"I don't like the foxes' faces," said Asako, "they look bad creatures."
"They are bad creatures," was the reply, "nobody likes to see a fox; they fool people."
"Then why say prayers, if they are bad?"
"It is just because they are bad," said Sadako, "that we must please them. We flatter them so that they may not hurt us."
Asako was unlearned in the difference between religion and devil-worship, so she did not understand the full significance of this remark. But she felt an unpleasant reaction, the first which she had received that day; and she thought to herself that if she were the mistress of that lovely garden, she would banish the stone foxes and risk their displeasure.
The two girls returned to the house. Its shutters were up, and it, too, had that same appearance of a Noah's Ark but of a more complete and expensive variety. One little opening was left in the wooden armature for the girls to enter by.
"Please come again many, many times," was cousin Sadako's last farewell. "The house of the Fujinami is your home. Sayonara!"
* * * * *
Geoffrey was waiting for his wife in the hall of the hotel. He was anxious at her late return. His embrace seemed to swallow her up to the amusement of the boy sans who had been discussing the lateness of okusan, and the possibility of her having an admirer.
"Thank goodness," said Geoffrey, "what have you been doing? I was just going to organise a search party."