[1. The posthumous Buddhist name of the person buried is chiseled upon the tomb or haka.]

The child resumed:--

"There were still four of us,--grandmother, brother, myself, and my little sister. My brother was nineteen years old. He had finished his apprenticeship just before father died: we thought that was like the pity of the gods for us. He had become the head of the house. He was very skillful in his business, and had many friends: therefore he could maintain us. He made thirteen yen the first month;--that is very good for a seal-cutter. One evening he came home sick: he said that his head hurt him. Mother had then been dead forty-seven days. That evening he could not eat. Next morning he was not able to get up;--he had a very hot fever: we nursed him as well as we could, and sat up at night to watch by him; but he did not get better. On the morning of the third day of his sickness we became frightened--because he began to talk to mother. It was the forty-ninth day after mother's death,--the day the Soul leaves the house;--and brother spoke as if mother was calling him:--'Yes, mother, yes!--in a little while I shall come!' Then he told us that mother was pulling him by the sleeve. He

would point with his hand and call to us:--'There she is!--there!--do you not see her?' We would tell him that we could not see anything. Then he would say, 'Ah! you did not look quick enough: she is hiding now;--she has gone down under the floor-mats.' All the morning he talked like that. At last grandmother stood up, and stamped her foot on the floor, and reproached mother,--speaking very loud. 'Taka!' she said, 'Taka, what you do is very wrong. When you were alive we all loved you. None of us ever spoke unkind words to you. Why do you now want to take the boy? You know that he is the only pillar of our house. You know that if you take him there will not be any one to care for the ancestors. You know that if you take him, you will destroy the family name! O Taka, it is cruel! it is shameful! it is wicked!' Grandmother was so angry that all her body trembled. Then she sat down and cried; and I and my little sister cried. But our brother said that mother was still pulling him by the sleeve. When the sun went down, he died.

"Grandmother wept, and stroked us, and

sang a little song that she made herself. I can remember it still:--

Oya no nai ko to
Hamabe no chidori:
Higure-higure ni
Sode shiboru.[1]