“Truly he is the master bird,” sighed he, as he watched the black thing perching upon a lofty branch or soaring above, issuing his harrowing notes and stirring the nerves of superstitious Japan.

Presently, as usual upon such occasions, Okyo emerged from a cluster of bushes and came bowing and bumping and crawling—half confident, half fearful—after his master; who now stood admiring the huge wisteria which overhung the black-lacquered gate and bronze trimmings. Observing the boy’s presence, Maido said, kindly, and without turning around:

“Heigh! is that you, Okyo, my funny little slave? Pray tell me what brings you here so early in the day?”

“Heigh! I thought you might be lonely and I’d come and drive away the fox.”

“But, my lad, what have you been doing that your kimono is wet and covered with mud?”

“I’ve been down at the beach fishing for crabs. I wonder why Kami doesn’t make crabs grow on land?”

“My child, he has placed them in the waters of the deep sea so that none but the industrious and the brave may enjoy so choice a food.”

“Are daimyos industrious and brave?”

Maido made no answer to the boy’s inquiry but turned toward the fragrant vine, and stood admiring the bright foliage, possibly dreaming of the future of his son and heir, until Okyo once more began chattering.

“Heigh! great master, please why is the vine so large and beautiful?”