Yet the Yamato Damashii outstripped them both: the spirit of war—the ghost of Japan!
He still went with little Yoné to Mukojima sometimes, though less frequently. And the small heart of the small girl wondered and grew hurt at this. So that she asked him one day:—
"Little lord, why is it that we so seldom come here and that you no more sing, no more carry your samisen, and are grown too suddenly for your years a man with a face as serious as the unlaughing barbarians of the West—why is it?"
They were at Shiba. And Shijiro laughed again, as he had used to laugh, while he answered:—
"Sing no more! Listen!"
| "Reign on for a thousand years of peace! |
| Reign on for a myriad years of ease! |
| Till the pebbles are boulders, |
| Moss grows to our shoulders, |
| O heaven-born lord of Nippon!" |
"The Kimi Gayo!" said the little girl. "You sing the Imperial Hymn with that light in your face who never sang it before—whose face was never before so lighted? You answer my fear with fears."
"I sing a war-song, little moon-maid, because I am now a soldier," cried Arisuga, with a certain fanatical ecstasy in spite of his gayety. "I am going to die for the emperor the great death! I am going to set my father free to pursue his way to the heavens or another reincarnation! Think! The gods will love me for such a holy thing! Why do not you?"
"Oh, yes," whispered the little girl, "the gods will love you. And I. But who, then, will come with me here? And who will hold my hand?"
"My spirit, I promise you that!"