'Yes: I want to go to the school; I want to see the school.'
Then they wonder if the fine brain has not wholly given way, while they make answer:
'It is midnight past, and there is no moon. And the night is cold.'
'No; I can see by the stars—I want to see the school again.'
They make kindliest protests in vain: the dying boy only repeats, with the plaintive persistence of a last—'I want to see the school again; I want to see it now.' So there is a murmured consultation in the neighbouring room; and tansu-drawers are unlocked, warm garments prepared. Then Fusaichi, the strong servant, enters with lantern lighted, and cries out in his kind rough voice:
'Master Tomi will go to the school upon my back: 'tis but a little way; he shall see the school again.
Carefully they wrap up the lad in wadded robes; then he puts his arms about Fusaichi's shoulders like a child; and the strong servant bears him lightly through the wintry street; and the father hurries beside Fusaichi, bearing the lantern. And it is not far to the school, over the little bridge.
The huge dark grey building looks almost black in the night; but Yokogi can see. He looks at the windows of his own classroom; at the roofed side-door where each morning for four happy years he used to exchange his getas for soundless sandals of straw; at the lodge of the slumbering Kodzukai; [11] at the silhouette of the bell hanging black in its little turret against the stars. Then he murmurs:
'I can remember all now. I had forgotten—so sick I was. I remember everything again: Oh, Fusaichi, you are very good. I am so glad to have seen the school again.'
And they hasten back through the long void streets.