“Thank you very many times for such a good meal, kind friends,” he said.
“You have been welcome. Go in peace,” said the master of the house.
“And may happiness be yours,” returned the young Samurai.
“Happiness can never again be ours,” said the old man, with a sad face, as his daughter left the room. Her mother followed her and from behind the paper partitions of the breakfast room, Wakiki could hear sounds as if she were trying to comfort the young girl.
“You are then in trouble?” he asked, not liking to be inquisitive, and yet wishing to show sympathy.
“Terrible trouble,” said the father. “There is no help! Know, gentle Samurai, that there is within the forest a ruined temple. This shrine, once the home of sacred things, is now the abode of horrors too terrible for words. Each year a mountain spirit, a demon whom no one has ever seen, demands from us a victim, upon pain of destroying the whole village. The victim is placed in a cage and carried to the temple just at sunset. There she is left and no one knows what is her fate, for in the morning not a trace of her remains. It must always be the fairest maiden of the village who is offered up and this year, alas, it is my daughter’s turn;” and the old man buried his face in his hands and groaned.
“I should think this strange thing would make the young girls of your village far from vain and each would wish to be the ugliest,” said the young warrior. “It is terrible indeed, but do not despair. I am sure I shall find a way to help you.” He paused to think. “Tell me, who is Shippeitaro?” he asked suddenly, as he remembered the scene of the night before.
“Shippeitaro is a beautiful dog owned by our lord the prince,” said the old man, wondering at the question.
“That will be just the thing,” cried the Samurai. “Keep your daughter closely at home. Do not allow her out of your sight. Trust me and she shall be saved.”
He hurried away, and having found the castle of the prince, he begged that just for one night Shippeitaro be lent to him.