will bite"--

There was a flash, a swish, a crunching thud: the bound body bowed over
the rice sacks,--two long blood-jets pumping from the shorn neck;--and
the head rolled upon the sand. Heavily toward the stepping-stone it
rolled: then, suddenly bounding, it caught the upper edge of the stone
between its teeth, clung desperately for a moment, and dropped inert.

None spoke; but the retainers stared in horror at their master. He
seemed to be quite unconcerned. He merely held out his sword to the
nearest attendant, who, with a wooden dipper, poured water over the
blade from haft to point, and then carefully wiped the steel several
times with sheets of soft paper... And thus ended the ceremonial part
of the incident.

For months thereafter, the retainers and the domestics lived in
ceaseless fear of ghostly visitation. None of them doubted that the
promised vengeance would come; and their constant terror caused them to
hear and to see much that did not exist. They became afraid of the
sound of the wind in the bamboos,--afraid even of the stirring of
shadows in the garden. At last, after taking counsel together, they
decided to petition their master to have a Segaki-service (2) performed
on behalf of the vengeful spirit.

"Quite unnecessary," the samurai said, when his chief retainer had
uttered the general wish... "I understand that the desire of a dying
man for revenge may be a cause for fear. But in this case there is
nothing to fear."

The retainer looked at his master beseechingly, but hesitated to ask
the reason of the alarming confidence.

"Oh, the reason is simple enough," declared the samurai, divining the
unspoken doubt. "Only the very last intention of the fellow could have
been dangerous; and when I challenged him to give me the sign, I
diverted his mind from the desire of revenge. He died with the set
purpose of biting the stepping-stone; and that purpose he was able to
accomplish, but nothing else. All the rest he must have forgotten... So
you need not feel any further anxiety about the matter."

--And indeed the dead man gave no more trouble. Nothing at all happened.

OF A MIRROR AND A BELL

Eight centuries ago, the priests of Mugenyama, in the province of
Totomi (1), wanted a big bell for their temple; and they asked the
women of their parish to help them by contributing old bronze mirrors
for bell-metal.

[Even to-day, in the courts of certain Japanese temples, you may see
heaps o