woman. Her little brother, too, though now no
longer destined to wear the hammer-shaped queue of the old-time Japanese
warrior, and whose fuzzy black head is now usually left unshaven in his
babyhood, still goes to the temple at the age of three to give thanks,
and when he comes to be five years old, the little boy again goes up to
the temple, this time wearing for the first time the manly _hakama_, or
kilt-pleated trousers, and makes offerings to the god who has protected
him thus far.

The day set for these ceremonies is the 15th of November, and there is
no prettier sight in all Japan than a popular temple on that day. All
the streets that converge on the shrine are crowded with gayly dressed
children hurrying along to make their offerings, accompanied by parents
brimming with pride and pleasure.

"Small feet are pattering, wooden shoes clattering,
Little hands clapping, and little tongues chattering:"

three-year-old tots of both sexes trudging sturdily along on their
clogs: square little red-cheeked boys, their black eyes shining with
pride in their rustling new silk _hakama_, feeling that they are big
boys and no longer to be confused with the babies that they were
yesterday: here, too, are the graceful seven-year-old maidens, their
many-colored garments and their gorgeous new _obi_ setting off to
advantage their shining black hair and sparkling eyes. The children are
so many, so happy, and so impressed with the fun that it is to be older
than they were, that the grown folks who accompany them seem like
shadows; the only real thing is the children.

Within the temple precincts all the candy-sellers and toy-merchants who
can find standing-room for a stall are doing a brisk trade. Flags are
flying, drums are beating, a _kagura_ dance is going on in the pavilion,
about which stands a crowd of youngsters twittering like sparrows, and
the steps that lead to the temple itself are as thronged as Jacob's
ladder with little ones ascending and descending. Within the shrine the
white-robed priests are hard at work from morning to night. A little
company forms in the vestibule, goes to the priest in the first room,
where they bow and make their offerings, and wait until there is space
for them in the inner sanctuary. From within comes the sound of a
droning chant, which ends at last, and then a party that has finished
its worship issues forth, and those who have been waiting without go in;
and when the few minut