The removal was a curious affair. On five or six carts, everything in the house from paper screens to a kitchen stove was piled up. There was an old pomegranate-tree in the back yard which we had brought from the country some six or seven years ago. And of course we dug it up carefully and loaded it on the cart. Also we did not forget to pull down long poles for drying purpose and add them to the heap, together with two or three round stones for pressing pickles. The train of the carts pulled by coolies then moved slowly on through the city, and it was after dark before we could unload them at the destination.
The new house was in a charming spot. Just back of us was a low hill thickly wooded with tall oaks and criptomerias; to the left across a brook stretched a tilled field, fringed in the far distance with bamboo bushes and elm groves; to the right and on the hill the eye could command the western horizon where Fujiyama hung low like an azure fan against the golden sky. The birds sang, the flowers bloomed, the fire-worms glowed, and I never felt a change so delightful, coming as I did from a town where boys believed that Indian corn either grew on a tree, or sprang, like bamboo shoots, from the ground without planting.
My school came to be much nearer; the potted trees of my father increased; a baby was added to our family; and, as the sun and the moon moved on peacefully, we were all well contented with our lot.
There was not much to be recorded for our purpose in those days except the angling my father and I had occasionally in a river. His was always a calm turn of mind, and the soothing, restful pastime of fishing suited him immensely. I love to picture him sitting under the sheltering pine-tree by a quiet river bank, and handling the rod and line, while quaint ripples of smiles came and went across his face as the nibbling fish gave his line a tantalizing pull. Once, when it was the season of smelt in the month of May, we went over to a stream about two miles off. The scene around there was lovely. The mass of fresh leaves covered the open field, and along the slope of the bank, with stunted willows here and there, myriads of dandelions like golden stars studded the green. And the breeze was fanning leisurely the warmth of the May sun. The stream was shallow, and was singing and foaming on the pebbly bed.
“Let’s see what we can do about here,” said my father, as he selected a spot where the water was going on in a cataract. And we cast our flies and tried our luck. But, after awhile, having no success, I began to doubt if my father had chosen the right spot, and so I thought that I had better follow up the river and see if they bit. I left my father to his fortune and started on my adventure. I did not know that smelt-fishing was such a dull business, for, wherever I went, there was the foaming pool, the steady flow, and there were practically no bites. Yes, there was one, but I only fished a piece of some rotten wood or dripping moss! I wondered what my father was doing, and, not without a smile over his probable ill-luck, I went back, when I found him still standing in the same spot. I doubted if he was not going to take root there. I at once inquired about his success. “No, nothing remarkable,” he gently replied, dreaming on the sparkling water. I went to his basket dipped in the river, and lifted the lid, when a large prisoner, disturbed by the jar I gave, snapped violently! After all, I thought, he was of a piece with Izaak Walton.
So days passed, and more than a year rolled on since our removal. It was now the latter part of October, when one day we had unexpected visitors. They were my aunt and Tomo-chan. This was not their first visit since we came here, but I had always been out and had had no chance to meet them. Still, they did not come very often, and so my aunt, with many bows, apologized for her negligence to call, while my mother, with equal courtesy, was not behind the guest in heaping up apologies for neglect on her part. Then, as tea and cakes were produced, inquiry after the health and condition of each member of the family issued from both sides, and was answered modestly, followed by amiable comment from the inquirers. Then, with equal lightness of heart, the season was talked over, the recent events, and, indeed, anything of timely interest.
While such a talk was going on my eyes were secretly on Tomo-chan. I was surprised at her change. I left her a mere child only a year and a half ago, but the bud of yesterday was the flower of to-day. With a snowy neck and rosy cheeks, her ebony hair done up stylishly, she sat in striped silk of light azure and dove-gray. She no longer looked at me straight, but, except for furtive glances, her eyes sought her jewelled hands, idly occupied in clasping and unclasping on her knees. A glow of bashfulness was beaming from her as most eyes sought their focus in her.
As the talk was about to become more personal, my mother suggested that Tomo-chan might go out with me as a guide to look around the place, which was beautiful at that time. My aunt seconded the motion, and asked me to take the trouble of doing so. So there was no need of hesitation, and in the next moment we were out for a walk on a country road.
At first we were speechless. She appeared to me no longer approachable with the familiarity of “Tomo-chan.” But as the autumnal breeze cooled down her bashfulness, and the beauty of the scenery was absorbing her attention more and more, I ventured to falter:
“Tomo-chan!”