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diff --git a/old/66274-0.txt b/old/66274-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 455ec9a..0000000 --- a/old/66274-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3504 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of At the Emperor's Wish: A Tale of the New -Japan, by Oscar King Davis - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: At the Emperor's Wish: A Tale of the New Japan - -Author: Oscar King Davis - -Release Date: September 11, 2021 [eBook #66274] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Mary Glenn Krause and the Online Distributed Proofreading - Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from - images generously made available by The Internet - Archive/American Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AT THE EMPEROR'S WISH: A TALE OF -THE NEW JAPAN *** - - - - - -[Illustration: _At the Emperor’s Wish_] - - - - -[Illustration: She was wonderfully beautiful.] - - - - -[Illustration: - - _At the Emperor’s Wish_ - _A Tale of the New Japan_ - - _By - Oscar King Davis_ - - _D. Appleton and Company_ - _New York_ - _1905_] - -[Illustration: - - COPYRIGHT, 1905, BY - D. APPLETON AND COMPANY - - _Published October, 1905_] - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -TO THE REAL SOICHIS - - _Who, by tens and hundreds of thousands, from all the - corners of Dai Nippon, great and small, shizoku - and heimin, with a simplicity, a courage and a - faith that may well stand as models for all - the world, and a passion of loyalty passing - occidental understanding, await - only the occasion to demonstrate - their glad, unselfish - readiness to meet the - Emperor’s Wish_ - - O. K. D. - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -_List of Illustrations_ - - - FACING PAGE - - She was wonderfully beautiful _Frontispiece_ - - Hurled the Samurai boy bodily over his head 44 - - He saw dimly a dark figure 120 - - “Banzai!” 140 - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -_At the Emperor’s Wish_ - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -I - - -Far out toward the end of Lower Timber Street, where incurious visitors -to the city seldom stray, stands the house of Kudo Jukichi. It is called -Lower Timber Street, the Upper end being down in the city where once the -stout castle of the Lord of the Clan was the center of all the life of -the place. But the name is falsely descriptive, for it leads straight up -to the beautiful hills, and ends abruptly in a sheer climb to the top of -the pine-clad cone where nestles a famous old Shinto shrine. The narrow -path that winds up the steep hillside has been beaten smooth by thousands -of pious feet. Below, curving down in gentle slopes, the verdure-covered -hills ring in the town, and beyond the billowing roofs of blue-gray -thatch and tile stretches the shining, island-dotted sea, warm and soft -in the enormous blaze of summer. - -To the casual observer there is nothing about the house of Kudo Jukichi -to indicate the quality of those who dwell within. A dilapidated -fence of split bamboos, that once was tall and fine, partly conceals -the weather-beaten little structure and partly reveals it, with the -tantalizing indistinctness of a veil over a beautiful face. If a curious -stranger should stop and peer through the lattice-like breaks in the -fence he would gaze upon wood-work grown soft and gray with age and the -flagellation of rains. Even the tiles of the roof, laid with a care -cognizant of earthquake and bitter storm, seem to have lost patience and -outgrown their pride, and now to await only the semblance of opportunity -to loose their hold and slide down. The shrubs along the narrow path that -leads from the gate are all unkempt and ragged, and the lone plum-tree -that stands like the ghost of a garden sentinel in the corner of the tiny -yard, touched by the general air of decay, struggles fitfully in the raw, -cloudy days of spring to send forth here and there a spiritless blossom. -One must be to the manner born, or carefully instructed, to detect, from -the many signs of ruin all about, the single indication of the state -of the householder. Such an one, perhaps, searching closely under the -warped roof of the gateway, might find and read the cedar ticket which -proclaims, according to law, to any who trouble to stop and read, that in -this house of little ease lives Kudo Jukichi, a Gentleman of the Empire. - -Kudo Jukichi, Gentleman! In the first year of Meiji, when he fought -for the restoration of the young Emperor to the power that rightfully -belonged to the Throne, he wore the two swords of a Samurai. But that -was long ago. Kudo-san is an old man now, and thick gray hair covers the -head where once rose the shining black topknot of a warrior. He sits on -the soft mats of his little room with a book, or his pipe, and often -falls to dreaming of the years of his youth, of the stirring events that -threw down the old established order and brought the Emperor again to his -own. And if sometimes there comes to him a twinge of sentimental regret -for the lost ways of life of the old régime, it is but natural. It has -not been easy for Kudo-san to accept many of the changes that came with -the new Western thought. His was not the cast of mind that accommodates -itself readily to novel sensations and experiences. Only his passionate -loyalty and devotion to the Emperor enabled him to smother the feeling -of opposition within him, a feeling purely personal and selfish, in his -Japanese conception, and therefore not entitled to much consideration. -Loyalty with him was something more than a mere sense of duty. It was -instinctive, from the heart, the very essence of his nature, and because -of it he bore without complaint the heavy blows the new order dealt him. - -The abolition of feudalism left him helpless, a dependant with none on -whom to depend. But the reorganization of the army, and the promotion of -the outcast Etas to citizenship and the proud opportunity of military -service dazed him. The distinctive privilege of Samuraihood, the right -to bear arms, was destroyed, and after that nothing worse could befall. -The capitalization of his hereditary income followed as a matter of -course, and he accepted with uncomprehending bewilderment the bonds given -him by the government he was no longer to serve. The fabric of his life -was crumbling and he was powerless to stay its ruin. With hands clasped -before him and head reverently bowed he stood in front of his little -shrine and solemnly communed with the shades of the Kudos gone before. It -was a new situation, and doubtful if they could understand. But one thing -he knew, and in gentle voice, with unshaken faith, he announced it. - -“It is the Emperor’s wish!” - -Fate dealt neither vigorously nor kindly with Kudo. It let him drift. -While his bonds ran their income was sufficient for all his needs, but -when the time of their redemption came he looked in dismay at the heap of -money they brought him. Nothing in all his experience told him what to -do with it. Skillfully invested, it would have furnished ample return, -but investment was a science utterly beneath the contempt of a Samurai. -It was the business of merchants and traders, the men who devoted their -lives to the despicable profession of gaining money. He took his fortune -home, from the bank where it had been paid to him, wrapped up in a blue -cotton bundle-kerchief, and gave it to his wife with the unconcern of -complete scorn. He knew that that bundle alone stood between him and -necessity, but he did not care. He lived contentedly on his little -capital, nor ever let an anxious thought cross his mind because of its -constant decrease. - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -II - - -Scarce two hundred yards distant from the house of Kudo Jukichi, around -the corner in Azalea Street, there is a most striking evidence of the -change the new Western life has brought to the Island Empire. The little -shingle at the gate duly sets forth that Mr. Kutami Chobei, a Commoner, -occupies that comfortable dwelling, but all the city knows it as the home -of Chobei, the Eta. Prosperity radiates from the substantial house and -wide grounds with their pleasant garden, and all the place is enfolded -in its ample mantle. What cares the Commoner Kutami that his humble -station is placarded over his hospitable doorway? But a handbreadth back -in the space of years even that poor title seemed a measure of hopeless -distinction to him. In the yesterday when neighbor Kudo wore the haughty -swords of a Samurai his weapon would have leaped from its scornful -scabbard if Chobei the Eta had dared pollute his presence. It was a great -advance to be one of the multitude in the oblivion of the Commoners -instead of one of the marked few of the Etas, despised, outcast, living -apart from all his fellows except the unfortunates of his class. It had -been a bitter life for Chobei, for although his sheer force of will had -made him Chief of his village, a man of distinction among his own, that -very strength of character made only more keen and poignant the disgrace -of his position. The wealth he had accumulated in his business of -tanner had little pleasure to give him, and it was the business itself, -inherited from his fathers, generation after generation, that made him an -Eta. That great stroke of the Emperor’s which had shaken off the shackles -of his caste restored him to manhood, and he blessed the fate that had -brought the Western ideas to Japan and had set noble and Samurai and -outcast all equal before the law, face to face together with the problems -of individual responsibilities and rewards. - -Money is not yet everything in Japan, however rapidly its power may be -advancing. But it is something to the Commoner and it was little better -than nothing to the Eta. Kutami was proud of himself, in an humble way; -proud that he had something to do with when opportunity to do came to -him. More than all he was proud of the new nation, and loyal to it with -the last drop of his blood. He was no soldier, but he did his part -when the forces of the Empire went over sea to meet the armies of the -Chinese in Korea and Manchuria. The business of his outcast days had -grown with great strides under the incentive of his new ambition, and -from being merely a tanner and dealer in leather he had become as well -a manufacturer of boots and shoes. Now it was that the money he had won -furnished the means of making return to the nation, and thousands of -soldiers marched and fought in the boots Kutami the Commoner gave to his -country. - -There was no thought in Kutami’s heart of anything but loyalty and -gratitude to his Emperor in this, but there was a result he did not -foresee. Kudo Jukichi had been shaken out of his retirement by the war. -All the old fire was revived in him, and his heart was heavy because he -was neither able to offer service himself nor was his son old enough to -take a soldier’s part. In spite of the fact that they had lived for years -at so little distance from each other, for Kudo it was as if Kutami had -never existed. For though he might admit that there was advantage to the -nation in some of the great changes of his later years, Jukichi was still -at heart the Samurai of the old régime, and to him Chobei was still an -Eta. But the gift of the boots touched his heart. - -“Some men are called Samurai in name, but are outcasts at heart,” he -thought. “That man was called outcast but has acted like a Samurai.” - -Straightway he put on his finest silk kimono and stalking out of his gate -turned the corner into Azalea Street. There was a flutter of excitement -in the house of the Commoner when it was known that Kudo Jukichi had -come to call. This was an honor that had been beyond their dreams. For, -although there had never been a word between the two families, well the -Commoners knew their gentle neighbors, and it was not without a secret -sympathy that Chobei had noticed the evidence of hard and harder fortune -which increasing days brought to the Samurai. The situation of the -Kudos had become, indeed, very much straitened. Jukichi had contrived -to sell a few of the treasures of art that had been for generations in -the family. But his was no nature for bargaining, and kakemono and vases -that were priceless to genuine collectors had gone for the song the first -unscrupulous dealer had offered. Valiant soldier and skillful swordsman -that he had been, the Samurai was inept in the rough-and-tumble scramble -for existence, and Chobei gladly would have made his sympathy practical -if he had but known how. - -It was truly a wonderful event for the Commoner when Jukichi voluntarily -came to visit him. O-Koyo, his wife, herself fluttered into the room -where the distinguished guest was sitting on the soft, white mat, and -brought him tea, that fine long leaf with the heavy flavor of the straw -mats that had kept it always from the sun, so delightful to the taste -of the Japanese connoisseur. Though it was the house of a man possessed -of much wealth, there was no display of riches, except in the exquisite -fineness of the wood, the beautiful grain carefully brought out in the -soft polish and matched with an evenness and skill that betokened unusual -pains and thought. In the alcove of the room where Jukichi sat hung a -single old kakemono of rare merit, and the signature that caught his -eye told him at once of its great value. Beneath it stood a vase of the -famous ware that had long distinguished the old artists of his clan, and -in it a single spray of blossoms. It was in perfect taste, and the old -Samurai, as he sat down, felt a little glow of satisfaction, as if he -had come back at last to the realities of the days before the inrush of -Western innovation had done so much to cheapen and make vulgar all that -it touched of the island art. - -The simple directness of his character had not been changed by his years -of vicissitude. The formalities of greeting were hardly ended when -Jukichi plunged into the matter that had brought about his visit. - -“I have heard,” he said, “that you have made a great gift to the army.” - -A deprecatory smile crossed the face of the Commoner and he bowed very -low. - -“Ah, it was nothing,” he replied, politely belittling what he had done. -“It was only a few boots for the soldiers, who are worthy of very much -more than one so humble as I can do for them.” - -“Nevertheless it is a fine thing to do,” declared Jukichi, and for an -instant there flashed in his eyes something of the old fire. “It is a -fine thing for one who is not a soldier to give so much to the army.” - -Again Kutami bowed very low, and softly protested the trifling character -of his act. - -“I have heard that it was an entire division that you supplied,” -continued Jukichi. “I congratulate you. It is a very fortunate thing to -be able to do so much for the Emperor.” - -Lower than ever Kutami bowed and for some time his head remained bent -forward. At length he raised it and looked the old Samurai in the face. - -“It was nothing at all,” he said in a low voice, “nothing at all. And -the Emperor has done everything for me.” - -He wondered what Jukichi would do or say to such direct reference to -his former condition, but loyalty knew no finer quality in the heart of -the Samurai than it found in the breast of the Commoner, and though he -insulted his honored guest, or died for it on the instant, Kutami would -not have withheld that acknowledgment to his Sovereign. And in making it -he touched the deepest chord in the Samurai’s nature. - -“I cannot be a soldier myself,” the Commoner went on, after a little, -“and my son is not old enough to take my place. But the Empire has given -me a great deal, and I am very glad that I can give a little something to -the sons of others who offer their lives for it.” - -“I, too, cannot be a soldier now,” said Jukichi slowly, after a pause, -“although in other years it was my duty and my privilege. And I, too, -have a son too young to be of service in this war. But he shall be a -soldier some day, and, if Heaven please, an officer of the Emperor.” - -The ring of the old clan pride was in the voice and the eyes flashed as -if the father already saw the boy leading his men in the swinging charge. - -“You are indeed fortunate,” said Kutami gravely; “it is a great honor -to have such a son, and it is but fitting that the son of such a father -should become an officer.” Again the deprecatory smile crossed his face -as he continued: “But it is not for my son to think of so glorious a -future. He shall do his duty when the time comes, and serve his country -as best he can, but after that I am afraid we could not hope to attain -such honor as it would be to have him continue in the army.” - -It was Jukichi’s turn to bow and smile in deprecation. Then he rose to -take his leave, and when Kutami had thanked him for the great honor he -had conferred upon that poor house, he went away with a satisfaction in -his heart he did not attempt to explain. - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -III - - -Jukichi’s son was a fine, sturdy lad who already in the public school -was laying a solid foundation for the technical training which later -was to fit him for an army career. He did not belie his inheritance. -His military instinct manifested itself in the ease with which he -excelled his mates in the martial exercises that formed part of his -school duties. Often, too, it was revealed in his proud bearing toward -his fellows. Ambition found large room in his small breast, and it was -his determination to rival and even excel the exploits and skill of -that great ancestor, Kokan, whose name he bore. Jukichi had begun his -instruction in swordsmanship early, and often the old Masamune blade, -that had been the pride of the Kudos for generations, was brought out to -take its part in the lessons. At fourteen Kokan was captain of a company -of his schoolmates, and the stuff that was in him showed in his grief -that his years unfitted him to bear a soldier’s part in the war with -China. - -But the disappointment did not warp him. Rather it tended to confirm -his ambition. And if he had needed a spur he would have found it in the -boundless pride in him displayed by his sister, who was the playfellow -of his home. O-Mitsu-san was four years his junior. As long as she could -remember, from the days when she first toddled out into the yard on -her small _getas_, and robed in the wonderful kimono, gay with bright -butterflies, the days of her life had been devoted to adoration of her -brother. To her he was everything that was fine and noble, and his -imperious spirit received as its just due the deferential homage she -paid to his years and his sex. She was little more than a baby, in the -Western conception, when O-Haru, the gentle mother, went away on the long -journey to the Meido and left the house of Jukichi desolate, and it fell -to her to take her mother’s place in the management of the household and -the anxious care of the slender, steadily diminishing means of support. - -“Though the eagle be starving, yet will he not eat grain,” say the -Japanese, and Jukichi fulfilled the saying. No one saw better than he -the inevitable end of the course he was pursuing. No one felt more than -he the need of doing something to secure an income. Kokan would soon -finish with the public schools, and before he would be sufficiently far -advanced to enter one of the Local Military Preparatory Schools he must -have some years of higher instruction, which no school in the city was -fitted to give. The only means of possible relief that presented itself -to Jukichi’s prejudiced view was some sort of trade, a vile bargaining -and selling for the sake of gaining the money which all his life he had -despised. Moreover, he knew that he was unfitted by training as well -as by nature for such work. The simple honesty of the old soldier, to -whom death was a small price to pay for honor, was no match for the -unscrupulous cleverness of men whose native sharpness had been developed -by years of practice in a profession from which nothing else was -expected. And so Jukichi drifted on. - -Between O-Haru and Jukichi there had existed a serene sweetness and depth -of love such as seems impossible to the Western world, unused to the -Japanese way, where marriages are so often matters of arrangement rather -than sentiment. Perhaps it was the recollection of what she had been to -him, and the profound sense of his loss, that kept Jukichi a widower. But -the death of her mother brought some recompense to the little girl in the -transfer to her of much of the calm and confident affection which had -been O-Haru’s happiness. More and more her father grew to depend on her -in many matters in which he had followed the guidance of her mother, and -there developed in her a judgment and self-reliance not often found in -one of her years. While yet a child in age she was a woman in character. -Not much of her time was spent in school, yet her instruction was not -scanty for a Japanese girl. Most of it had been given by her father, -whose mode of life left him ample leisure for her lessons. She read -well and she had the books of the _Bunko_ that had been her mother’s. Of -this “Japanese Lady’s Library” she was diligently studious, and already -had attained familiarity with “Woman’s Household Instruction,” and the -“Lesser Learning for Woman,” and was intent upon the main part of the -work, the profound “Greater Learning.” Besides, she knew the “Hundred -Poems,” and often joined with her father and brother in an evening game -of quotations. There was little interruption of the quiet current of the -family life, and Jukichi loved to put aside pipe or book, when no visitor -had come, and play thus with his children. But neither he nor Kokan ever -gave a thought to the future of the girl, or noticed the promise she gave -of beautiful womanhood. - -She was a lonely child for one so bright and winning. Her friends were -very few, not because of her condition, for poverty is all too common in -Japan to be disgraceful, and many families of great rank have known its -bitter pinch. It was rather because of a gentle, instinctive shyness that -made her recoil from the often boisterous gayety of her schoolmates. -But one there was who held large place in her childish esteem. It was a -friendship that began with her schooling. Her father had taken her to -the school that first day, for Kokan had finished the primary grades and -went to a different school in another part of the city. The master was -a large, stern man, with solemn, forbidding face, and O-Mitsu-san was -filled with fear. He took her into a great barren room, filled with hard, -high benches where sat a multitude of other little boys and girls. He -showed her a bench and told her to sit down, and when she took her place, -the other children looked at her and whispered together and laughed. She -was frightened, and presently, when the master, with a big whip in his -hand, called her name in a loud voice, she put her head down on her hands -and sobbed with fear. Then the other children laughed more and the master -commanded silence in a voice that terrified her. She was very miserable -and wished only to get away from that dreadful place and to go home -again. By and by a bell rang, and all the children stood up and went out. -But one little boy came to her and said shyly: - -“Don’t cry, little girl. Come and play.” - -After a time, when she had ceased to sob, she looked up into his round -face and said: - -“What is your name, boy?” - -The boy smiled and answered: - -“Soichi. Come and play.” - -Then they went out and played, and by and by, when it was time to go -home, the little boy walked along with her and she was glad. His home was -just around the corner from hers, in the fine big house in Azalea Street. -He was a funny boy, for he asked her not to tell her father that she had -played with him, or that he had walked part way home with her. When she -asked him why, he would not tell, but said that some day she would find -out, and that would be time enough to tell if she wanted to. Poor little -Soichi! Already the boy was learning the hard lesson that old disgrace, -however unmerited, cannot be put aside lightly, even by law, and the wise -young head knew that the child of the Eta was no playmate, in his world’s -eyes, for the daughter of a Samurai. - -O-Mitsu cared not at all then. She knew only that he had been kind to her -in her wretchedness, and she liked him loyally for that, and loyally, -too, she kept her promise not to tell. So they met at school and played, -sometimes with other children but often by themselves. Thus several happy -months went by and then O-Mitsu got her first great lesson in the new -life of the nation. She found out about Soichi. There were plenty of -children to tell when it seemed there was a chance of causing pain, for -the Japanese child has no less a barbarian heart than many who live in -the Western world. The little girl was greatly troubled. She liked the -boy and enjoyed the games with him. But the daughter of a Samurai knew -her position. She had learned now that the stern looks of the master -masked a kindly heart, and her first fear of him was gone. To him she -went in her perplexity. - -“Why is it,” she asked, “that the Eta boy comes to this school? Are not -Etas outcasts?” - -The wise teacher smiled gently and said: - -“That was true, O-Mitsu-san, but it is not so now. Did you not know that -the Emperor has promoted them, and given them the same rights as all the -rest of us?” - -“Then are they like us now?” she asked. - -“Yes, child,” replied the teacher softly, for he, too, was a Samurai and -knew what was in the heart of his little questioner, “and because it is -the Emperor’s will they must no longer be treated as they were.” - -“I am glad,” said O-Mitsu shortly, and went out into the yard to join the -game in which Soichi had a part. - -But when school was over and Soichi was walking toward home with her she -kept silent for a long time. At length, raising her eyes and looking at -him, she said: - -“I know why now, Soichi.” - -At once the boy stopped. The training of bitter experience prepared him -to hear her proudly scornful decision. But when she was silent he dared -at length to ask: - -“Why do you not say it?” - -But she smiled and answered: - -“I do not care, and I will not tell. Teacher says it is right because the -Emperor did it. Come, let us go home.” - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -IV - - -Kutami the Commoner was fat and jolly. He lived well and put trouble -behind him whenever it showed its ugly head. He liked to talk and smoke -and visit with the friends who came often to his comfortable house to -enjoy his hospitality. For though among the Samurai and the gently born -the old prejudice against the Etas was far from extinction, among the -Commoners there was little inclination to supercilious remembrance, -especially when one had been so successful as Kutami. The visit of -Jukichi to his house had had a marked effect. Often since that memorable -afternoon the wagging tongues of Kutami’s friends had discussed the proud -old man and his hard situation. Many a suggestion was made as to how it -might be improved, but none which it seemed likely he would accept. The -generous impulses of his admirers were barred by the stubborn pride they -were not willing to encounter. - -Life in many of its details is not so different in Japanese cities to -what it is in the Western world. Neighbors gossip just the same, and pry -out secrets and imagine motives just as they do among Occidentals, and -just as often hit the mark. They knew Jukichi’s ambition for Kokan, and -how more and more doubtful of fulfillment it was becoming. - -“How foolish he is!” said Komatsu, the cloth merchant, one evening when -the subject had been discussed for the fortieth time. “With what he had -from his pension he might have done many things, and been as rich now, -perhaps, as Chobei here, who does not know what to do with his wealth.” - -“A curio shop, for instance,” said Uchida, the ivory carver; “many -Samurai have done that, and with his knowledge of such things and his -friends to help him get them, or to buy from, he might have made a great -success.” - -“But instead of that he has only sold some of his own things for a -child’s price, and grows poorer every day!” Komatsu seemed as near to -being disgusted as was possible for his good nature. - -“How little you know him after all,” said one of the group who until now -had taken no part in the gossip. It was Matsumoto, a Samurai who had made -his way in the very fashion outlined by Uchida, and whose advertisement, -proclaiming his rank, is thrust into the hand of every foreigner who -steps ashore at a Japanese port. But he had the native genius for trade -as well as the insight into character which told him how utterly lacking -it was in Jukichi. “He could never be a merchant,” Matsumoto continued. -“The world is just what a man’s heart makes it. Kudo-san would find only -misery and hatred in becoming a trader, and would fail before he had -thoroughly begun.” - -“Ah, that is true,” cried Chobei, “that is quite the truth. I do not know -what he could do.” - -“That is plain,” replied Matsumoto. “He was a great swordsman in his day -and has a fine reputation. He could give fencing lessons. He has taught -his son, who already excels the other boys in school. Let him teach the -sons of others.” - -That was a practical suggestion of which all felt the force. But the real -difficulty lay in approaching Jukichi. There was plenty of talk about -that, but the gossips went away without having reached a conclusion. A -long time after his friends had gone Chobei sat with his little pipe, in -deep consideration of the subject. In his abstraction he rapped so hard -on the _hibachi_, knocking out the ashes, that O-Koyo came into the room -to see what was the matter. There had never been many secrets between -them, and now Chobei looked up and began at once to speak of the problem -that was perplexing him. - -“You know I have long been desirous of assisting Kudo-san,” he said, “but -have not understood the means to be employed. To-night Matsumoto-san has -given me an idea. It is that he can teach fencing; but how shall we get -him the pupils without his suspecting that we do it to help him?” - -“We have one,” replied O-Koyo. “We could ask him as a favor to teach our -son.” - -“No, no,” said Chobei, at once. “That would not do at all, for I have -told him that Soichi is not to be a soldier, and he knows our son has no -need of fencing.” - -“Well, then,” said O-Koyo, “I do not know what to do. It seems to me that -he is a very foolishly proud old man.” - -“Ah, yes,” replied Chobei, “but he is one of those who belong to the old -Empire and he cannot change. It is very strange and very hard.” - -“Hardest for his son,” said O-Koyo. “How can that boy become an officer -of the army without education, and how can Kudo-san give it to him? There -is no school here and he cannot send the boy away.” - -As he listened to his wife speaking these words a new light dawned upon -Chobei. He saw the way. - -“We must make that school,” he exclaimed, and drew in his breath so hard -that it whistled through his teeth. “We will found a new one to fit boys -for the Military Preparatory Schools, and Kokan shall have his education. -Yes, yes! That is what we must do! There shall be a place for Kudo-san. -I will ask him myself. It will be a great honor to us if he will teach -the fencing and swordsmanship. Then when his son must go away he will -have something to meet the expense.” - -So the idea was born. There followed much thought and talk among Chobei’s -friends, and one day the local newspapers announced that the authorities -had given permission to Mr. Kutami Chobei to establish a new school, -which the founder agreed to maintain. It would be the link between the -existing institutions of the city and those of the central Government. -The courses were to be general, but there was to be special instruction -for such boys as desired to fit themselves to enter any one of the six -Government Local Military Preparatory Schools with a view to competing -for a commission in the army. - -It was the shrewd Matsumoto who had suggested this method of bringing -the new school to the notice of Jukichi, and his reading of the old -man’s character was not at fault. Not a hint of the personal opportunity -offered came to the Samurai as he read the news in his paper. To him it -was only another evidence of the patriotism of his neighbor, and he was -about to set out on a second visit of congratulation, when a messenger -brought a letter from Chobei. It was a very humble letter, as befitted -the circumstance of a promoted Eta writing to a Samurai. The Commoner -hoped that Kudo-san had heard of the projected school and that it would -meet with his approbation. There were some matters concerning its -administration and the courses of study to be provided, about which it -would be a distinguished honor to him to consult with Kudo-san, and in -view of the previous marked kindness, he dared to beg the condescension -of an appointment. The advice of Kudo-san would be a very material -assistance as well as a great honor. - -Jukichi thrust the letter into the sleeve of his kimono and stalked -around the corner into Azalea Street. There was a smile on Kutami’s face -when he saw how his bait had been swallowed, and he silently blessed -Matsumoto for his inspiration. - -“It is a great presumption for such as I,” he said when the tea had been -brought and Jukichi’s first congratulations were offered, “to think -of undertaking such a work. No doubt it would have been better if some -gentleman had been willing to do it. But, as it is, I am glad to have -the opportunity. I have observed for some time, and with much regret, -that many of the young men of the city have been obliged to go away to -complete their preparatory education, especially those who mean to enter -the army, and I hope this school will be able to remedy that fault.” - -Jukichi bowed in his courtly fashion and paused respectfully before -replying. - -“It is an honor to the city,” he said at length, “to have so -public-spirited a citizen.” - -With profoundest salute Kutami acknowledged the compliment and protested -his unworthiness. - -“There is very much to do,” he said slowly, “and I am poorly fitted to -make suggestions. I hope you will not believe me rude or unthinking if I -venture to tell you it has been suggested to me that perhaps you yourself -would be willing to help.” - -The trial was made, and Kutami sat with narrowing eyes, watching his -visitor to note the effect. For a moment or two Jukichi sat perfectly -still, with face completely masking his feelings. Then he bowed deeply, -with strong sibilant inspiration. - -“I?” he said, with show of surprise. “It is an unexpected honor. I am -quite unworthy to assist in so valuable a work. I do not know what I -could do.” - -The Commoner breathed more freely. He had dreaded a fiery outburst from -the hot-tempered old man, and when it did not come he could hardly -conceal his relief. He felt that Jukichi’s coöperation was more than half -promised when it was not at once indignantly refused. - -“Who in the city could do more?” he exclaimed. “Who could confer such -honor upon so humble an undertaking?” - -Jukichi did not reply. Since the day when he saw the struggle for the -Restoration successful, the old man, still clinging fondly to the life -of the old régime, had been nevertheless drifting unconsciously toward -participation in the new. But he was yet far from open avowal, and the -proposition of Kutami came to him with a shock. He saw, however, that he -had opened the way for it himself, and merely asked to be excused from -giving immediate reply. Then with renewed congratulations and polite -expression of good-will, he went away, leaving the Commoner uncertain but -hopeful. - -With genuine sorrow Kutami saw the Samurai pass through his gate -unpledged. But he went on with the work, and soon the new building -approached completion. Every detail was arranged but the most important -of all. For Jukichi still declined to commit himself. If he failed to -secure the Samurai, though he succeeded in all else, Kutami felt that -the whole undertaking would fail. But he exhausted his ingenuity without -success. The pride of his abolished caste still dominated the Samurai. It -was an incident beyond the knowledge of either that determined Jukichi. - -Jealousy is not the curse of race or rank. It finds its lodgment in -the breasts of rich and poor alike, in Occidental and Oriental. It was -O-Koyo who found the first evidence of it in a newspaper wrapped around -a casual purchase, and with unconcealed emotion took it to her husband, -reviling herself for being the bearer of ill news. Poor Kutami! Of all -the hard thrusts and unkind blows of his none too easy life this was the -meanest and worst. It was a savage attack on his cherished scheme. The -school plan had been devised in all sincerity, with the sole purpose of -giving aid, without its being known, to the man who, he felt, had honored -him by entering his house, and whom he greatly admired. But here he saw -his honest, manly work scornfully derided, his simple purpose wantonly -distorted and himself held up to ridicule more bitter than his bitterest -outcast days had ever known. Every one could see what the real object of -the new school was, said the paper. The spawn of the frog was hoping to -be hatched out into eagles. But fine dress and large words did not hide -the outcast. The Eta, though he clothed an army and built a thousand -schools, was only an Eta. Law might call him a Commoner; it could not -make him clean. Contamination was in all that he touched. Out upon the -upstart with his vile wealth, who dared presume to offer schooling to the -sons of men of birth! - -With heart too heavy for words Kutami gave back the paper to his wife. -The cruel blow seemed to have struck down at once his ambition and his -energy. He sat like one paralyzed and could neither think nor speak. And -O-Koyo, tearing up the wretched paper in a frenzy of grief, as if thus to -destroy the slander, threw herself down on the mat and sobbed aloud. - -There was no fight left in Kutami. But Matsumoto, the curio dealer, with -the old Samurai courage untouched in his heart, strove to inspirit his -friend, and the building was finished. The Government officials had taken -no notice of the attack on the founder, and the newspaper discussion -provoked by it died away with no immediately discernible effect. - -In the seclusion of his quiet home Jukichi had not heard the bitter -denunciation of the new school. He was absorbed in the old problem of -Kokan’s future. The money he had received from the Government was almost -at an end. His treasures were sold, his resources exhausted. Swayed to -and fro by the currents of conflicting emotion he sat, still undecided, -still reluctant to grasp the proffered relief. - -From one of her old schoolmates O-Mitsu heard the story and told her -father. The old man listened with flashing eyes, and when she finished -his decision was made. For himself he would not take the step, but to -help another, even one who had been an Eta, appealed to his sympathy and -his sense of honor. - -The day of the opening arrived, and then the result of the slander -appeared. No pupils came to the new school. In painful embarrassment the -governor of the Ken stood in the great, bare, main room and heard the -pitiful words of unhappy Kutami presenting his gift to the city. Vain -and empty sounded the pompous response. The teachers, gathered for their -hopeful task, found nothing to do. The ceremonies were over. The governor -and his officials turned to go away, glad the disagreeable business -was ended. In the doorway stood an old man and a boy. With grave and -dignified salute they waited while the governor passed out. Then into -the building they marched and up to the office of the head-master. Five -minutes later two students were duly registered and the new school was -opened, with Kudo Jukichi and Kudo Kokan its first pupils. - -Jukichi had committed himself at last, but the scandalous assault came -very near to success. For several days not another pupil appeared. Then -the word went abroad that Kudo Jukichi, the Samurai, had registered -his son, who was in daily attendance, and that Kudo-san himself had -become instructor of swordsmanship. Men who had hoped to have their sons -profit by the new institution, but who had been held back by cowardly -apprehension, rejoiced at the relief, and some who secretly sympathized -with the attack, and hated to see this evidence of the progress of the -upstart succeed, were shamed into supporting it. The day was won for -Kutami, and it was a victory infinitely sweeter than his bitterest -calumniator could have imagined, for a reason of which scarce half a -dozen persons in all the city had any inkling. - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -V - - -More and more as he grew older, young Kudo Kokan betrayed the haughty -spirit that had characterized his ancestors. To him Kutami the Commoner -was still Chobei the Eta. With no hint of how intimately his own career -was connected with the success of the new school, he was much opposed to -having anything to do with it. But as the days passed, and others of his -inherited standing filled his classes, his active opposition relaxed into -scorn of the man and the institution from which he profited so much. - -Boys are boys just as much in Japan as in any other country, and -must grow to manhood through the same struggles and with just as much -exhibition of their native barbarity. It was in the second year of -Kokan’s attendance at the new school that Kutami entered his own son, -who was preparing for a course at the university. Soichi was growing -very tall and strong, fonder of sports and games, of military drill and -marches than of books and hard study. Now for the first time he met the -young Samurai. The early friendship with O-Mitsu had run its course of -vicissitudes and pleasures, and seemed to have come to the fork in the -road. As the girl grew older and learned more of the ways of her world, -she came to understand more fully what had been intended by the little -talebearer who first informed her of Soichi’s social station. She saw -the proud attitude of her father toward the Commoner, and her friendship -with the boy was not mentioned at home. Apparently that was the only -circumstance which distinguished it from scores of other boy and girl -friendships. But the fact that it was not wise to say anything about it -gave it a fictitious importance, and perhaps made it linger in a tenderer -corner of the girl’s recollection. - -The appearance of Soichi at the school offered occasion to Kokan for the -revelation of his least lovable qualities, and, boylike, he promptly -showed them. He took delight in suppressed sneers and open snubs. And -Soichi, being a boy of high spirit and no mean courage, cherished a -sturdy resentment. Savagery is indigenous with most real boys. Before -they have reached the age of reason it crops out persistently, whether -their skins are brown or white, whether their eyes tilt upward at the -corners or lie straight across the face. But it is of two kinds, merely -exuberant spirits, impersonal, horse-playful, or vicious and vindictive. -Kokan had no intention to be mean, but often pranks played just for the -fun of it are none the less cruel, and what starts in good-natured play -ends in deadly earnest. And Kokan misjudged the mettle of Soichi. He -had the easy confidence of assured superiority and could not guess that -beneath the jacket of the boy he often derided with the scornful name of -Eta there beat a heart as stout as his own. - -Unconsciously, too, he had a large advantage. For Soichi knew the secret -Kokan did not, of the real reason for the founding of the school, and at -any time could have given his tormentor a thrust that would have brought -his insolent pride abjectly to the dust. Not many American or European -boys would have stood proof against such a test, for they are not trained -in the ideas of filial obedience and loyalty, that are the inheritance -of the Japanese. Soichi knew that a single word from him would end his -persecution, but at the same time it might be the ruin of all his father -had tried to do, and he held his tongue. And, because he thought he -dealt with unresisting putty, Kokan went from bad to worse. The taunt -that had been but a joke at first became a thing of venom, and his easy, -indifferent contempt began to grow into something almost hatred. - -How little beyond their noses most boys can see! Kokan came to believe -there was no flint at all in Soichi, for try as he would, he could not -strike fire. Then came the thunder-bolt. - -The year’s work was almost finished. A few days more and Kokan would be -graduated. It was with a sense of great relief that Soichi saw the end so -near. It had been a bitter year for him. Not only had Kokan’s taunts and -persecution strained his endurance almost to breaking; it had cost him -the sympathy and friendship of many of his fellows, who misconstrued his -silence and had come to believe with his tormentor that he was a boy of -no spirit. He thought it all over by himself and a great resolve came to -him. As he walked alone to the school one morning he planned his course. -Let the result be what it might, his mates should see that it was not -fear that had kept him from open resentment. - -The bell rang and the boys came trooping in from the playground. Standing -aloof, Soichi watched until he saw Kokan. The Samurai boy walked briskly, -talking light-heartedly with two or three companions. To enter the -building he must pass close to the spot where the Commoner stood. Soichi -waited until Kokan and his friends were but a few feet away, then stepped -directly in front of them, and turning his back, walked slowly toward the -door. Instantly Kokan understood that a crisis had come. For a moment he -was too amazed to speak. Then he shouted: - -“What do you mean, Eta? Get out of my way!” - -Soichi made no reply, and stepped more slowly than before. Kokan was -almost on his heels. - -“Jump, dog!” the young Samurai shouted in sudden anger; “jump before I -kick you!” - -For answer Soichi turned and without a word slapped him smartly across -the mouth with the flat of his hand. - -A moment Kokan stood like one turned to stone. It was as if the blow -had paralyzed every faculty, not by its force but by its shock. Then in -wild fury he sprang forward, his hands outstretched as if to clutch and -tear to pieces the boy who had dared to strike him. Soichi was ready. In -strength and stature he was quite a match for his frantic antagonist; -but it needed no force to meet that furious rush. Swifter than sight his -hands went forward, caught the arms reaching out to seize him, and with -a single twitch hurled the Samurai boy bodily over his head. Then like a -cat he whirled to meet a new attack. It was a trick he had often played -on the practice mats of the gymnasium, where not in vain had he worked -that year with the master of jiu-jitsu. - -[Illustration: Hurled the Samurai boy bodily over his head.] - -Dazed by the force of his fall Kokan struggled to his feet, mad with -rage. Fortunate then for them both that the wearing of swords was no -longer the Samurai’s privilege, else Soichi would have been killed in -his tracks. But if passion had blinded Kokan, his friends could still -see, and before another wild rush should give Soichi a second opportunity -they had seized both boys and held them apart. In another moment the -master, who from the doorway saw and heard it all, had reached them, and -discipline was beginning to work. - -“He insulted the Emperor and I struck him,” said Soichi calmly, when they -examined him. “If I had had a sword I should have cut him down.” - -“What?” said the master, “insulted the Emperor!” - -“It is false!” cried Kokan, restored to outward calm, but with heart -burning with hatred. “I did not!” - -“He called me Eta,” retorted Soichi, “and the Emperor has decreed that -there are no more Etas.” - -Before that reasoning even Kokan was silent, and because he was Jukichi’s -son the master found a way to let the matter drop. - -Soichi had given a proof of his spirit, which every boy in the school was -ready to accept. He had won his point, but the young Samurai went away -to his military school with a bitterness rankling in his heart it was to -take years to cure. The quarrel had its effect in the house in Timber -Street no less than in the home of Kutami. Jukichi at once left his place -as instructor and opened classes of his own. It did not matter. The -work for which the school had been founded was done, and the Commoner, -grieving that it had come to such result, nevertheless was satisfied, and -more than ever proud of the son who had shown both his courage and his -patience. - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -VI - - -The period of “Little Plenty” was wearing to its close. Already the -wistaria blossoms were fading and the gorgeous azaleas were dropping -their petals. In the fields the barley heads had turned to yellow and -the young rice in the seed beds stood tall and strong in its thick green -rows awaiting the harvest that should make room for it. It was a day when -even nature rested and basked in the smile of heaven. The sun shone as if -pouring the accumulated experience of millions of years into each moment, -saturating earth and trees and flowers and grass with a deluge of molten -gold. The vast blue arch gleamed like a great aërial mirror, reflecting -the wide expanse of motionless sea that lay shimmering in the sunlight, -unmarked by a single ripple. On its sleeping surface myriad fishing -boats, with dull gray hulls and red brown sails, drifted and dozed. The -noisy calls of the city were hushed, and to the girl sitting among the -trees on the crest of the pine-clad cone beyond the end of Timber Street -there rose only now and then a muffled sound, like the dull roll of surf -on a far-distant beach. Only life that was wild sent its challenge to -her. Natsu-zemi shrilled his strident ji-i-iii from the branches over the -Shinto shrine in vigorous chorus, as if determined to make the uttermost -of such a day, and Min-min-zemi chanted his ritual over and over from -scores of trees, singing the prayer that has no end. - -Six years had more than fulfilled the promise of her childhood for Kudo -O-Mitsu. At eighteen she was the full-blown flower of which at twelve she -had been only the bud. Such an one she was as would set the hearts of -half a city a-throb by a single glance, even a city where men care not -overmuch for maidens, and passion is rarely of the tender sort until -years of association have coddled it into flame. Her face was a long, -narrow oval, the stamp of her gentle birth, exquisitely curved from cheek -to chin and rounded to the delicate point that emphasized her beauty -and yet revealed her determination. Narrow at the top and broadening to -the temples, her ivory-white forehead disclosed the outline of beloved -Fujiyama, the sacred mountain of her race. The full lips of her little -mouth were brilliant with the stain of luscious cherries. Above a great -mass of shining, jetlike hair gleamed softly the green jade of the -ornaments that betrayed her years. - -She sat leaning a little forward, the slender fingers of one hand half -supporting, half caressing her chin, and gazed dreamily out at the -splendid pageant of sea and shore spread before her. But its beauty -was not in her thought. The wonderful shimmer of the opalescent water, -now heliotrope, now tan, now pearl, under the rapturous rays of the -afternoon sun, the soft blue of the roofs rising here and there through -the brilliant green of the verdured hills, had now no charm for her. The -melancholy note of the wild dove, calling sweetly from the deep recesses -of the pines, suited more her mood. For trouble had come to O-Mitsu, of a -kind she did not know how to meet. Chukei, the _nakodo_, the professional -matchmaker, had called to see her father. - -To the old Samurai, hardly less than to the girl, his message had come -with a shock. For as unconsciously as she had grown to womanhood, so -unconsciously had he seen her grow, with never a thought of the demand -for her that time was certain to bring. The son of whom he was so proud -was gone to the army. That year he had received his commission and joined -his regiment. The red cap-band of the Guards was a badge of honor for -Jukichi, and he dwelt lovingly on the future of the young officer who -had begun his career by winning appointment to the proudest service in -the land. But the old man missed the boy, and honor could not entirely -fill his place in the lonely house. It was the girl who brought sunshine -into Jukichi’s daily routine. The classes and the lessons that had earned -their humble subsistence still occupied part of his time, but the old -man had lost his zest for them, and his urgent need had passed. Kokan’s -pay was enough for them all considering their simple way of life, and -Jukichi, feeling his years, was beginning to contemplate the time when he -should resign his cares, and as _inkyo_, live out his days in rest and -peace. - -In all such dreams O-Mitsu had her share. Jukichi did not mean -deliberately to keep her from the marriage to which every Japanese girl -looks forward, but he put the thought of it from him as unpleasant, and -Chukei had forced it on him against his will. He turned the _nakodo_ -away with evasive answer and scant encouragement. Then for hours he sat -thinking of the girl and her future. After supper, when she brought his -pipe, he said: - -“I have received a proposal of marriage for you.” - -She put down his tobacco pouch and sat still, a sudden clutching about -her heart as if of suffocation. For some time Jukichi said nothing more, -then he added: - -“Chukei-san, a _nakodo_, has been here to see me about it.” - -“Ah,” she said, with a pitiful little effort to smile. Her father had -given no hint yet of his own feeling, and she dreaded what was to come. -She was not prepared for this. She had not thought of it. Kokan and her -father had made up her world, and she did not know what to say. The old -man sat looking at her fondly, and for a few moments neither spoke. Then -he said slowly: - -“Yamamoto-san, the silk merchant, makes proposal on behalf of his son.” - -She smiled again, and with better will, for somehow she found relief in -the words and manner of speaking. Besides, she did not know the young man -who had honored her, and she began to feel that perhaps her father might -not consent. She had no wish to marry, and she was not the girl to do so -simply for the asking. At length, as her father said no more, she plucked -up courage, and bowing deferentially to him, said: - -“I do not wish to marry yet. It is better for me, if you will, to live -here with you until perhaps Kokan shall bring you another daughter to -keep the house.” - -A smile of pleasure lighted the old man’s face. - -“Ha,” he said, “it is as I wished you would feel.” - -Then, if he had been an Occidental, he would have kissed his daughter, -and heart to heart they would have talked until the matter was settled. -But deep and true though affection may be among the Japanese, it finds -small show in outward expression, and caresses are signs of weakness. - -“I have made no answer,” he went on, after a little. “I had no will to -have you marry if you were not ready.” - -His hand moved a little as if to touch her arm, and his eyes glistened -with unusual emotion. - -“I will tell Chukei-san.” - -That was all. The incident was ended; but the girl, wiser by instinct -than her father, although without experience, marked it for the -beginning. What was it that stirred her heart in protest so strangely and -so strongly? She did not know. The ghost of some long dead experience, -perhaps. The wood dove in the trees behind her called plaintively to its -unseen mate. The sun slid down the western heaven and threw his long -rays caressingly over her, face to face with a world-old perplexity. Why -should she be sad at the prospect for which other girls longed? It was -the pleasant homelife with her father, and the deep, quiet home love, -she thought at last; life and love that knew no change. That was the -way she wished to go on, and with a sudden blaze of anger she hated old -Chukei for his unwelcome interference. Gradually her mind recovered its -old poise, and she saw the course she would take. Her father’s attitude -was her good fortune. As long as he continued in that mood the menace was -shorn of its power, and after that—The huge red sun splashed into the -flaming sea, and with its parting fire flashing back from her lambent -eyes she rose and started down the winding path toward home. - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -VII - - -There was joy in the house in Azalea Street. Soichi had come home. His -work at the university was finished, and despite his dislike for study he -had taken high place in honor of the father who wished him to. Now he had -returned to make a beginning in the career Kutami had planned for him. -But for a time there was to be no work. Father and mother and son were -to play a little together and give rein to the pleasure of the reunion. -After that the new venture would take all the effort of both men. - -Kutami intended to branch out. The old business was good enough for -him, but the son was worthy of something better. He should be a banker, -and already the Commoner had arranged with some of his wealthy business -associates for the founding of the new institution which should give -Soichi his opportunity. The friends who gathered at the comfortable -house to celebrate the joyful return of the young man, discussed the new -project with unflagging enthusiasm, and all predicted a proud success for -Soichi. The sake cups were often exchanged and many cigarettes perfumed -the air. There was no flaw anywhere. - -It was the next afternoon that Kutami, trudging along through Timber -Street on his way back from his office, and turning over in his mind -his plans for his son, passed the house of Jukichi. A drizzling rain -was falling, but the Commoner, secure under the wide shelter of his -yellow, oiled-paper umbrella, cared nothing for that. As he passed the -gate of the Samurai a gust of wind swirling through the street tilted -the umbrella sharply back, and Kutami glanced up just in time to see old -Chukei, the matchmaker, coming out. - -“Oho!” he said, as he saw the middleman, “a wedding, eh? I wonder what -lucky young fellow it can be who is to have Kudo-san’s daughter for his -wife.” - -He paused for a moment, looking after the _nakodo_ as he strode toward -the city, then turned and went on. It was no affair of his after all, and -before he had reached his own home he was back again in the absorbing -subject of Soichi and the new bank, and had forgotten all about Jukichi’s -daughter. - -Shrewd old Chukei had met a puzzling rebuff. The circumstances were -everything that to his mind foreshadowed a successful negotiation. But -he had been sent away with almost no explanation. The _nakodo_ shook his -head and plodded along, wondering what to do. - -O-Mitsu was happy. Not soon again, she thought, would this particular -middleman return to her father’s house with his annoying business. With -unwonted lightness of heart she went about her work. Then when the rain -ceased and the sun came out, she stepped out into the yard and on the -tall _getas_ that guarded her dainty feet from the mud, took her way up -the path toward her favorite spot among the pines by the old shrine. -The world was greatly changed for her since last she looked out upon -that familiar scene. The sails of the fishing-boats bellied out under -the fresh breeze, the spray dashed over their bows, the trees swayed and -nodded, everywhere was life and activity. The whole world sang and her -heart with it. - -She stood a long time gazing down at the spreading sea, quite unconscious -that another had climbed the steep path, one who now found even a more -entrancing picture before his eyes than the wonderful view below them. -It was Soichi, come to visit the old shrine. All unprepared for the -vision that came so suddenly before him as he turned to look down on the -well-remembered shore, it was hard to stifle his admiration and surprise. - -Leaning a little against a gnarled old pine, she stood motionless, her -strong profile and the exquisite curve of her chin revealed unwittingly -to him as he paused, half concealed by a clump of trees. Back over the -years since he had seen her, the rush of memory took him to that day when -she had told him that she knew his secret. He saw her again standing in -the road and bidding him, with a smile, come on with her. And now that -little girl was this beautiful woman! She had not changed, and yet she -was all changed. - -Slowly the tide of emotion swelled within him. He could not remember that -he had ever thought she was a pretty girl, and in the years he had spent -at the university he had scarcely thought of her at all. He had seen many -pretty girls there, but never had one affected him like this. Now he saw -at a glance that she was wonderfully beautiful, and the more he looked -the more wonderful she became. It dawned on him that she was much the -most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and immediately he had an almost -irresistible longing to go to her at once and tell her so. - -An unhappy thought of himself restrained him. They were no longer -schoolfellows. She was the daughter of a Samurai and he—Poor Soichi! Not -even his university life had taken from his own consciousness all taint -of the old disgrace. He did not know, because he had had no experience, -that love is _heimin_ as well as _shizoku_, a Commoner as often as a -Gentleman, and that there is never advantage in loving a girl unless you -tell her so. - -He moved a little, and a snapping twig told her that some one was near. -She turned quickly and their eyes met. A long moment they stood so and -neither spoke, yet in that moment the whole world changed for each of -them. Under his steady gaze she felt the blush come tingling up her -throat and spread across her cheeks. Like one grown fast to the ground on -which he rested, he stood and only stared. His brain refused to act, his -tongue to work. Then she moved, and the spell was broken. - -“O-Mitsu-san!” he cried, and tone and glance told all he would have -uttered. - -With all her face rosy with warm blood she gazed fearlessly back into -his eyes, and murmured softly a single word, yet one instinct with the -feeling of a thousand. - -“Thou,” she said, in the old familiar language of their childhood. - -Even as eyes and look had spoken for him when voice and tongue were -mute, so had she answered. His ugly doubts of himself fled at first -sight of her smile and it was the old Soichi who sprang forward to her -side. A thousand questions trembled on his lips and struggled in vain -for utterance. His unruly tongue refused its function, and he stopped in -confusion, even his bold eyes falling before her smiling glance. It was -the girl, older than he in such matters by hundreds of years of heritage, -who said lightly after a little pause: - -“I did not know that you had come home.” - -A dozen emotions fought together for expression, but all were crowded -back, and he answered in commonplace: - -“I have been here nearly a week.” - -“So long?” she said, questioning. - -He fancied he caught a note of reproach in her tone, so far had his -self-esteem come back, and a pang of regret crossed him at the thought -that he had lost those days. - -“I am a fool,” he said irrelevantly, but with air so dejected that one -far less clever than she would have followed his thought. - -She laughed merrily, and the sound of her voice completed his undoing. -He was back to elemental simplicity again, and the passion that was -uppermost in his heart came bursting out with truthful bluntness. - -“You are the most beautiful woman in all the world,” he said. - -Again the blush swept across her face and the long lashes fell over the -merry eyes. The flood-gate of his speech was lifted at last. The torrent -of his emotion flowed forth with the rush of waters long pent up, telling -her the ancient story he had known all his life, but which only that last -quarter hour had revealed to him. And the girl, listening with fluttering -heart, heard more than he said, for he was answering the question she had -asked herself, and she understood now her hot protest at the message of -the _nakodo_. - -They sat down by the great rock on the far slope of the hill, where the -thick pines screened them from the view of visitors to the shrine, and -where the sea lay blue, strong, and peaceful below them. For an hour -of which no power ever could rob them, heart was laid bare to heart. -Innocently, simply, with the peace of the glorious day, they prattled of -the wonder that was theirs, the discovery they alone of all the world had -made, and never a thought cloud floated across their heaven to disturb -the serenity of its sunshine. - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -VIII - - -It was a good thing for Soichi that he had received the proper Japanese -training in emotional self-repression or he certainly would have betrayed -his secret very soon after his return to the house in Azalea Street. -It not only filled him to the overflowing point; it enveloped him -roundabout. He was drowned in it. Only the strong force of habit saved -him, and the preoccupation of his parents prevented them from noticing -his sudden distraction and absent-mindedness. Four days went by, two so -long that night seemed never to come, and two so short that he remembered -of each nothing but the blissful hour when he had seen O-Mitsu. They had -lived over again the past and drunk the joy of the present. Then came the -specter. Boys and girls who fall in love in Japan, where the _nakodo_ -does most of the wooing, have even less chance than Western lovers for -the proverbially rare smooth course of affection. And when he is of such -humble descent as Soichi and she the daughter of a Samurai, that little -chance is very small indeed. But they were true Japanese and had no lack -of courage. They looked their trouble squarely in the eyes and questioned -only how to meet it. - -“Do you remember the teacher who frightened me so that first day at -school?” she asked, going back again to the beginning of all things. -“When they told me first that I should not play with you I asked him if -it were so. Do you know what he said?” - -“Yes, I know,” he answered, a little sadly, for he saw how always the -specter stood between them. - -“He was a Samurai,” she went on, “and he knew. He said the Emperor had -destroyed the old distinction and we were all alike.” - -“Yes,” he replied, “before the law. But there are some things that not -even the Emperor’s law can reach.” - -“Treason!” she cried lightly. “The Emperor’s law reaches everywhere and -touches everything.” - -He looked at her with a smile. “Do you think,” he said, “that the Emperor -wishes us two to be married?” - -Her eyes dwelt fondly on his face, and she answered bravely: - -“He wishes the old barriers to be utterly thrown down and all his people -to be one.” - -The picture of that day at his father’s school when he had asserted his -manhood came back to him with a rush. - -“Ah, yes,” he said soberly, “that is true. Perhaps it might have been, -but I spoiled it.” - -“Thou?” she said, using again that fond expression that sent the blood -surging through him. - -“I struck your brother,” he answered. “Perhaps but for that——” - -“No, no!” she cried. “I know about that. It was right. There would have -been no hope if you had not done it. You do not know Kokan, how proud and -hard he is, how he despises fear. He thought you were afraid of him, and -he hated you for it. If you had not shown him you were not, and—and this -had come, he would have killed you.” - -“Perhaps,” he said coolly. - -His tone startled her. It was only a little, after all, that she knew of -men, and there was a side of Soichi that she did not suspect, because of -the difference in their training. - -“Ah, but he would,” she declared earnestly. “You do not know how quick -and hot his temper is.” - -“Perhaps I should have killed him,” Soichi answered. “It would have been -a fight, not a murder.” - -The words surprised him almost as much as they did her, but for a -different reason. That he had said them to her was the wonder to him; -that he should have the feeling they disclosed was her amazement. It -was the spirit of the Samurai, the spirit that all her training told -her belonged only to them, and yet he revealed it as lightly as if it -were a thing of supreme indifference, a commonplace, the matter-of-fact -possession of every man. A new joy came to her with the unexpected -knowledge, and instantly new hope sprang up, vague and undefined, but -none the less profound. Somehow, some way this unimagined quality in him -would throw down the hateful barrier of prejudice and set them free. -There was a deepened tenderness in the eyes that answered his gaze. - -“You said there would have been no hope if I had not done that,” he went -on, after a little. “Did you think Kokan would ever forgive that blow?” - -“He is brave and true,” she answered softly, “even if he is proud and -scornful. Too brave himself not to admire bravery in another. He thought -you were afraid, but now he knows and in time his anger will die away.” - -“You do not know him so well, I am afraid,” he said. “To be struck by one -he despised so much was an insult he will never forget or forgive. Hope, -for us, must count on something else, yet we must not be without hope. -You know the saying, ‘Even a calamity, if left alone three years, may -turn into a fortune.’” - -She was strangely happy again. It seemed quite natural now that they -should face hopefully forward. She looked out over the shining sea and -began to build dreams, queer dreams that left the Now by unknown paths -and reached the Then by unmarked roads. But always they arrived there, -and it was a country of unclouded happiness where she and he lived in -perfect peace. A long time he sat silent, watching her with eyes that -signaled his mood. At length she turned to him with a little sigh. - -“I must go home,” she said. “My father will say I stay very long at the -shrine and go very often.” - -“So long a time and yet so short,” he said, and rose to his feet. An -unpleasant thought crossed his mind and she saw its shadow. - -“What is it?” she asked. - -“To-morrow the work at the bank begins,” he replied, “and I must go -there.” - -“Well,” she said, “are you not glad of it? It is an honorable occupation.” - -He gave her a puzzled, sorrowful look that brought a peal of merry -laughter. - -“Is it so bad as that?” she asked. - -“When I go to the bank I cannot come here,” he said gravely. “Then when -shall I see you?” - -At once her own face fell. “You are here now,” she said, “and that was -enough. I did not think of to-morrow.” - -“Not merely to-morrow,” he rejoined, “but all the days after that.” - -“Two,” she answered lightly; “there will be always two in seven. We can -thank the new ways that have brought us Saturday and Sunday.” - -“Yes, two in seven,” he responded, so gloomily that she laughed outright. - -“Greedy!” she cried. “Know you not that the avaricious man prepares his -own downfall? How much better are two days than none, as it has been so -long?” She held up her slender fingers and made as if to count the years -he had been away. “And for the other days,” she went on, “there are paper -and ink and brushes, when one knows how to write.” - -She was too happy at her new discovery of him to let so small a matter as -this conjure up clouds. He caught the contagion and her smile chased away -his frown. - -“Good thought!” he said. “Now I know why that troublesome art was taught -me.” - -So, laughing and jesting, they started down the hill. They had almost -reached the bottom when a new difficulty arose. - -“If I send you a letter,” he said soberly, “will not Kudo-san know it?” - -She had thought of that, too, only it did not disturb her. - -“In the roof over the gate,” she said, “there is a split in the shingle. -Underneath one could easily leave a letter that would never be seen -unless someone should look for it.” - -But he, more practical, at once objected. It would be tempting fate to -leave their letters where any day her father might so easily find them. -If he should chance to look over-closely at the gate, or perhaps to have -it repaired when a letter was there, discovery would be certain. - -“If you do not enter the tiger’s den,” she said, “you cannot catch her -cub.” - -“Oh, yes,” he answered; “if one is patient by and by the cub will come -out. There is a better place. In the corner of the yard by the plum tree -there is a big bamboo post in the angle of the fence. To-night, after -dark, I will make a cap for it, and in the hollow beneath shall be our -letter box.” - -“Yes,” she said, “that is best.” - -Satisfied of his skill and ingenuity she gave him her prettiest bow and a -radiant smile, and moved down the path toward Timber Street. He watched -until the far turn shut out from his view the dainty figure in its -silver-gray kimono and iris-violet _obi_, and then thoughtfully took his -own way homeward. - -It was in the time of “Little Heat” when Soichi fitted the cap to the -post. So cleverly he did his work that no one could tell, except by the -closest examination, that there was a seam in the bamboo. On the inside -he made a deep groove in the post and fastened a tongue to the cap so -that it should fit tight always in the same place and never betray what -had been done. Often, after that, he would watch his chance and when no -one was in sight slip up to the post and stealthily lift the cap to take -out or put in a letter. - -The days passed swiftly, in spite of his inability to see O-Mitsu, for -the work at the bank was new and hard, and as the business prospered -there was much for him to do. So _Handon_ and _Donkatu_ (half Sunday and -Sunday), as the country people still call them, came around more quickly -than he had thought, and nearly always they had contrived to arrange a -meeting. Oftenest it was at their favorite big rock back of the pines, -where there was seldom a straggling sight-seer to interrupt them. But -sometimes, on holidays and festivals, it would be at the big Buddhist -temple; and that they liked less, for the crowd interfered, and it was -difficult to find a secluded place or to have more than a few words -together without observation. - -The weeks ran on into months, and the period of the “Cold Dew” came all -too quickly, with its short afternoons and early descending sun, that cut -down their brief hour together and sent them home to write more letters. -For the conversation of lovers is as never-ending in the Mikado’s realm -as in the less fettered courtships of happier lands, and there was always -so very much between them that had to be said and answered. - -And now a new, dread subject was looming up. All over the land traveled -the same sinister whisper, and men said the Dragon was rousing himself, -and talked of the terrible rustling of his great scales. The winds of -war were beginning to blow lightly from the north, and far and near the -people waited anxiously to see if they could not be diverted. As time -went on, and stronger and stronger came the hostile currents, more and -more soberly Soichi and O-Mitsu discussed the darkening future. Much -it meant to them, for Soichi would be a soldier. His last birthday -had brought him to the age for conscription service, and although his -university course would give him some exemption, he was not one to claim -it, if the Emperor were engaged in deadly strife; nor indeed would -O-Mitsu have him. As autumn dipped into winter the wrath of the people -toward their great antagonist grew and deepened, and anxiety lest there -should be war gave place to desire for it. - -They were sitting again by their great rock one late fall afternoon when -the grass was brown and dead, and through the bare branches that waved -above the housetops the wind blew bleak and cold from off a sullen sea. -They had talked of war and what it might bring to them. Each felt it -would be the end of all their dreams, for a soldier’s duty is to die for -the Emperor, and Soichi would not come back when once he had been called -to the front. - -“It will be a very great honor for me,” he said at length, turning from a -long, silent look at the wide-stretching water. - -She glanced up at him questioningly. - -“It is the first time a Kutami has had the privilege of serving the -Empire as a soldier,” he went on, “and I shall be very proud to go. It -has done a great deal for us.” - -She made no answer, but sat with her slender hands folded across her lap. - -“Will you pray to Kwannon when I am gone?” he asked gravely. - -“Yes, and to Shaka,” she said softly. - -“Ah, to him also,” he returned; “yes, to him, too. We commit it all to -Shaka.” - -The low-hanging sun warned them that their all-too-short hour was ended, -and they started down the familiar path in silence. At the turn, where -they separated, he paused, and she looked up into his eyes. - -“To Shaka, too,” he said, and strode on. - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -IX - - -There was plenty of work at the new bank, and Kutami divided his time -between it and his old affairs. In the street one morning as he was going -to the bank he came upon Chukei, the _nakodo_, of whom he had not a -thought since that day he saw him at Kudo-san’s gate. - -“Good morning, Chukei-san,” he said; “what young people are you trying to -make happy now?” - -“Not your son, surely,” answered the middleman, instantly scenting the -possibility of a fortunate stroke, and bowing very low to make a good -impression. - -“Ho, ho!” cried Chobei, with a hearty laugh. “You are quite right. Surely -not my son. He has no thought of marrying yet.” - -“Be not oversure,” replied the _nakodo_. “One never can tell what is in -the minds of these likely young fellows.” - -“That is so,” returned the banker; “but I think I know my son quite -well enough. I saw you coming from Kudo-san’s house a while ago. That -must have been a proposal for his pretty daughter?” He chucked at his -shrewdness in guessing. - -Chukei was not much inclined to discuss his clients’ affairs, but he was -tempted by the hope of gaining a new one, and besides, he loved a bit of -gossip. - -“Yes,” he answered grinning sheepishly, “and a very good proposal it was, -too.” - -“Indeed,” said Chobei, with neighborly interest. “I had not heard of the -wedding.” - -“No, and you will not,” replied the matchmaker, a little sourly, for it -always angered him to think of the good business he had lost because of -O-Mitsu’s refusal. “My proposal was not accepted.” - -“Dear me!” exclaimed Kutami; “that is very strange. Who was the man?” - -“Yamamoto-san, the silk merchant,” responded the _nakodo_. “His son is -one of the finest young men in the city.” - -“Yes, indeed,” said the banker, “I should think any man would be glad to -have his daughter make such a fortunate marriage. What did Kudo-san say?” - -“That was the greatest surprise,” answered old Chukei. “He said his -daughter did not wish to marry.” - -“Well, well!” cried the banker. “Who ever heard of a girl refusing to -marry when her father wished her too? Things have changed very much in -Japan when that can happen.” - -“They have indeed,” replied the _nakodo_. “Least of all would one have -thought it of Kudo-san, but it is quite true. I have been there three -times since summer, each time with a very excellent marriage to offer, -and always it has been the same answer.” - -“I wonder what the reason can be,” said the banker thoughtfully. “It is -certainly very strange. Good morning, Chukei-san,” and Chobei went on to -the bank, leaving the middleman quite uncertain whether he had made a -good investment of his gossip or not. - -Jukichi’s neighbors had not missed the visits of the _nakodo_ to his -house, and as he had only one daughter and there was no wedding, it was -quite evident that several proposals for O-Mitsu had been rejected. It -was whispered about, in Lower Timber Street, that it was the girl herself -who had made the refusals. But if Jukichi had any regrets, they never -appeared. He loved the spirited girl and her gentle ways about the house, -and it mattered nothing to him if the neighborhood gossips talked of the -scandal of a girl who dared disclose a preference of her own contrary to -the wish of her father. Such a wonder might not be heard of again in all -Japan. He did not care. He enjoyed his home and his ease, and she was the -great factor in both. - -Perhaps if he had been less fond, he might have been more suspicious. Yet -it had not occurred to the simple Samurai that there could be reasons -for his daughter’s hot distemper with the hopeful authors of Chukei’s -vicarious proposals other than her own demonstrative desire to remain in -the old home with him. The clever girl was shrewder than he guessed. But -who shall follow the blind trail of Love and pick out his footprints with -the certainty which may say, “There he stepped,” or “Here he stopped,” or -“See where he ran!” - -There was lively interest in the house in Azalea Street that evening when -Chobei recounted his conversation with the _nakodo_. O-Koyo listened with -the kindly sympathy that ever kindles the matchmaking maternal heart. As -for Soichi, he heard with a growing feeling of impending disaster that -made it difficult for him to conceal his emotion. O-Mitsu had never told -him anything of this, and if she had been rejoiced at the discovery of -qualities in him which she had not anticipated, it was his turn to be -surprised at her ability to keep to herself a subject which she knew -would be so disquieting to him. He got out his little writing-box and -began a letter to her. O-Koyo sighed fondly as she glanced at the corner -where he sat with his ink and brush, busily covering a long roll of paper -with she knew not what words. - -“Ah,” she said, “if only one of the proposals had been for Soichi -perhaps she would not have refused.” - -“Hut!” cried her husband sharply. “Our son marry the daughter of -Kudo-san! What can you be thinking of?” - -“Why not?” she replied quickly, undaunted by his scornful look. “Strange -things happen nowadays. Stranger than that have happened already, why not -again? We are rich and they are very poor.” - -“Ah, yes,” returned Chobei soberly. “That is true. But money is not so -much yet, in Japan, and many more very strange things must come to pass -before it is. Besides, we are Eta and they Samurai.” - -“No, no!” cried his wife, with unaccustomed daring; “we were Eta and they -were Samurai. Now all that is ended, and you have the best cause to know -it who were yourself associated so closely with this Kudo-san in the -school. To be sure we are only Commoners yet, but who knows what may not -come? If there should be war, what opportunities for advancement may it -not bring? One who can do for himself what you have done may do a great -deal more. Why should not you, or Soichi himself, win the promotion that -would make old Kudo-san glad to consent?” - -She paused, excited and trembling, surprised at herself for making -so much argument against her husband. Chobei sat looking at her in -astonishment. Never before had she shown such feeling. - -“Whatever is the world coming to,” he exclaimed at length, “when foolish -women can talk like that!” - -He filled his little pipe and exhausted the pellet of tobacco almost at -one puff. But Soichi said nothing at all, and went on making his brush -fly like a dragon over the paper as if he had heard not a word of their -talk. O-Koyo said no more, and her husband smoked furiously, rapping -his pipe on the _hibachi_ to knock out the ashes, as if he meant to -smash it to pieces. At length Soichi rolled up his yards of affectionate -ideographs and slipped them deftly inside the long, narrow envelope, with -sprays of delicate pink cherry blossoms trailing over it. Then he went -out into the night and stole down to the corner of Kudo-san’s fence. Only -the plum-tree saw him slip the cap of the bamboo post and lay his love -letter carefully inside. Then he strode off toward the path up the hill. -His heart was in a tumult. Straight up to the old shrine he went, paused -a moment before it, and hurried on to their trysting-place at the big -rock. There he sat down, and a long time pondered the strange, exciting -news he had heard that evening. When he returned he found his father -still silently smoking rapid pipefuls and O-Koyo sitting beside him with -never a word, her hands busy with sewing. As he entered Chobei looked up -and asked: - -“Where have you been?” - -“I went out to walk,” answered Soichi, “and climbed up to the shrine on -the hill-top.” - -Perhaps it was his talk with the _nakodo_, perhaps it was the suggestion -of his wife that had set Chobei to thinking definitely about the future -of his son. Theretofore there had been only a vague recognition of the -fact that sometime Soichi would marry. Now suddenly it came to him that -the boy was grown to man’s estate, that the condition he half dreaded, -half expected, was already come. With the realization came back the -mental picture of old Chukei. It was time to look about them, he thought, -to consider the possibility of finding a suitable mate for his promising -son, and, perhaps, to employ the middleman. After a time Chobei put aside -his pipe and began to speak of what he had been thinking. Soichi listened -like the dutiful son he was, and O-Koyo heard gladly, for even if it were -not to be the beautiful daughter of the Samurai, she would be happy to -see the son of whom she was so proud well married, and the daughter in -the house would make her cares much lighter. When at length there came a -pause in which Soichi could speak, it was with an air of quiet unconcern -that he said: - -“But first I must do my service in the army. If war does come, perhaps -there will be no need for Chukei-san.” - -Then, because they were alone in their own privacy, where no outside -eye or ear might see or hear, and it was not necessary to conceal their -genuine emotions, they gave full rein to the expression of their sober -feelings, and the mother, who would be proudly scornful of tears or -outward show of grief if the time should come to send her boy to the -hardships and hazards of camps and battlefields, gave the hot, protesting -drops unheeded flow. But Soichi showed the mettle that was in him, -saying calmly: - -“But if the Emperor wishes it!” - -Reverently the Commoner and his wife bowed at the mention of that name -and the suggestion of his possible desire. There was no more loyal -family in all his realm than they, and if he needed the sacrifice of all -they had, and life itself, they had only to know his need to make the -offering. The proudest opportunity life held was to die for him, and it -was with heartfelt acquiescence that they heard their son add: - -“Then I should be sorry that I had only one life to give him.” - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -X - - -“Three times, he told my father, he had made offer of marriage for you, -and each time it was refused.” - -Soichi looked down upon her where she sat by the big rock, and his black -eyes shone with a great tenderness. She did not look up, but gazed away -toward the sea and made no reply. All the time since she had read his -letter she had wondered what to say to him. For she had wished earnestly -that he might not know. There was trouble enough already for them, and it -could do no good to tell him. It could only add to his disquiet, and as -it was they seldom met without some shadow of their specter falling over -them. So she meant to bear this alone, and if by and by the barriers were -destroyed, then it would add to their joy. But now it had come, through -the foolish gabble of old Chukei. She looked up at him standing there, so -strong and manly, and the sadness she saw smote her heart. - -“Three times,” he repeated. - -The old roguish smile came into her eyes. “But none of them was from a -banker,” she said softly. - -As always, she had only to seem merry to drive away his sober mood, and -now the light-hearted answer brought its quick smile in return. - -“But why did you not tell me?” he demanded. - -“Thou art dull, Big One,” she answered, “to ask me such questions. Surely -thou must have guessed.” - -“I am not quick with riddles,” he said. - -Manlike he had but one way. He must know it all and she must tell. The -intuition that would have conjured up the whole scene for her was -utterly lacking in him, and as she watched him, she saw the shadow settle -on his brow that warned her of his shifting mood. - -“For one,” she said quickly, “how could I tell when you were not here, -and thought so little of me you had not even told me where you were?” - -He did not understand, and she laughed at his puzzled look. Then he saw. - -“So long ago,” he said, “before I came home?” - -“Is it so very long?” she asked. “I do not remember. It seemed but -yesterday I saw you here. How many years is it, man to whom it has been -so long?” - -He gazed at her bewildered. He was no match for her at such fencing of -wits. He flung himself down beside her and said shortly: - -“Have the kindness to explain, if you please. Do you not see how I am -tortured?” - -“No, no!” she cried, “not that! Were they not all refused? For what are -you tortured? Ah, if you had been a woman you would have been taught -in childhood how foolish it is to admit jealous thoughts. Well, then, -since you insist so much, the first one was refused—I did not know why. -My father gave me my wish and I said No. Then one day I went to visit an -old shrine I love very much, and I found out why. After that, with the -others—there was no other reason. Now is the torture ended?” - -He turned to her and the smile in his eyes was complete reward. “I am -very glad,” he said. - -“And very foolish,” she added softly. - -“I wished very much to know,” he said after a pause. “To-morrow I am -summoned to the temple for examination.” - -“To-morrow!” she cried. She knew it was to come but had not thought it -was so near. “To-morrow!” she repeated, whispering, as if to herself. -“Are you glad to go? Perhaps you will not be taken.” - -“Nay,” he said, “if there is war I shall be glad and proud, and if there -is no war the time will soon be ended.” - -“Very soon,” she said demurely, and made as if counting on her fingers. -“When a few months may seem so many years how long will three years be?” - -“Long enough for more refusals,” he answered, and she laughed at the -retort. - -“But it is by lot that they are chosen,” she said, “and it may not fall -on you.” - -He smiled fondly at her eagerness and innocence. “Yes, by lot,” he -answered. “But your Samurai policemen know well where to make the lots -fall.” - -She knew what he meant. Young men as tall and sturdy as he did not -escape, even though the selection was by chance. There was a keen-eyed, -patriotic, military intelligence that supervised the casting of the lots, -and the girl, who gloried in his strength, foresaw the certainty that -he would be chosen. Nor was he, in truth, unwilling to go. If it should -happen that the wheel of the lottery left him free to stay at home, as it -did some quite as fit as he for service, he would accept the result with -a clean conscience. For brief and infrequent as were his opportunities -for seeing O-Mitsu, even they would be lost if he were in the army. Thus -far his loyalty and sense of duty to the empire let him go. Before the -lots were drawn he could hope that they would miss him. When the decision -was made, if he were taken he would set his heart to his work with a -will and devotion no tie of home, no merely personal consideration, would -ever cause to waver for an instant. And of all who knew and loved him -none would urge him on more eagerly than the girl. She was looking at -him proudly as he sat before her, and it came to her that he was of the -build and stature sought for throughout the empire for the distinguished -regiments which had the honor of bearing the imperial name. - -“You will go to the Guards,” she said. - -“Oh, no,” he answered quickly; “I could not hope for such an honor.” - -“Honor!” she said with a smile. “It will be an honor to the Guards to -have such a soldier.” - -That was too much and he laughed at the joke. “But I am not a soldier,” -he protested. - -“You will be,” she answered confidently. “There are some things about -you, Big One, which you do not know yourself, but I know. Come, it is -time to go. You must drink no sake to-night, and sleep well, to be ready -for the examination.” - -There was plenty of company for Soichi at the temple the next morning. -All the young men of his age in the district had been summoned, and there -was a clatter of eager talk among them as they awaited their turns with -the examiners. But Soichi had little to say. He heard with amusement -the boastful words of some who knew themselves to be at the threshold -of distinction and honor, and he had a strange sympathy for some who -hoped to escape. For himself, a night of agitated reflection, sleepless -in spite of O-Mitsu’s parting injunction, had brought him a day of calm -indifference. He was ready for whatever might come. The businesslike -surgeon, working rapidly but carefully, pronounced his verdict with -prompt decision, and one after another was set free or sent on to the -recruiting captain. At length it was Soichi’s turn. The brusque doctor’s -eyes glistened as he saw the rippling muscles of the broad shoulders, and -an exclamation of professional pleasure broke from his lips as he caught -the rhythmic note of the deep breathing. - -“Lungs like a bellows,” he cried to his assistant. - -Weight, height, and measurements were quickly taken, and with an -enthusiasm he had not displayed in many a day the surgeon called to the -recording sergeant: - -“_Ichiban_” (first-class). - -Already Soichi knew his fate. His university degree would take the place -of the recruiting captain’s mental examination, and after that there -would be only the certainty of the lots. It did not take the captain -long to repeat the surgeon’s “_Ichiban_,” and as Soichi turned away from -giving his record at the desk, he heard the recruiting officer say to the -inspector major, who had just come in: - -“There is one for the Guards. Just look at him.” - -O-Mitsu’s judgment was confirmed, and he went home to await the notice of -his selection, and to write perhaps his last letter to her. For he would -not dare to write to her home when he was away, and they had no friend -whom they would trust with their secret. It was a sober letter. There -seemed little chance now that war would be avoided. Already men said that -the throat of the Dragon had been touched, and throughout the Empire -preparations were going on rapidly for the time when he should strike. - -With simple directness Soichi told his news, and spoke proudly of the -intimation he had had that he should go to the Guards. There would be a -few weeks of drill and preliminary work, he supposed, in the barracks -at division headquarters in the near-by city, and it might be that once -or twice more he should have the opportunity of seeing her before he -went to Tokyo to join his regiment. After that would come the war and -the battlefield. She would know he did not say it to boast, but he meant -to do a soldier’s duty. It would have been sweet, it there had been no -war (he spoke of it as if it were already begun), to live on there with -her, for in some way it would have worked out for them. But that was -impossible now; a dream to be forgotten. The dearest wish of his heart -was to die for the Emperor, and he prayed only that Shaka would permit -him to meet his fate gloriously and with honor. - -That was all. Not a word to her of the love that filled his heart. Not -a message of hope or farewell, not a hint of constancy or patience. All -that was behind him. His duty lay to the future and to the grim chance of -war. - -It was a raw, cold night, with a bitter wind searching through the bare -branches of the plum tree, and Soichi shivered as he lifted the cap of -the bamboo post and thrust in his letter. Then he patted the cap back -into place and turned away, nor noticed that a telltale corner of the -envelope projected through the joint he had not closed tightly. And of -all the evenings in the year, that was the one Jukichi chose to visit the -plum tree. - -Next day the notification came. Soichi had been selected for immediate -service and was to go to the Guards. His record in the military work -at school was such that the preliminary training at adjacent division -headquarters would be waived and he would report directly to his -regiment. He would start the following day. - -He went to the bank and finished up his work there in preparation for -indefinite absence. Then he wrote a little note to O-Mitsu, telling her -the orders he had received, and started home. The early winter evening -had fallen before he reached the house in Timber Street, and he stopped -at the bamboo post to leave his note and perhaps to find a letter from -her. He lifted the cap with excited eagerness and felt in the hollow. -There, sure enough, was a letter. He took it out with thumping heart and -dropped in his own; then hurried around the corner home, impatient for -light to read her words. - -The first glance at the envelope sent a queer sensation of coldness -through his heart, as if he had suddenly been struck chill. The writing -was strange. The delicate characters of O-Mitsu, beautiful as the work -of a famous artist, were replaced by the strong, heavy, brush strokes of -an angry man. For an instant he stared at them with mind a blank. Then -he knew. Someone had found them out. He stood as if paralyzed by shock, -nerveless, inert, expecting some dire calamity. Then he tore open the -envelope. - -A single glance was sufficient to tell the story. The signature was the -first thing his eye caught, and after that he could hardly see the other -words. Those two dominated everything—“Kudo Jukichi”—her father! The -new-clothed dignity of the law that made him a Commoner slipped from him -like a kimono unfastened; the honor of his new service, the pride of his -regimental assignment faded away, and he was again the Eta of the old -days, outcast, despised, a very pollution. All that he had done, all -that his father had done, the position they had won in the community, -the consideration of their fellows were made as nothing by the simple -apparition of those two words. - -But after a little the old inborn pride of race came back to him and -he straightened up like a new man. He was one of whom the Emperor had -deigned to think; what should he care what others said? What mattered -it after all that her father had learned their secret? Nothing but that -was changed, and sooner or later that must have come. He had done no -wrong. He was not changed. The law that had given him citizenship was -still the law. The Emperor’s care was over him. It was his Sovereign’s -wish that he was what he was. He took new heart and began to read the -letter. His brain was cooler now. In the mental numbness that followed -the first shock he had felt only a vague terror of the fury of Kudo. But -as he read, the words that had seemed so awful in anticipation lost some -of their dreaded force. The wild outburst of rage was not there, but in -its place a cool, fine sarcasm that cut as if the Samurai who wrote had -wielded his sword instead. - -A curious calm possessed him as he finished the letter. The haughty pride -of the Samurai, his bitter contempt for the “outcast” who dared presume -to think of his daughter, his jeers at the “upstart trader” had lost -their sting. It was a soldier of the Empire, a man of the Guards, who -folded the letter and replaced it in its envelope. With a smiling face he -met his father and mother and sat down to supper. - -After the meal, when the pipes were brought out, he handed the letter -to his father to read. It might as well be told now. His poor little -secret, stripped of its veil, seemed very small and miserable. But he -was going away to-morrow, and unknown to-morrow might do what it would -with him. He listened unmoved while Chobei slowly read aloud the bitter, -mocking words of the man for whom he had done so much. O-Koyo covered -her face with her kimono sleeves and wept openly; but father and son sat -with steady features and gave no sign, save that when the reading was -ended the Commoner laid his strong arm across his son’s shoulder in shy, -unaccustomed caress, and said: - -“My son! My son!” No more. - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -XI - - -“The bee stings the weeping face,” they say in Japan, and Soichi proved -the truth of the proverb. It was a queer little procession that formed at -the house in Azalea Street to escort him to the railroad station whence -the train was to bear him away to a soldier’s life. A dismal rain was -sifting down from the sodden clouds that seemed to hang just above the -housetops. But the banner that set forth his name and the fact of his -service was borne none the less proudly by his old schoolmates, and the -friend who carried the small bundle of his treasured belongings held -his head none the less erect because he strode through muddy streets. -Already the Dragon was beginning to roar, and his voice rang from end to -end of the land. It was a last farewell these friends were taking of the -young soldier, and they honored him and envied the glory he would win. -There was nothing to say. In silence the little company walked along. But -as they passed the dilapidated old house in Timber Street, where the plum -tree stood bare and desolate in the corner of the yard, Soichi, daring -a hasty glance, raised his eyes for an instant to the balcony under the -gable end. Just for a moment he looked, but that was enough to set his -heart a-thumping as it had not done for many a day. For in that instant -he caught, at a parting of the _shoji_ (paper windows), a glimpse of a -beautiful face and the flash of eyes undimmed by tears, that sent him a -message of cheer and hope and constancy. His heart was strangely light -as he trudged along behind his banner, and though the rain fell never so -hard it was a day of sunshine for him. - -Then came the weary miles of railway and the army. In the car he met some -others going up to join his regiment, and talk of peace and war beguiled -the miles until at last the train pulled into Tokyo and in a few minutes -Soichi was in barracks. The proverb of the bee and the weeping face came -home to him when he was assigned to the company in which Kudo Kokan was a -lieutenant, the old Kokan with the hot heart and ready insolence he knew -so well. - -“_Shikata-ga-nai_” (it can’t be helped), said Soichi, and set himself to -do his work with all his heart, as becomes a member of the Guards. - -Fortunately for him there was much to do and not much time which -Lieutenant Kudo could devote to personal animosity. - -“Ha, the Commoner!” he cried with fine scorn when he first saw Soichi. - -The young soldier wondered what would come next, but it was drill hour, -and Kokan had no chance for private spleen. He was hampered now by the -service, and the near, sure approach of war. It would not have surprised -Soichi to see the lieutenant swing his sword in execution of the revenge -he doubted not had been cherished all the years since that day at school. -But he did not comprehend fully as yet the restrictions that hedged -Kokan, and that first taunt of “Commoner” gave no clew. It was strange, -he thought, that the lieutenant had not said “Eta,” but the hours of -“goose step” and drill that followed left him no time to think of other -things. He had been adept at such work in his school, but now he found -that the intervening years had cost him much in facility and precision, -and it was hard work to be always ready for the sharp command, to make -himself again the machine needed for perfection. When it was over and he -got back to barracks, he was tired out, ready enough for his rice and -fish, and after that for his blankets. When he thought again of Kokan’s -taunt, there came to him also the recollection of his defense at the -school and he understood. It had been passed over lightly then that he -had accused Kokan of insulting the Emperor, but in the army it might not -go so easily again. It would be indeed a serious charge for an officer -to face. It made the boy smile as he recognized the new bridle on his -lieutenant’s insolence. - -He understood now, also, that there would be no attempt at actual -violence. For himself he did not fear. Man to man, with equal arms, he -was ready to meet Kokan at any time. He dreaded disgrace far more than -death, and if Kokan should attack him the dishonor would affect also the -lieutenant and all his family, and that meant that O-Mitsu would suffer. -So he saw with deep relief the bearing of his officer, so different to -what he had expected. - -In scores of ways, however, the lieutenant found occasion to give Soichi -a taste of his quality, and it was apparent that Kokan had been informed -how matters stood at home. His first detail to guard duty brought Soichi -a test. He had had time to canvass the whole situation and had reached -his decision. He was a soldier of the Emperor and war was coming on. -He would do his full duty always to the very utmost and no personal -distraction or injury should deflect him. He would bear the injustice of -Kokan without complaint, hoping only to win release by an honorable death -in battle. But if the persecution became more than he could endure he -would kill Kokan and himself. - -From a course thus deliberately mapped out he was not the man to be -easily turned, and so he was ready when Kokan came by, inspecting the -posts, and greeted him with: - -“So _hinin_!” (not human, outcast). - -He brought his rifle sharply to salute, and held his head erect and his -eyes steadily front as if he had not heard the insult or the instant -correction to “_heimin_” (Commoner) of the cautious lieutenant. With -searching eyes Kokan looked him up and down, examined his rifle and -equipment, but could find no flaw. Then he demanded the orders and -listened intently as Soichi repeated without a slip the instructions he -had received. With a sinister smile the baffled officer passed on, and -his victim knew that was only the beginning. - -There was a different sort of smile on Soichi’s face as he thought how -his lieutenant had tried to catch him. - -“If he keeps that up,” he said to himself, “it will make me the best -soldier in the regiment to be always ready for him.” He nearly laughed -aloud at the idea. “I might even win promotion. How angry he would be at -that!” - -The warning was valuable. Soichi kept himself ever on the alert, but in -his heart he began to despise the Samurai. It was a petty, dishonorable -trick he had played, saying _hinin_ and then correcting himself. Kudo-san -would never do such a thing, he thought, and how O-Mitsu’s pretty lips -would curl in scorn if she knew. There was compensation, after all, for -what he must endure. If he kept his own honor unstained Kokan could do -him no real harm. - -The days wore on with many little stratagems of Kokan to catch the -Commoner napping. But Soichi, always vigilant, escaped. The endless -preparations for active service hurried along and there began to be talk -of the regiment being moved to a naval base, ready for transport oversea. - -Suddenly from end to end a great hush fell over the land. It was as if -the nation were crouching, ready to leap and holding its breath as it -waited only the word to spring. War had come, and all men knew. The -gossip ceased that had filled minds and mouths, and men went to and fro -in solemn, awesome silence. Still there was no outward show, and the -stranger who looked on with inexperienced eyes saw only the old round of -trade and work and cheerful amusement, with never an indication of the -dreadful business at last undertaken. - -Then came the first sign. From mouth to mouth the whisper ran—the -Reserves were summoned to the colors. From never a house to which the -fateful finger pointed came there a sound of grief or dismay. Gladly, -quickly, but in silence and in the night the men responded. In twos and -threes they took their way to their meeting-places and few they were who -saw or heard. Town and city wore their placid air of peace. Even the -winds of war, that had blown so roughly over the land, were stilled, as -in ghostly stealth the nation answered the call. - -In the middle of the night Soichi found himself in full kit marching -swiftly to the station. No banners waved, no bands blared, no trumpets -sounded. No throngs of eager friends gathered to give the men farewell. -No loyal cheers encouraged them and urged them to duty’s task. Through -empty, silent streets, between houses barred and darkened, in the hush -of a march to the grave, the regiment passed to the waiting trains. -Noiselessly the men climbed into the cars and only the hushed, brief -orders of the officers broke the stillness. No ring of bell or scream of -whistle marked their departure. Morning dawned over a city ignorant of -what had been done, and only the Reservists coming to the empty barracks -knew that the forward movement had begun. - -In the corner of his car Soichi threw off his heavy pack and curled -himself up in his great-coat. Near him no man spoke. In silent peace -they lay wrapped in their own thoughts or already soundly asleep. Ahead, -toward the center of the car, a little group gathered around the glow of -their cigarettes and talked in subdued, but excited whispers. So they -rumbled off down the road through the darkness, headed toward War. - -With a tranquil mind Soichi lay in his comfortable corner and thought of -what had happened and what was to come. He had no fear of the future. -His only anxiety was lest he should fail unwittingly or his opportunity -should not come. He belonged to the Empire. It had made him all he was, -and now that it needed him he would give it cheerfully all he had of -muscle, brain, or life. He had no expectation of coming back. That day he -had written his parents his last good-by. He calmly and fully expected to -die on the field, and was concerned only to make his death count for the -most he could. He wondered how the end would come, and hoped it would be -in the first line of battle. - -Yet not all the men would be killed! He knew that in the last war, when -he was a boy, only a few, comparatively, died. By far the majority of -them came back. What if it should be his fate to go through the dangerous -trial and come out unscathed! The human heart within him leaped at the -thought, and his mind came back with a start to the letter from O-Mitsu -he had received only that afternoon. He smiled now at his surprise in -getting it. He had not thought it possible that she could write to -him. In his inability to send letters to her it seemed, of course, she -could not reach him. He had even thought she did not know where he was. -Kokan must have written home about the new member of his company and -unconsciously given her the information he, most of all, would have -withheld. Soichi laughed at the thought of such a trick for fate to play -on the imperious lieutenant. - -There the letter was now, safe in his pocket, and he felt again, as he -touched it, the thrill with which he had read her good-by; the simple -straightforward statement of her unchanging love for him, and how, after -her father’s discovery of his letter, there had been a scene of terrible -anger; how she had braved him with the point of her dagger at her heart -and told him she would never marry. The man for her was a soldier, as -befitted the daughter of a Samurai, and now her soldier was going away -to die for his country and hers. So then, good-by. He was a soldier and -would do a soldier’s duty. - -Yes, he would do a soldier’s duty, he had no doubt of that. But suppose -after doing it to the utmost limit, life should still remain? Ah, that -would be the last crowning stroke of cruel fate. Even her constancy held -out no promise to him. The honor he coveted waited in a sable cloak on -some unknown battlefield. He shut his heart to other hope. - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -XII - - -The winter wind whistled drearily through the rigging as the transport -came to anchor, and the men shivered with cold in spite of their heavy, -fur-lined coats. The business of war was begun in earnest now, and Soichi -and his fellows bustled about the ship making the final preparations -for debarkation. At last, with kits tightly packed and every article -carefully stowed, so that nothing should be lost, they stumbled down the -gangway and into the boats. The transport lay far off from the shallow -beach and it was a long hard pull for the shore. A great bonfire was -their beacon, for they were landing late at night, and the search lights -of the war ships that had convoyed them lighted up their course. With -his cap pulled down on his head as far as it would go and the fur collar -of his overcoat turned up about his ears, Soichi stood wedged among his -mates. The keel touched and into the icy water they plunged waist-deep to -wade ashore. - -That was but the foretaste. They stood around the fire they soon had -blazing, warming their aching feet, drying their clothes, and talking of -what was ahead. They had said good-by to transportation. Now the miles -they had to cover would be made on their feet, and many a man looked -ruefully at the heavy, unaccustomed boots and wondered how he should -endure the march. Soichi found his muscles put to a new test. It was one -thing to drill for hours in the barracks square and quite another to -march for hours along a frozen road carrying his heavy kit. - -It was bitter cold, far colder than he had ever known it in Japan, and -the big fur-lined overcoat, although it kept his body warm, hampered his -legs in walking and made him very weary. It was with the utmost effort, -when he went on sentry duty after a hard day on the road, that he could -keep awake, and he thought regretfully that he was not doing his full -duty, because only the fear that Kokan would catch him kept his eyes from -closing. - -No, it was not at all like barrack life. There the rice and fish and -pickles were always ready when the day’s work was done, but often now -they had to wait for hours, far into the night sometimes, for the big -kettles to come up and the rice to be boiled. And now there was no sake. -Such supplies as that could not keep up with the march, and though -occasionally some of his comrades managed to get a bottle of beer or two -from some terrified Korean as they passed or camped in a village, Soichi -dared not risk it. It was only another chance for Kokan. - -That young man busied himself with seemingly increasing vigor, watching -to trap his victim in any slip. But day by day he saw Soichi’s own -prediction being verified, and the sturdy young fellow becoming always -a better soldier, until other officers began to remark it and Kokan was -obliged to conceal his wrath under a smiling assent. - -They left many weary miles behind, and now excitement began to grow -among the men, for each day brought them perceptibly nearer the enemy -and the actual clash of arms. Daily the rumors from ahead grew in size -and portent. The scouts were in contact with the enemy’s advance. There -had been a brush. The first shots had been exchanged, and the sight of -two or three wounded men carried by on stretchers set the whole regiment -to shouting “_Banzai!_” and put fresh vigor into their steps. They sang -the war songs they had learned in barracks back in Tokyo, the precentors -striding along at the side of the column chanting the lines, and the -whole regiment roaring them out after the leaders. - -They were going over the ground from which the men of their regiment, -now awaiting their call in the Second Reserves, had helped to drive the -scrambling Chinese in the war that had been the forerunner of this one. -Every day brought them to some new point of interest that set tongues to -wagging with increasing volubility and gave new impetus to the march. -Each night the kindly surgeon looked them over and gave a helpful bit of -advice here, and a friendly word of warning there, showed how to bathe -and bandage the blistered feet or massage the aching limbs, added sober -caution about the use of water and told how to avoid taking cold. - -So half the long march was covered. Far ahead, they knew, was the wide -river where the enemy was expected to make his determined stand. There -would be their first battle, and they pressed on toward it eagerly as -toward the goal of a life’s ambition. But one morning, when the regiment -had the head of the column, all unexpectedly the sound of rifle fire a -little ahead drifted back to them, and immediately the order to double -brought a roaring cheer as they sprang forward. The enemy had made a -dash with cavalry, and the advanced guard was checked. Up they swept -with flashing eyes, hot for the fight. Through Soichi’s brain whirled a -wild vision of a charge in the face of the foe and the heavy pack grew -lighter as he rushed forward. But it was no charge. Deployed under cover -of a long stone wall they had barely tasted the joy of using their rifles -when the enemy fled, leaving behind only four or five of his dead to -mark the place of his defeat. It was hardly a skirmish, but it served -to fire the blood of the men, and serenely they promised to wipe out the -disappointment when at last the great day should come. - -The winter wore away and spring came on. Still they were tramping -steadily toward the river. Work was much easier now that they had settled -into it, and they made more miles with less waste of energy. The grass -turned green in the valleys, and along the streams the first wild flowers -put forth their blossoms. Fur-lined greatcoats gave place to wool, and -with these rolled on the shoulders instead of flapping about the legs the -men stepped along lightly and gayly. - -Now they learned a new exercise. Hardly would they get into camp before -half of them would be turned out for instruction in field intrenchment. -The short-handled shovel Soichi carried strapped to the side of his -knapsack was not very large, but he learned how to dig a wide, deep hole -with it in remarkably short time. Morning after morning as they moved on -toward the north they left beside their camp ground proof of their work -in samples of the different kinds of trenches they might come to need in -the field. - -They saw very little of the enemy. After that one brief clash he seemed -unwilling to venture another encounter and kept out of the way, except -that now and then a little group of his horsemen appeared for a few -minutes on some far-off hill. It was march and dig and sleep, and do it -all over again. But all the time they were nearing the river, and at -last, when they had been almost two months on the road, they came to the -range of bold hills that flanked the stream and concealed the enemy’s -country from their view. - -Here they camped several days. The scouts and advanced guards had driven -the Russians back to the islands in the stream and the near shore was -their own. But before they could go over the range and down into the town -that lay in the pockets of the hills on the river bank, another kind of -work was to be done. In little squads they scoured the near-by country -with axes and ropes and brought in great bundles of pine boughs from -the scrub-covered hills, and piles of mats and long cornstalks from the -huts. Then at night they crossed the hills and flanked the river side of -the road with tall screens which shut off the view of the enemy’s scouts -on the high cross-river ridges. Where the way led straight toward his -camps they built huge arches, whose broad tops made a great curtain that -covered the road entirely. Then, sheltered by arches and screens, so that -no enemy could tell their strength, they marched on into the town and -were quartered once more in comfortable houses. Soichi dropped his pack -with strange exaltation. When they left this place it would be to go to -battle, and perhaps that fight would bring the opportunity he desired. - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -XIII - - -It was ten o’clock the second night in town, and Soichi had been asleep -in his warm red blankets two hours or more when the sergeant shook him -awake and told him to get up. He was to take rifle and cartridge belt and -follow, making no noise. In the darkness he joined a squad of his mates -and saw Omori, Ito, and two or three others of his friends, all equipped -as he was. Presently an officer came up and Soichi recognized Kokan. He -saw the lieutenant give him a sharp look, and heard him mutter something -he did not understand. Then without a word Kokan strode away and the -sergeant told them to come on. Nothing had been said of the duty, but -Soichi knew it was not sentry-go and guessed they were going scouting. - -In silence broken only by the muffled footsteps on the soft earth they -followed Kokan to the river’s edge. A man with a boat was waiting and -they stepped in softly, careful to make no noise. The man stood up, and -with his long oar skillfully and silently drove the boat out into the -stream. - -In a whisper the order was passed to load magazines, but not to fire -except to avoid capture. The hard, metallic click of a magazine spring -betrayed the haste of one of the men in shoving his cartridge home. In -the ghostly stillness it came like the crack of a rifle and brought a -sharp whisper from Kokan: - -“Kutami, was that you?” - -But Soichi had thought of that and muffled his magazine with his blouse -so that no sound came from it. - -“Even here!” he thought, surprised. “Will he forget his duty to think of -me now? Well, he shall have no just complaint.” - -Softly the boat came up to the bank of the island, and noiselessly the -men made their way to land. Then, while they gathered about him in a -ring, Kokan whispered their instructions. They were to spread out and -endeavor to get by the Russian outposts concealed in the clumps of -willows that dotted the island, to work across to the next stream, note -the width of the island and the character of the ground, the number of -the outposts of the enemy they saw and their position. They had three -hours for the work. At the end of that time they must be back at the -boat. Any who did not return would be left to get back to camp as best -he could. They must estimate the time, and in no case strike matches to -consult watches. Kokan asked each man if he understood, and when all -replied that they did he sent them away one by one. Then he himself -started straight across the island alone. - -Soichi had the downstream end of the line. It was a bad time for such -work, one of those blue-black nights when the stars shine with multiplied -brilliance, and the white sand of the island was a dangerous background -for their dark uniforms. He took a long look at the heavens to select -a guide and then pushed away from the bank, and, crouching stealthily, -walked with long steps directly toward a single willow that stood a few -yards inshore. There he paused and took stock of his situation. Off to -his right he saw dimly a dark figure crawling across the sand. It was one -of his comrades, and he realized what a telltale his uniform was. With -sudden resolve he took it Off, and smiled to see how his gray flannels -matched the sand. Then he pulled off his boots, and with only his rifle -and shells started on. He walked upright, with the rifle held close by -his side, and moved as fast as he could. His soldier’s instinct warned -him to avoid the clumps of trees and bushes, and from tree to tree that -stood alone he worked his way. A queer fancy struck him to count his -steps the better to estimate the distance he traveled, but he soon found -that it distracted his attention from his work. So he changed his plan, -and at each pause under a bush calculated its distance from the last and -mentally kept the sum of the whole. To reckon the time was the hardest, -and after a little he gave up guessing at that. He would do his work -first and let the time take care of itself. - -[Illustration: He saw dimly a dark figure.] - -Suddenly as he sat resting and thinking under cover of a thick willow, -he heard a sound that seemed close at his left. With every sense alert -he gazed in the direction whence it came, and waited. Presently it was -repeated, and now he recognized a man’s voice, husky and guttural from -the unsuccessful effort to whisper. He lay face down on the sand to -muffle his heart, for it seemed that the enemy surely must hear its -beating. Then as he watched he saw a match struck in a clump of willows -scarcely forty yards away, and presently caught the glow of a lighted -cigarette. Soon another and another appeared, and then their aroma came -faintly to him across the night. Three men awake, he thought; did that -mean a dozen in the post? He wasted no time in guessing, but flat on his -face wriggled away across the sand. He was inside the line of outposts -now, and when he had crawled a long distance and put some bushes between -himself and the men he had so nearly run into, he rose and walked rapidly -forward. - -He had advanced what he calculated to be nearly a mile from the boat, and -thought he must be nearing the stream he was seeking. The ground became -less sandy and there were fewer trees and bushes. He thought it unlikely -that the Russians would have more outposts there. He had almost concluded -to make a run for it to the river, when a rifle shot to his right and -behind him sent him flat to the ground in breathless suspense. Someone -had been discovered! Other shots followed, and then a fusillade that -sounded like that morning brush when he had first heard fire. He crawled -to the nearest bush and lay still. - -No bullets whistled his way and he heard no reports from the rifles of -his men. The fire was all Russian, and he hoped it was only a scare and -that his men had got away. Then he saw that the firing was extending -toward the river, and the reports of Japanese rifles mingled in the -sound. They were caught back there, and his heart stood still at the -thought that the success of the night’s work might depend on him. From -the direction in which the firing came he thought the Russians must be -near his boat. Perhaps his party were all cut off and killed, or worse -than that, captured. - -The firing ceased, and he lay under his bush and wondered what to do. He -remembered that he had not yet reached the river, and he rose and ran -swiftly forward. Soon he caught the gleam of water, and in a moment was -at the bank. He lay down and went over his calculation of the distance -he had come. Then he looked up at the stars, marked out his course, and -started back. - -He knew the location of one outpost, and he thought at first his best -chance was to go as close to it as he had come. But he reflected that -all the sleeping men must have been roused by the firing, and that if -they had discovered the boat they would watch to see if any of the -scouting party came back to it. No, he must go another way and swim the -stream. But he wanted his uniform. He dreaded what would be said to him -if he went back without it. How to get it was the question. The aroused -Russians were between him and the bush where it lay. - -The fire had not extended much to his right and he judged that the line -of outposts did not reach far that way. He turned sharply downstream and -moved as rapidly as he dared. At times, when the way was open, he ran; -but in the bushes it was slow work. At last he ventured to turn back -toward his own shore. Cautiously he made his way until the soft lap of -the water on the bank caught his ear. Here was the stream. Should he -strike in, or try for the uniform? He wondered how long he had been on -the island. It might be an hour, it might be two. The night was yet far -from spent. A low ridge of sand ran parallel with the bank, shutting -the stream from his sight. He moved stealthily to the river side of it -and made up his mind to go after his uniform. The ridge would guide him -to the bush where it lay, and if worse came to worst a quick leap would -take him into the water and he would trust to the darkness to escape the -Russian lead. - -At first he walked upright, near the water, and traveled rapidly. Then as -he approached the point where he judged the Russians might be, he came -close under the ridge and crawled on hands and knees. It was ticklish -work, and the rifle bothered him badly. Not a sound came to his alert -ears. By and by he wriggled to the top of the ridge and peered over. -After a time he thought he could make out the willows where the smokers -had been. His own bush was not far off now and he crawled on. - -A new thought stopped him like a blow. Suppose the Russians had found his -clothes and were waiting for him to come for them. That was a matter to -be considered, and he pondered it seriously for some time. Then he went -on. He would take the chance. Keeping the ridge between himself and it -he crawled opposite the bush and lay a long time listening intently. He -was so near he thought he could hear the breathing of any man waiting, -and knew he would hear a movement. Not a sound came from the bush, and -at length he ventured on. It was but an instant’s work to gather up -trousers, blouse, and boots and scuttle back over the ridge. - -One foot was in a trouser leg when he stopped. The river was wide and -swift. It would be hard enough to swim as he was, and the thick uniform -would hamper him terribly. He thought it over a moment, then swiftly -rolled up blouse and boots and tied them with the trouser legs in a -bundle at the back of his neck. Then he slung his rifle across his back -and waded in. The water was icy cold, but he moved slowly lest he make a -noise and arouse some Russian. He was up to his waist and almost ready -to strike out when an unlucky step brought his foot down on a stone that -turned and he stumbled forward with a loud splash. - -Instantly there came a hoarse, Russian shout from up the stream and he -ducked. As he went down he heard the loud report of a rifle and felt the -wind of a bullet over his head. He plunged forward and swam rapidly out -and downstream. Low in the water, with head as far down as he could keep -it, he put all his strength into his strokes. Behind him the Russians -along the shore fired as if charged by an army. The bullets sang over his -head and hissed in the water beside him. He heard the roar of the rifles -and the shouts of the men, and tried to dive, but under water the bundle -and rifle held him back, and he gave that up. - -Gradually the firing slackened, and when it ceased he judged by the -current that he was in mid-stream. He was very tired now, and very cold. -He began to fear he could not get across. But the thought of the disgrace -of failure after all he had done nerved him for fresh effort. He had the -information the party had been sent to get, and it might be that none of -the others had secured it. He must go on. In spite of his exertion the -cold was agonizing. His bones ached from it, and his heart was bursting -with the strain. He had done his best. He could do no more. The bank -that seemed so near was yet out of reach. He had taken his last stroke. -No, one more, and now another. A third, and his feet struck bottom. He -staggered out and fell exhausted on the sand. - -How long he lay thus he did not know. Aching from head to foot, shivering -with cold and with rattling teeth, he struggled to his feet. Somewhere -upstream lay his goal and he reeled toward it. Presently the walking -warmed him a little. He unslung the bundle from his shoulders and put on -the sodden uniform. Then he thrust his feet into the boots and went on. -Dawn was breaking when he stood at his captain’s door and heard the voice -of Kokan saying: - -“That fool Kutami aroused the Russians and we could not go on. We just -barely got away. He spoiled it all, and probably was captured as well.” - -Then he went in and reported, and when he finished, heard, like a voice -in a dream, his captain’s comment: - -“That is the spirit of _Yamato Damashii_!” (the soul of old Japan). - -He turned and went out, with Kokan staring after him in speechless -amazement. - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -XIV - - -There followed a few days of grateful inactivity for Soichi. The surgeon -said he must rest and recover from the strain and exposure of his night’s -work, and he found it very pleasant to lie in his blankets and smoke and -receive the congratulations of his comrades. The story swept through the -regiment and every man knew what he had done. - -Kokan was not so comfortable. He was suffering from a mental difference -with himself which urgently demanded adjustment. But pride stood in his -way. He knew he had been wrong and he hated to admit it. His accusing -self kept recalling to him the captain’s queer look that morning after -Kutami had gone, when he turned to Kokan and said: - -“I am inclined to think you are mistaken about him, Lieutenant Kudo;” -then added, as if it were an afterthought, “it must have been someone -else who alarmed the Russians.” - -“_Yamato Damashii_,” the captain had said to Kutami, and it was true. -He had acted with the spirit of the _Bushi_, the soldier knights of the -old feudal days. With the bitterness of deserved self-accusation Kokan -admitted the justice of Captain Minami’s judgment. He, the Samurai, had -failed, but Kutami, the Eta, had succeeded. - -Soichi was lying on his back rereading O-Mitsu’s letter for the -thousandth time, although he knew it already by heart, when Kokan came -in without his sword. He sprang to his feet and saluted, then stood at -attention. But Kokan said: - -“Sit down. I am not here as an officer. I came to talk a little with you.” - -Surprised and curious Soichi obeyed, wondering what it could be. His -quarters-mates were all away and he and Kokan were alone. For some time -they sat silent, the lieutenant uncertain how to begin. He had had a -hard struggle with himself, but his sense of right had triumphed. The -last of the Kudos would not stain the family honor, kept spotless for so -many scores of years. - -“I blamed you unjustly,” Kokan said bluntly at last. “It was not you who -aroused the Russians.” - -“That is nothing,” replied the amazed Soichi, and bowed respectfully. “I -am only glad that your expedition was successful.” - -He cherished no animosity toward Kokan now, and it distressed him to see -his lieutenant humbling himself in this manner. He had forgotten the -things that had passed and his mind was set wholly on the future. His -only hope was to die gloriously in action. But Kokan had made the plunge -and now he was going through. - -“I have been unjust to you at other times,” he went on. “It is not -becoming the honor of an officer or a Samurai to act meanly, and I have -come here to express my regret.” - -Soichi was genuinely pained. His ready sympathy understood how hard it -must be for the haughty Kokan thus to demean himself, and he responded -quickly: - -“I beg you not to think of it, or to say such things. I want only to do -my duty, and you have helped me to that.” - -“I?” exclaimed Kokan, surprised in his turn. “I helped you? Tell me how.” - -“Please do not think me rude,” replied Soichi. “It is hard to explain -to you. You were born a Samurai and have an inheritance of honor to -maintain. It is natural to you. It comes without thought. It is merely to -live in the old way. I was born a Commoner, but the son of one who had -been despised as an outcast. The Emperor gave us citizenship. It is to -him we owe everything. To win honor is our first duty, for surely that -is what he meant when he promoted us. Honor lies in his service. To give -him true service, therefore, is all my wish, and if sometimes I have felt -that you—that someone was watching closely to catch me in failure, it -has helped me to be a better soldier, and perhaps brought me nearer to -winning honor.” - -Kokan sat like one in a dream. This son of an Eta was telling him things -he had heard from his father and read in the books of the Samurai of -generations long agone. It was the old doctrine of the _Bushi_, but he -spoke it as if it were his own discovery. - -“You talk like a Samurai,” he said, and rising abruptly, went away. - -He had caught a glimpse of the soul of honor and it dazzled him. Here -was honor for honor’s sake. No other thought, no consideration of self, -no hope of reward, no seeking for gain of any sort, the simple effort -of a faithful heart to show in loyal, devoted service its gratitude for -a great gift. In comparison with the high standard of his life, the -teachings of his long line of soldier gentlemen, it was a thing of wonder -and amazement. Many hours he pondered it, and from his meditation rose -with a new resolve. The service of the Emperor had profited by that talk -with the Commoner. - - * * * * * - -Spring was full-blown. The sun shone with summer warmth and fields and -meadows were clothed with green. The leaves hung thickly on the trees, -and masses of rhododendrons robed the slopes of the hills in pink. -Through all the army ran the whisper of coming action. In the afternoon -the men were in their quarters. In the evening, silently and swiftly they -moved out. They bivouacked for the night in the little pockets among the -low hills close to the water’s edge, and in the starlight ate cold rice -from their ration baskets. Then, rolled up in their blankets, they slept, -rifles by their sides. - -The bark of a gun heralded the coming of the day, and the men rose to -see the battle joined. All day they lay in their hollows and heard the -hoarse, angry roaring of the guns and the vicious rush of shells, as if a -mighty wind beat through the tops of a forest of pines. Darkness fell and -the guns ceased their frightful clamor. Then came the order to move. - -All night they toiled. As if by miracle they saw the pontoons thrown -across the rushing streams, and the lumbering guns swing forward. In the -soft sand of the islands they put their shoulders to the wheels the tired -horses could not turn, and on the cannon moved into their new positions. -The murky gray of early dawn found the Russian hills ringed in front with -Japanese steel. The day had come at last when Kutami Soichi was to meet -the test. - -Fiercely through the lifting mist rang the challenge of the guns, and -over the heads of the Guards, lying far out on the sandy island, -screamed the deadly shells, searching the nooks and corners of the -Russian lines. Soichi was in the first line. Across his breast hung his -boxes of cartridges, and in the blue cloth tied over his shoulder were -his two little baskets of rice. His rifle, polished and cleaned with -arduous care, was ready. - -For half an hour the shells flew over their heads, and then along the -line rang a single shrill blast of a whistle. Instantly they were on -their feet and surging ahead. One wild “_Banzai!_” rolled from their -throats and they settled to their work. Suddenly the silent trenches -along the hills leaped into life and the storm of Russian lead beat upon -them. Steadily they went forward, not a rifle making answer to the fierce -fire from the hilltops. Men went down, but only those stopped who could -not go on. Into the last of the three broad streams they plunged, and -under that unceasing sweep of bullets forged across. Then on the double -they sprang ahead, while above them still hurtled the venomous messengers -from their own guns. The earth shook with the concussion of the cannon, -and the beautiful day smiled on hill and river red with war. Fairly at -the foot of the Russian height they halted, and for a brief breathing -space stood still. - -At the left of the line, where the Guards were to charge, the enemy held -the crest of the ridge with a double line of trenches terminating in a -square redoubt. There were the red-mouthed guns belching their hail of -iron death. In front, on the slopes, were fences and crisscrosses and -tangles of wire, winding in and about among traps and pits and jagged -stakes, and swept unceasingly by the murderous fire of the rifles and -machine guns in the trenches. - -Three things Soichi knew no soldier should remember on the -battlefield—his home, his dear ones, and his own body. Calmly he surveyed -the terrible ground over which he was about to undertake the desperate -rush. Up there, on the heights, were the lines to which some of them must -go through to plant the flag of the Rising Sun, as the Emperor wished. He -wondered who would be the one to win that coveted honor. As for him, this -was the hour in which he was to die his “glorious death.” - -Almost before he knew it the whistle shrilled again and they were off, -running steadily, in wide open lines, straight up the rugged hillside. -They cheered once at the start, a full-throated, rousing “_Banzai! -Banzai! Teikoku Banzai!_” but it took too much breath from the running, -and they stopped, that the work might not suffer. - -Now as he raced along, the young soldier found himself curiously taking -note of things occurring around him. His right-hand man went down, -and Soichi, seeing him fall, knew that he was dead. There was one, he -thought, who had gained the prize of glory. It seemed strange that he, -too, was not hit. And there was Lieutenant Kudo, perhaps a pace ahead of -the line, running as hard as he could and somehow finding breath to shout -to the men. He marveled at it, and with mind bent on that wonder, ran -full into a tangled wire that stopped him with a jerk, almost throwing -him backward to the ground. It filled him with sudden surprised rage, and -he grasped the wire and tugged away at it as if to pull it away by main -strength. - -All the time he heard the soft voices of the bullets flying close by his -head, the little half whisper like the cheep of tired chicks nestling at -dark under the protecting feathers of the mother hen. The wire would -not yield, though all along its length the men had laid hold as he had, -and were putting forth all their might. As he looked, Soichi saw a line -of his comrades who had fallen by the fence, struck down on the measured -range. He drew back his rifle and brought the sharp bayonet down on the -wire with a savage swing, all his weight in the blow. Clean to the ground -it went, through all the strands, and the way was open. - -On he dashed, not even looking to see whether any followed. Blindly he -knew that Kokan was near him, still calling. He was so tired he could -hardly lift his feet, and yet he kept on running, running, always running -up that death-swept slope. Now the men knew the secret of the wires and -there was little delay. Soichi heard the machine guns rattle as he had -heard the typhoon rains beat on the iron roof of his father’s warehouse. -The Russian guns sent their shells shrieking over the slope and carrying -away his mates in groups. He saw men fall into the pits, stumble and -throw forward, crumple up and drop, go down all about him. Still the -prize was not his. He went on. - -Then, without warning, the world came to its end. The whooping and -whistling, the shrieking and singing of shells and bullets ceased, and -with a far-off, muffled roar, the solid earth rose beneath him and hurled -him headlong forward, him and Kokan together. He wondered, curiously, as -he was in the air, if it were to be the trick of fate that he and the -lieutenant were to win death together. Then he fell, and for an instant -neither saw nor heard nor felt nor thought. A voice calling in tones he -knew, brought him back to himself and the riot and din of the horrible -maelstrom. He struggled to his feet to hear Kokan shouting to him: - -“Come on, Kutami! Now show if you can fight!” - -The quick blood leaped in him at the challenge and he sprang forward. -Over his shoulder, as he turned, he caught a glimpse of the great hole -where the mine had exploded, and beyond it, down the slope, he saw men -going back, Guardsmen, his own Guards! The horror and shame of it filled -him with rage, and he began to run again, on up the hill. Something was -the matter with his head, he did not know what, nor did he care. He and -Kokan were left, and if all the rest failed they two would go on. He -shouted in answer to the lieutenant’s call, and strove to overtake him. -With the sword of his fathers flashing over his head the Samurai boy ran, -shouted, staggered, went down. Of all the charge Soichi alone was left. - -Yet he went on. The Russians in the trenches cheered him and held their -fire, too brave themselves to murder the brave. And, in the sudden hush -that fell on the awful day, Soichi heard Kokan calling again: - -“Come here, Samurai! I am wounded! Take me back!” - -Samurai! Kokan had called him Samurai! All in a daze Soichi obeyed, -thrust his arms under those of the wounded lieutenant, heaved him up on -his back and staggered slowly down the hill. He walked like one in a -dream, neither seeing nor caring where he stepped, and yet by miracle not -falling. And when some of the men in the trenches, more ruthless than the -others, fired again, he shifted Kokan in front of him lest he be thought -to shield himself by his burden. - -He was halfway down when suddenly the trenches burst into flame once -more, and he saw his Guards coming back. The reserves were up! The -charge was renewed! Methodically he looked about him, found a pit, -carefully laid the wounded officer there out of danger, wheeled and -headed the new assault. Oh, how tired he was! How hard it was to keep his -legs from doubling under him! And yet he must! This was the day he was to -die a glorious death. - -Back again by the mine-wrought hollow, the fresh men up with him now, and -some of them ahead. One he saw with the colors, the clear white banner -with its broad red sun. A bullet hit his rifle and struck it violently -from his hands. He paused, confused, and saw the color bearer pitch -forward on his face and the colors fall. A voice seemed to shout in his -ear: - -“It is the Emperor’s wish!” - -He sprang forward, grasped the staff and waved the flag over his head. -Under the awful fire the line was beginning to falter, but the flag -caught their eyes and a cheer rang up the hill behind him. He filled his -lungs and shouted “_Banzai!_” It was as if new strength came to him with -the call. He dashed on, reached the wall of the redoubt and scrambled -up, waving his banner and roaring “_Banzai!_” - -[Illustration: “Banzai!”] - -He saw his fellows swarming about him and knew they had won. Then -something struck him a terrible blow on the shoulder and he fell -unconscious on the rampart. - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -XV - - -Lying on a board in the field hospital at the foot of the hill up which -he had charged, Soichi opened his eyes to see the slow sun dropping -behind the ridge across the river they had won. The long line of carts -and pack horses filing by, told him the victory was complete, the -transportation was coming up. His head and arm and shoulder were wrapped -with bandages, and when he turned slightly on his hard bed a sharp pain -warned him to lie still. A man in a long white apron, with his sleeves -rolled up and a red cross on his arm came toward him, and he recognized -the spectacled, kindly face of the surgeon. With a pleasant smile the -doctor looked him in the face and touched his wrist a moment. - -“You’ll do now,” he said. - -Then two men came with a stretcher and carried him to a soft bed of -blankets in a big white tent, and told him to go to sleep. It was very -comfortable in the warm bed, and he lay there quietly, trying to recall -the events of the day. After a little, he turned his head slowly and -stared into the eyes of the man in the next bed. It was Lieutenant Kudo. - -“Oho,” said Kokan, and his eyes danced. “It’s you, is it, Samurai? They -say you won the charge.” - -But because he was a good soldier and it was the order, Soichi calmly -closed his eyes and went to sleep. - -Next morning stretcher men came again and carried Soichi and all his -tent mates into the town they had helped to capture the day before, -and there, in a fine, big room in a solid house, he found another bed -of blankets ready for him. Kokan was not with them; the officers had a -different hospital and there the Samurai boy was taken. Wrapped in his -soft blankets Soichi rested and dreamed and slept. One morning when the -surgeon came to see him he brought some officers of the staff, and one of -them, a grizzled colonel, with the star of a great decoration blazing on -his breast, spoke to him and asked his name. Soichi tried to stand up, as -was proper for a man answering an officer, but the colonel forbade him -and he lay still. Then the colonel said in a loud voice, so that all the -room could hear: - -“The general sends his compliments to Kutami Soichi-san, first-class -private, and grants him a _kanjo_ for his extraordinarily gallant conduct -in the charge of the Guards and at the redoubt.” - -Before Soichi could think, his wounded comrades were shouting “_Banzai!_” -the grizzled colonel joining with all his voice. For a moment he could -not speak. He was overwhelmed with the unexpected honor. A _kanjo_, that -certificate of merit and honorable service more dearly prized than life -itself. He had never dared to dream of winning that. The staff officers -saw his confusion and smiled in kindly encouragement, and the surgeon -beamed at him through the big spectacles. He lifted his head a little -and tried to reply to the colonel. - -“It was only a little,” he said feebly; “nothing at all. I thought it was -the Emperor’s wish!” - -He fell back on his blankets, and with flashing eyes the staff officers -saluted him and stalked out of the room. - -“Ha!” said the colonel, as he mounted his horse, “there is a soldier!” - -His comrades were miles away, daring the Russians to renewed conflict, -when Soichi had recovered enough to walk about a little and write to his -father. - -“I had hoped to win a glorious death,” he said in his first letter, “as -was fitting for the first Kutami to be a soldier of the empire. But now I -have received this honorable _kanjo_ and I am happy to live and to come -back to see you and my mother again. I shall be quite well in a little -time, but my service is ended. The surgeon says my rifle arm will not -stand that work again, and a better man must take my place. I tried to do -my duty, but now it is finished. - -“For one thing I am very glad. Kokan and I are friends. We are coming -home very soon, as soon as we can travel, but Kokan will return when -he is quite well. He calls me Samurai now, and says I ‘won it with the -redoubt.’ We have talked much about the old days and our homes, and even -about O-Mitsu. Perhaps if you send someone to ask Kudo-san for her now he -would not refuse.” - -It was a different letter that Lieutenant Kudo sent to the house in -Timber Street. Himself he spared not at all, and in long detail told the -story of the midnight scout and described the day of battle. - -“You do not know this Kutami,” he said. “He may have the name of an Eta, -but he has the heart of a thousand Samurai. He has taught me a great -lesson. O-Mitsu will be honored, and we too, if he still wishes to marry -her.” - -When Jukichi read the letter he sat a long time in silence, but O-Mitsu -put her face in the cushion and wept for joy. - -Two gray-haired men stood together on the landing watching the hospital -ship swing into her moorings. Together they stepped down to the launch -that puffed out into the bay, and as the steamer’s anchor rattled down, -together they stood up and shouted “_Banzai!_” Together Jukichi and -Chobei climbed the gangway to greet their soldier sons. That day the -Gentleman had accepted the Commoner’s proposal for his daughter, and in -the house in Timber Street a happy girl was awaiting the return of her -lover. - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -XVI - - -The period of “Little Heat” had come and gone. Natsu-zemi and -Min-min-zemi boomed their deafening chorus in the pines about the Shinto -shrine and the rice was tall and straight in the myriad fields. The -_kitsunichi_ (lucky day) had come, and as evening fell, O-Mitsu waited in -her pure white robe the coming of the friends who were to bear her away -to her husband. Presently the little group set out, and in a few moments -the house in Azalea Street had received its new mistress. - -When she had changed to the beautiful new dress of softest silk Soichi -had given her, she sat down with him and drank the _san-san ku-do_ that -made her his wife. Three times from each of the three cups she sipped the -sake and passed the cup to him. Then, husband and wife, they joined the -friends assembled in the wide rooms for the feast that crowned the day. -And among those guests none were more honored than Kudo Jukichi and his -son. The proud old Samurai had taken the last step, and become in fact as -well as in law, a citizen of the new Empire. - -[Illustration] - - - - -WORKS OF ROBERT W. CHAMBERS. - - - - -IOLE - - -Colored inlay on the cover, decorative borders, headpieces, thumb-nail -sketches, and tail-pieces. Frontispiece and three full-page -illustrations. 12mo. Ornamental Cloth, $1.25. - -Does anybody remember the opera of The Inca, and that heart-breaking -episode where the Court Undertaker, in a morbid desire to increase his -professional skill, deliberately accomplishes the destruction of his -middle-aged relatives in order to inter them for the sake of practice? - -If I recollect, his dismal confession runs something like this: - - “It was in bleak November - When I slew them, I remember, - As I caught them unawares - Drinking tea in rocking-chairs.” - -And so he talked them to death, the subject being “What Really Is Art?” -Afterward he was sorry— - - “The squeak of a door, - The creak of a floor, - My horrors and fears enhance; - And I wake with a scream - As I hear in my dream - The shrieks of my maiden aunts!” - -Now it is a very dreadful thing to suggest that those highly respectable -pseudo-spinsters, the Sister Arts, supposedly cozily immune in their -polygamous chastity (for every suitor for favor is popularly expected to -be wedded to his particular art)—I repeat, it is very dreadful to suggest -that these impeccable old ladies are in danger of being talked to death. - -But the talkers are talking and Art Nouveau rockers are rocking, and the -trousers of the prophet are patched with stained glass, and it is a day -of dinkiness and of thumbs. - -Let us find comfort in the ancient proverb: “Art talked to death shall -rise again.” Let us also recollect that “Dinky is as dinky does;” that -“All is not Shaw that Bernards;” that “Better Yeates than Clever;” that -words are so inexpensive that there is no moral crime in robbing Henry to -pay James. - -Firmly believing all this, abjuring all atom-pickers, slab furniture, and -woodchuck literature—save only the immortal verse: - - “And there the wooden-chuck doth tread; - While from the oak trees’ tops - The red, red squirrel on the head - The frequent acorn drops.” - -Abjuring, as I say, dinkiness in all its forms, we may still hope that -those cleanly and respectable spinsters, the Sister Arts, will continue -throughout the ages, rocking and drinking tea unterrified by the -million-tongued clamor in the back yard and below stairs, where thumb and -forefinger continue the question demanded by intellectual exhaustion: - -“L’arr! Kesker say l’arr?” - -D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK - - - - -WHERE LOVE CONQUERS. - - -The Reckoning. - -By ROBERT W. CHAMBERS. - -The author’s intention is to treat, in a series of four or five romances, -that part of the war for independence which particularly affected the -great landed families of northern New York, the Johnsons, represented -by Sir William, Sir John, Guy Johnson, and Colonel Claus; the notorious -Butlers, father and son, the Schuylers, Van Rensselaers, and others. - -The first romance of the series, Cardigan, was followed by the second, -The Maid-at-Arms. The third, in order, is not completed. The fourth is -the present volume. - -As Cardigan pretended to portray life on the baronial estate of Sir -William Johnson, the first uneasiness concerning the coming trouble, -the first discordant note struck in the harmonious councils of the -Long House, so, in The Maid-at-Arms, which followed in order, the -author attempted to paint a patroon family disturbed by the approaching -rumble of battle. That romance dealt with the first serious split in -the Iroquois Confederacy; it showed the Long House shattered though -not fallen; the demoralization and final flight of the great landed -families who remained loyal to the British Crown; and it struck the -key-note to the future attitude of the Iroquois toward the patriots of -the frontier—revenge for their losses at the battle of Oriskany—and ended -with the march of the militia and continental troops on Saratoga. - -The third romance, as yet incomplete and unpublished, deals with the -war-path and those who followed it led by the landed gentry of Tryon -County; and ends with the first solid blow delivered at the Long House, -and the terrible punishment of the Great Confederacy. - -The present romance, the fourth in chronological order, picks up the -thread at that point. - -The author is not conscious of having taken any liberties with history in -preparing a framework of facts for a mantle of romance. - - ROBERT W. CHAMBERS. - -NEW YORK, _May 26, 1904_. - -D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AT THE EMPEROR'S WISH: A TALE OF THE -NEW JAPAN *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. 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