as to the foulness of a buck-basket. He
returned to his cooking. Barely tasting some food O'Mino soon was sound
asleep. Densuke observed her. "Ugly, rich, a very _O'Bake_ in appearance
is the Ojo[u]san; and yet she takes as husband a spiritless creature,
such as is this Densuke. Is it good or bad fortune? How grateful would
be her advice." He went to bed himself in the outer room; to spend a
hideous night of nightmare in company with the dead Jusuke, who now did
taint the air with that indefinable pollution of even the freshest
corpse. Wild visions floated through the brain of Densuke. The
neighbours would assemble. The food was ready. Ah! Here comes the wife
of Jusuke San. She demands her husband. A moment, and Densuke was
stealing from the house entrance into the darkness. The river? Ah! That
was it. The canal of Hacho[u]bori was close at hand to Jusuke's own
home. It would float him to his very door. Densuke soon saw himself at
the river bank. No one was at hand. Splash! In went the foul burden.
There it was again. But now it was Jusuke in person. "Jusuke San! Jusuke
San! Pardon! 'Twas not this Densuke who killed you. Seek vengeance of
Daihachiro[u] Sama. He is the murderer." In his terror he lost all fear
of being heard. He shouted at the top of his lungs. But Jusuke laid a
heavy hand on him. With one long drawn out groan Densuke--awoke.

O'Mino was leaning close over him, her face spectre-like with pain.
Seeing that he was awake she took away her hand. "What is the matter
with you? All night you have been shouting and mumbling in sleep. Just
now it was 'Jusuke San! Jusuke San! Daihachiro[u] Sama!' It is indeed a
matter of Jusuke San. The time of Mino is at hand; the pains begin. Go
at once to the house of Jusuke, and ask his wife O'Yoshi to condescend
her aid." Densuke sprang up. An idea flashed into his mind. He would go
to Hacho[u]bori and make full confession. Which was the most important?
O'Yoshi as confessor or as midwife? With his brain thus puzzled over an
answer he started off. His last injunction to O'Mino was--"by no means
meddle with the bundle of Daihachiro[u] Sama." There could have been no
more direct invitation to her to do so. For a short time O'Mino did
nothing but eye the strange bundle. Then she was on her knees before it,
examining it. "Rain coats as wrapping! And tied with rope: a queer kind
of washing. What a strange odour! Pickled _daikon_ (_nukamisozuke_)?"
She shook it. Something inside went