simply; why could it not be as easily taken off? This was the question which the whole household asked again and again.

And the young Princess, besides sorrowing for the loss of her mother, was greatly troubled at the knowledge that, though born physically perfect, she was now quite disfigured for life in having to wear the ugly bowl which her mother for some unknown reason had placed on her head. If no one succeeded in taking the bowl off, she might have to wear it her whole life. That would indeed be a terrible affliction. But in spite of all she never forgot her mother even for a moment, but carried in her heart the memory of her love and care through every hour of the livelong day. Every morning, as soon as she rose from her bed on the mats, she placed the little cup of tea and the bowl of rice before the tablet bearing her mother's name in the household shrine, and having set the incense burning she would kneel and pray for the happiness of her mother's soul.

The days pa.s.sed into weeks, the weeks grew into months, yet the dutiful daughter never failed morning or evening thus to pray for her lost mother.

In the mean time the family relations often came to advise her father, Prince Minetaka, to marry again.

"It is not good for you to be alone," they said. "Marry a suitable woman and entrust her with the keeping of your house and the care of your young daughter, who is now of an age when she most needs a woman's care."

At first Prince Minetaka would not listen to them, the memory of his dead wife was too fresh and his sorrow too keen for him to be able to lend a willing ear to their persuasion. He felt that it was a reproach to her he had loved even to think of putting another woman in her place.

But as the months went by he found himself much tried with the affairs of the household, and was often so perplexed that he thought perhaps it might be better to listen to the advice of his meddling relations. So without thinking much about the future he decided to take a second wife.

His friends were glad to find that their persuasions were of avail at last, and with the help of go-betweens they arranged that he should marry a certain lady of n.o.ble family whom they deemed worthy and suitable in all respects.

So the soothsayers were consulted and a lucky day chosen for the marriage, and the new wife was then installed in Prince Minetaka's home amidst the congratulations of both families. The little Princess alone was sorrowful in her inmost heart at seeing some one take her mother's place; but it would be unfilial to her father to show that for one instant she did not approve of his second marriage, so she hid her unhappiness and smiled.