“Lord,” she said, “I am yours if you will have me.”
Hand in hand they went together to the mother of the God of Spring.
“Ah, my mother,” he said, “what shall I do now? My brother the God of Autumn is angry with me. He will not give me the saké I have won from him in a wager. Great is his rage. He will seek to take our lives.”
“Be still, beloved,” said his mother, “and fear not.”
She took a cane of hollow bamboo, and in the hollow she put salt and stones; and when she had wrapped the cane round with leaves, she hung it in the smoke of the fire. She said:
“The green leaves fade and die. So you must do, my eldest born, the God of Autumn. The stone sinks in the sea, so must you sink. You must sink, you must fail, like the ebb tide.”
Now the tale is told, and all the world knows why Spring is fresh and merry and young, and Autumn the saddest thing that is.
The Strange Story of the Golden Comb.—P. 191.