Tara slipped out of his wooden clogs and ran into the room where Umé was gathering her books together for school. "Baby Onda's fish is up at last," he shouted, "and as far as you can see the ocean of air is full of fishes. Did I not say that the fifth day of the fifth month would be filled with gladness?" he demanded.
"Yes, Tara, but I have far too much to do to talk with you now," said Umé very primly.
"At least you can condescend to come out on the veranda just one moment to look at cousin Onda's fish."
"Very well, honorable Brother," said Umé, and she followed him to the veranda.
Both children laughed aloud at the sight of the enormous paper carp flying from the top of the bamboo pole on their cousin's house. The fish was at least twenty feet long and was made of strong Japanese paper. Its great mouth and eyes were wide open and it had swallowed so much air that it looked filled to bursting. A mighty wind blew it this way and that, up and down, making it look like a real fish that had been caught with a hook and was trying to escape.
"Onda's father is augustly proud because he has a son," said Umé. "He has found the biggest fish in all Tokio to fly, and the people will know that he has only a very little son."
"He will grow larger," said Tara loyally.
"And as he grows larger the fish will grow smaller," answered Umé. "Your own fish is only half as large as Onda's."
From a pole in the Utsuki house flew Tara's fish, while from poles as far as the eye could see flew fishes of all sizes and colors. Some poles held two, three, or even five or six fishes. There was a fish for every boy who lived in every house, and every fish was a carp, because in Japan the carp is the fish that can swim against the swift river currents and leap over waterfalls.