ecedent) this
was put, not beside the butsu-dan, where Kano's young wife had for so
many years been honored, but in Tatsu's own bed-chamber, thus making of
it a "mita-yama," or spirit room.

Kano, visiting it, unperceived, next day, noted with the same curious,
half-quizzical, half-pathetic look that no Buddhist kaimyo or
after-name had been given to his daughter. It was the earth-name, Kano
Ume-ko, which the old abbot had written upon the lacquered tablet of
wood. Added to it, as a sort of title, was the phrase, "To her who
loves much." "That is true enough," thought old Kano, and touched his
eyes an instant with his sleeve.

During the following week Tatsu, of himself, drew out his painting
materials and tried to work. An instant later he had hurled the things
from him with a cry, had slammed together the walls of his chamber, and
lay in silence and darkness for many hours. At the time of the
night-meal he came forth. Kano, to whom sorrow was teaching many
things, made no comment upon his exclusion; and even old Mata refrained
from searching his face with her keen eyes.

The next day he made the second attempt. His fusuma were opened, and
Mata could see how his face blanched to yellow wax, how the lips
writhed until they were caught back by strong, cruel teeth, and how the
thin hands wavered. Notwithstanding this inward torture, he persisted.
At first the lines of his brush were feeble. His work looked like that
of a child.

Through subsequent days of discouragement and brave effort his power of
painting grew with a slow but normal splendor of achievement. His fame
began to spread. The "New Kano" and "The Dragon Painter of Kiu Shiu"
the people of the city called him. Not only his work but his romantic,
miserable story drew sympathy to him, and bade fair to make of him a
popular idol. Older artists wished to paint his portrait.
Print-makers hung about his house striving to catch at least a glimpse
of him, which being elaborated, might serve as his likeness in the
weekly supplement of some up-to-date newspaper. Sentimental maidens
wrote poems to him, tied them with long, shining filaments of hair, and
suspended them to the gate, or upon the bamboo hedges of the Kano home.

But against all these petty, personal annoyances Tatsu had the double
guard of Kano and old Mata San. The pride of the latter in this "Son
of our house" was unbounded. One would have thought that she
discovered him, had rescued h