or, tremblingly bidding the "fox
ghost" begone. In the East foxes being spirits of evil and having the
power to assume any form they wish, the priest naturally takes what
seems a little maiden for a demon. But, when he catches a glimpse of
White Aster's lovely innocent face and hears her touching explanation,
he utterly changes his opinion, muttering that she must belong to some
noble family, since her eyebrows are like twin "half-moons."

"'Tis clear she comes of noble family:
Her eyebrows are as twin half-moons: her hair
Lies on her snowy temples, like a cloud:
In charm of form she ranks with Sishih's self,
That pearl of loveliness, the Chinese Helen."

Taking his visitor gently by the hand, he leads her into the
sanctuary, where he seats her at Buddha's feet, before inquiring who
she is and what she is doing at night in the wilderness. White Aster
timidly explains that, although born in one of the southern islands
and cradled in a rich home, the pleasant tenor of her life was
suddenly interrupted by the outbreak of war. Her home sacked and
destroyed, she and her mother barely escaped with their lives. Taking
refuge near a ruined temple, they erected a booth to shelter them,
where the girl who had always been lapped in luxury had to perform all
kinds of menial tasks. But even under such circumstances her life
proved pleasant compared to what she suffered when news came that her
father had rebelled against the king, and that he and his adherents
had been crushed in the war. No poppy-draught could enable the two
poor women to forget such terrible tidings, and it is no wonder the
poor mother pined away.

As the stream
Flows to the sea and nevermore returns,
So ebbed and ebbed her life. I cannot tell
What in those days I suffered. Nature's self
Seemed to be mourning with me, for the breeze
Of Autumn breathed its last, and as it died
The vesper-bell from yonder village pealed
A requiem o'er my mother. Thus she died,
But dead yet lives--for, ever, face and form,
She stands before my eyes; and in my ears
I ever seem to hear her loving voice,
Speaking as in the days when, strict and kind,
She taught me household lore,--in all a mother.

Having carefully tended her mother to the end, poor little White Aster
lived alone, until one day her father suddenly appeared, having found
at last a way to escape and rejoin them. He was, however,
broken-hearted on learning of