and met an incoming flood of
morning light. The walls were opened. Through the small square
pillars of the veranda she could see, as in a frame, old Kano standing
in the garden beside the fish-pond. Even as she gazed, incredulous at
her own stupidity in sleeping so late, the temple bell above boomed out
six slow strokes. Six! Such a thing had never been known. Well, she
must be growing old and worthless. She had better fill her sleeve with
pebbles and cast herself into the nearest stream. She hurried back, a
tempestuous protest in every step.

"Miss Ume,--Ume-ko!" she called. "Ma-a-a! What has come to us both?
The Danna San walks about as if he had been awake for hours. And not a
cup of tea for him! The honorable fire does not exist. Surely a demon
of sleep has bewitched us."

She had entered the girl's room, and now, while speaking, crossed the
narrow space to fling wide, first the shoji, and then the outer amado.

Ume moved lazily. Her lacquered pillow, with its bright cushion,
rocked as she stirred. "No demon has found me, Mata San," she
murmured, smiling. "No demon unless it be you, cruel nurse, who have
dragged me back from a heavenly dream."

"Baku devour your dream!" cried Mata. "I say there is no fire beneath
the pot!"

Ume sat up now, and smoothed slowly the loops of her shining hair. The
yellow morning sun danced into the corners of her room, rioted among
the hues of her silken bed coverings, and paused, abashed, as it were,
before the delicate beauty of her face.

As Mata scolded, the girl nestled back among her quilts, smiling
mischievously. She loved to tease the old dame. "No, nurse," she
protested, "that cannot be. The baku feeds on evil dreams alone, and
this was not evil. Ah, nurse, it was so sweet a dream----"

"I can give no time to your honorable fooling," cried Mata, in
pretended anger. "Have I the arms of a Hundred-Handed Kwannon that I
can do all the household work at once? Attire yourself promptly, I
entreat: prepare one of the small trays for your august parent, and get
out two of the pickled plums from the blue jar."

Ume, with an exaggerated sigh of regret, rose to her feet. Quilt and
cushions were pushed into a corner for later airing. Her toilet was
swift and simple. To slip the bright-colored sleeping robe from her
and toss it to the heaped-up coverlids, don an undergarment of thin
white linen and a scant petticoat of blue crepe, draw over them a day
rob