he was no match for his vigorous opponent. It was
something to realize his own defeat. Gasping, he turned to the friendly
rain and would have darted from the gate when, with a swoop like a
falcon, Mata was bodily upon him. He threw his right arm upward as if to
escape a blow, but the old dame did not belabor him. She was trying to
thrust something hard and strange into his other hand. He glanced toward
it. The last indignity of an umbrella! "Open it, madman!" she cried
shrilly after him, "and hold your robe up; it is one of your new silk
ones!"

Tatsu had never used an umbrella in his life. Now he opened it eagerly.
Anything to escape that frightful voice! In the windy street he clutched
at his fluttering skirts as he had seen other men do, and, with a last
terrified backward glance, ran breathlessly toward the haven of his
temporary home.

The little house was empty. Tatsu was thankful for so much. The rooms
were already pre-haunted by dreams of Ume-ko. Tatsu felt the peace of it
sink deep into his soul. Instinctively his wandering feet led him into
the little painting room. As usual, the elaborate display of artist
materials chilled him. After his recent exasperation he longed to ease
his heart of a sketch, but obstinacy held him back. He sat down in the
centre of the space. A bevy of small, squeaking sounds seemed to enclose
him. It took him some moments to recognize them as the irritating
rustling of his silken dress. He sprang to his feet, tore off the new
and expensive girdle of brocade, flung it into one corner and the
offending robe into another, and remained standing in the centre of the
small space clad only in his short white linen under-robe.

He looked about, now, for a more congenial sheathing. If he could but
find the tattered blue kimono worn during that upward journey from Kiu
Shiu! Stained by berries and green leaves, torn by a thousand graceful
vines,--for laundering only a few vigorous swirls in a running stream
with a quick sun-drying on the river stones,--yet how comfortable, how
companionable it was! There had been a blue something folded on the
shelf of his closet. He found it, opened it wide in the air and would
have uttered a cry of joy but for the changed look of it. Even this had
not escaped Mata's desecrating hands! It was mended everywhere. The
white darning threads grinned at him like teeth. Also it was washed and
ironed, and smelled of foreign soap. For an i