The House of the Misty Star by Frances Little (ereader for android TXT) 📕

didn't care about them, for his vision brought him the beautifulest faith. He knew food and clothing for the children would come, and often there hasn't been a bite nor a penny in the house and almost time for the dinner bell to ring, when from somewhere food or the way to buy it, would come pouring in as though that Orphan Asylum was built in a land filled with manna and flowing with honey. Mr. Hoda and his flock of orphans have waited but never wanted. I'm waiting; but I am just as sure of my dream as I am of my friends."

  "Of course you are," encouraged Page. "Talk of removing mountains! Why, a faith like that would set a whole Himalayan range to dancing. You are a great little missionary, Miss Gray."

  "Thank you, Mr. Page; missionaries are not great. We can't help living what we believe. Wouldn't you be very happy if you were as certain and sure of all your dreams as we are?"

  "Happy!" cried the boy, getting up and walking about. "I'd give a life-time to know—never mind. Your hospital will come true. When it does we will ask the city to decorate as it is doing to-day for some big festival. My! the streets look like bargain day in Christmas trees," he ended, recovering some of his light spirits.

  "That's so. There is a festival. What is it, Miss Jenkins?"

  I explained the meaning of the festival, which was more strictly observant of ritual and old customs than any other of the year, and I told of Kishimoto San's invitation to me.

  Miss Gray exclaimed anxiously, "But you are not going?" Jane was slow in shaking off the limitations of the doctrine that branded all religions in a foreign country as idolatrous and contaminating.

  I said I intended going.

  "Oh, Miss Jenkins," Jane cried, "do be careful! They might ask you to bow down before one of those heathen idols, and maybe they might make you offer at its feet a stick of something smelly in one of those insect burners."

  For the first time since I had known Page Hanaford, he shouted with laughter. "Sweet aroma of incense, that's a blow for you!" he said. "Come to think of it, I believe I'll happen along and see how it's done."

X ZURA GOES TO THE FESTIVAL

  On my way to join the festival party at the appointed time I passed through the streets of the city, brilliant with decorations of flags and lanterns. Gay crowds sauntered beneath graceful arches of pine and lacey bamboo. For the time worry and work were laid aside with every-day dress, and like smiling, happy children on a picnic, the vast throngs moved toward the temple where the great "Matsuri" was in progress. A man deaf and blind would have known it was a holiday by the feel in the air. He would also have felt as I did the change in the atmosphere as he neared Kishimoto's house.

  The maid, who answered my summons, said the family would soon be ready to start; the hairdresser had finished; the ceremonial obis were being tied for the madams; the Dana San had about completed his devotions before the household shrine. Would I bring my most august body into the living-room and hang my honorable self upon the floor?

  I complied with the request and found Zura alone.

  Considering the strained relations at our last parting and the solemnity of the present occasion, she greeted me with a flippancy that was laughable. "Oh, here's Miss Jenkins! Welcome to our happy home, and I certainly wish you joy on this jaunt."

  "Are you not going with us?" I asked, observing that she carried in her hand a paint-box as well as her hat.

  "Not I," she laughed. "I'd picnic with Mrs. Satan and her family first. But do come in. The ogre awaits you. One of the two witches has just had a spell."

  "Which one?" I inquired, putting into my question every inviting tone at my command. I was determined to get on terms of friendliness with this girl. Had not I in the long ago longed for liberty and for life as I had never craved orthodox salvation? Not even to myself had I acknowledged how strong an appeal to my love of fair play, was Zura's frank rebellion against being reduced to an emotionless creature guaranteed to move at the command of her Masters.

  All her warfare had been in the open. At no time in her visit to me, did she mention the unhappy conditions at her home nor voice complaints of its inmates.

  Undisciplined, untrained as she was, there was in her nature a certain reserve which compelled admiration. When not on the defensive for what she considered her rights, she had a decided sweetness that drew me irresistibly. I did not approve of her methods, but my sympathy was deep for this child of freedom forced to live in the painful restrictions of a conservative Japanese family.

  I was beginning to see that Zura would break long before she would bend. To break at all meant disaster. To break alone meant ruin. She was of my country, my people. Without further ado I arrayed myself on the side of the one who had four against her.

  Before she answered my question, she looked at me as a chained creature might eye a strange hand to see if it were outstretched for a caress or a blow. Having decided, she went on, "The ancientest one. Some red lilies I carried brought on the fit. An hour ago I gathered a few from the rice fields and took them to my room. When the old dame saw their crimson petals she began to foam at the mouth and splutter a lot of nonsense about the flowers being tongues of flame; she said they would set the house on fire and burn us all to a cinder. If I thought that I'd bring a cartload, and then run. She took them away and threw them in the hot bath. The lovely things shriveled like scalded baby hands. About then, my august grandfather arrived on the scene. He ordered me to put on Japanese dress and come to their old festival. I've planned otherwise, and I won't do it." She put on her hat and stabbed it with a long pin.

  "Look here, Zura," I ventured, "you'll miss a joyfully good time if you don't go. The country people swarm to these festivals, and babies are as thick as ants. You'll see more pictures than you can paint in a life-time. There are queer things to buy and funny things to eat. The fire-walking ceremony is wonderful."

  This caught her attention. "What do they do at this ceremony?"

  "It has been a long time since I saw it, but I remember it was thrilling to watch the worshipers walk barefoot over the hot coals. Come along with me, Zura. Come on," I urged, seeking in my mind for a more persuasive word and finding a memory of Mr. Pinkey Chalmers to help me out, "and we'll make a night of it."

  I saw nothing humorous in what I had said, but it had a curious effect on Zura. She changed her mind so swiftly, her manner grew so gleeful, I thought maybe I had made a promise I could not keep.

  "All right, old sport," she laughed with reckless gaiety, "I'll go; you stick to me and I'll give you the time of your young life. But make it clear to the devotees in this house that I won't tie myself up in a kimono; neither will I bend an inch before any of those dropsical-looking images."

  Soon we heard the rustle of the Master's silken garments. He entered, closely followed by his mother, wife and daughter, their kimonos and obis in colors soft and mellow as befitted older women, and each covered with an overcoat thin of texture and rich in quality. This outer garment was the insignia not only of rank, but of the grave importance of the occasion.

  Their greetings to me were soon over, and Zura announced that she was going with us.

  Without a glimmer of pleasure in her seeming willingness to obey, her grandfather said, "It is well."

  Had he glanced at the girl when he voiced it, he would have chosen other words. In her very bright eyes there was a look which boded no spirit of good will.

  Kishimoto San, with his mother, led the way on our pilgrimage. We followed behind; and bringing up the rear was an army of servants loaded with blankets, cushions and hampers of food. It was to be a long session of worship and festivities, and the family would need all the comforts of home before their return.

  The festival was called "Tanjo Shaka" (Buddha's Birthday), and as our little party passed through the great gates the crowds of holiday-makers, which thronged the enclosure, testified to the popularity of the day. The broad avenue leading to the steps of the old temple was lined on each side by temporary booths, from which one could purchase anything from a hot sweet potato to a much-decorated prayer, from false teeth to a charm to ward off the chicken-pox.

  There was a man who made a dainty fan while you waited; the cook who made a cake while you prayed; the handkerchief man and the sock man; and ah me! the funny old codger, bald of head and shriveled of body, but with a bit of heaven in his weary old eyes. It was the reflection of the baby faces about him. His was the privilege of fashioning from sticky, sweet dough wonderful flowers of brilliant hue and the children flocked about him like birds of Paradise to a field of grain.

  On every side were set up images of the infant Buddha. Around these, worshipers crowded that they might purchase some portion of the licorice tea poured over the image and supposed to guard against many evils.

  Groups of white-garbed pilgrims from distant cities passed on to worship, their tinkling bells keeping time to the soft pad of their sandaled feet. Under the overhanging boughs of the ancient trees were placed low platforms spread with bright red blankets, and thereon sat the family groups. In these throngs very few were well off in worldly possessions. For the masses this day meant curtailment of necessities for many other days. It was a willing sacrifice, for, having done duty at the temple and cheerfully contributed their hard-earned "rin," they yielded themselves up to the enjoyment of being set free, in a space where neither worry nor want were permitted to enter, where their poor lives touched something higher or less sordid than themselves. The day was a gift of the gods and they would be merry, for to-morrow was toil and poverty. It was neither satisfying nor permanent but all so simple and happy. Only a heartless stickler for creed and dogma would have labeled it idolatry or banished from the garden of the temple the participants who were childlike in their enjoyment.

  It took us some time to make our way to the building where Kishimoto guided us that he with his family might first offer their devotions. Once there, the ceremony began. I was not expected to participate and stood aside. It was not without anxiety that I heard the grandfather give a stern command to Zura to approach and kneel with him before the great bronze image, and her equally rigid refusal to do so.

  With difficulty the proud old Buddhist refrained from creating a scene before the other worshipers, but it was plain that he was stung to the quick for the honor of his religion. From the look in his face he only bided his time.

  The