nd more astonished Sampei called
after her and followed. Always she eluded him. Thus he was led away two
hundred, three hundred yards. There she was, halted beneath the willow
tree on the river bank. His pace broke into a run. Now she did not move
or attempt to elude him, but as he came up the figure was but a stela to
point the way to a near-by shrine. Sampei passed his hand over his brow.
Kiku was too much on his mind; this forced widowerhood with charge of a
toddling boy. Ah! If pity and affection would but allow him to transfer
the child to others! Better would it be for both. But how face the
mother without the child--and then, the lot of one's favoured child in
the house of strangers and under their cold glances? Sampei himself
could not part with Jumatsu. Easy was it for him to cut belly--and leave
mother and child in this desolate condition. Meanwhile his uneasiness of
mind at their present outlook was driving him to delusions.

Taking off his wet outer garments he stole into the bedroom. Now it was
very late in the night; he would not disturb the child. To his surprise
he found him sitting up on the quilts, shivering and weeping.
"Bo[u]chan! What's gone wrong?" He took the child's hands, anxious to
note any sign of distress or fever. But Jumatsu made answer in his
turn--"Mother has just been here. She was crying. She said--'Bo[u], the
parting is for long. Never again will the mother be seen. Grow up,
Bo[u]; grow up to be a fine man.' Then she cried more than ever." A hand
seemed to grasp the heart of Sampei--"Mother here, Bo[u]chan!" Surely
the child could not lie, even make up the story at this age, so fitting
into his own uneasy vision. Continued the little fellow mid his
tears--"It was not her fault. Someone broke the holly hock plate and
charged mother with the crime. Then the Tono Sama killed her. He wanted
her for his concubine; and so came to hate her and easily took the tale.
It was not her fault. She said this--then went away."--"Whither?"
Sampei's tone was so abrupt and harsh to startle the child into
quiescence. He pointed to the house altar on its stand--"Mother just
went away; into the Butsudan.... And she hasn't come back--to
Bo[u]chan." He ended in a wail and childish weeping. Ah! The hands now
grasping at Sampei were of ice. Slowly he approached the Butsudan.
Startled he saw the snow within it. This wild tale was taking the hold
of certainty on his mind. He lit first one light, then the other in