“The law of my fathers required a finger for each plate broken,” said the master sorrowfully; for although he liked the gentle little maid and did not wish to hurt her, he feared to disobey the law.
“You shall not cut even her finger nail,” suddenly cried a rough voice. The group around O Cho San turned in astonishment to see who dared speak so to the master.
It was Genzaburo, a servant, very rough but honest and good.
“O Cho San may not be punished for what she has not done,” he said. “I myself broke the plate. You ask me why? Because I love O Cho San. She is as fair as the cherry bloom in early spring, but to me cold and remote as the snows upon the crest of the mountains. I thought to myself, she is a Samurai’s daughter and will never marry me. But if she lose a finger no one else will marry her. Therefore in time she will turn to me, and I shall win her for my wife. Then I broke the plate.”
“How did you break it?” demanded the master sternly.
“That I will show you,” said Genzaburo. “It was very simple. I was told to mend the lid of the box in which the plate was kept. Then I thought of the plates, and I drew forth one and bang! my hammer fell upon it just like this!” and he brought his hammer down with great force.
There was a crash terrible to hear, a scream from O Cho San, an exclamation of rage from the master, for the hammer had descended upon the pile of plates, and of the beautiful porcelain nothing at all remained but fragments.
In all the confusion Genzaburo alone was calm. He stood smiling at the ruin he had wrought, and his master cried, “The man is quite mad! Take him away!”
“Not so, my master, I am not mad,” Genzaburo replied. “I did this thing with reason. Take all my fingers if you wish, or even my life if the commands of your honorable ancestors must be carried out. But I shall have the happiness of knowing that no more little maids can be frightened and mutilated by your cruelty.”
The nobleman gazed upon him in silence; but the son threw himself before his father.