ster. He might then easily have obtained
service under another daimyo; but as he had never sought distinction
for his own sake alone, and as his heart remained true to his former
lord, he preferred to give up the world. So he cut off his hair, and
became a traveling priest,--taking the Buddhist name of Kwairyo.

But always, under the koromo [2] of the priest, Kwairyo kept warm
within him the heart of the samurai. As in other years he had laughed
at peril, so now also he scorned danger; and in all weathers and all
seasons he journeyed to preach the good Law in places where no other
priest would have dared to go. For that age was an age of violence and
disorder; and upon the highways there was no security for the solitary
traveler, even if he happened to be a priest.

In the course of his first long journey, Kwairyo had occasion to visit
the province of Kai. (1) One evening, as he was traveling through the
mountains of that province, darkness overcame him in a very lonesome
district, leagues away from any village. So he resigned himself to pass
the night under the stars; and having found a suitable grassy spot, by
the roadside, he lay down there, and prepared to sleep. He had always
welcomed discomfort; and even a bare rock was for him a good bed, when
nothing better could be found, and the root of a pine-tree an excellent
pillow. His body was iron; and he never troubled himself about dews or
rain or frost or snow.

Scarcely had he lain down when a man came along the road, carrying an
axe and a great bundle of chopped wood. This woodcutter halted on
seeing Kwairyo lying down, and, after a moment of silent observation,
said to him in a tone of great surprise:--

"What kind of a man can you be, good Sir, that you dare to lie down
alone in such a place as this?... There are haunters about here,--many
of them. Are you not afraid of Hairy Things?"

"My friend," cheerfully answered Kwairyo, "I am only a wandering
priest,--a 'Cloud-and-Water-Guest,' as folks call it: Unsui-no-ryokaku.
(2) And I am not in the least afraid of Hairy Things,--if you mean
goblin-foxes, or goblin-badgers, or any creatures of that kind. As for
lonesome places, I like them: they are suitable for meditation. I am
accustomed to sleeping in the open air: and I have learned never to be
anxious about my life."

"You must be indeed a brave man, Sir Priest," the peasant responded,
"to lie down here! This place has a bad name,--a very bad name. But, as