A sweet warbler that had come near the eve of the house, broke its note in the middle of its song and hopped to a tree a little way off. We purposely stopped our talk and listened in silence; but the little throat that lost its tune would not recover it easily.
“You met Gembey on the mountain, yesterday, Sensei?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“You made a detour to see the ‘five elements’ tomb of the Maid of Nagara?”
“Even like the dew drop, that when autumn comes lodges trembling on grass, must I roll off to die.” The woman recited the lines, just the words only, with no tune or intonation. I did not know what for, but volunteered the information:
“I heard that song at the tea stall.”
“The old woman told you then. Long ago she was with us as our servant here, before I....” Here she looked at me, and I pretended to know nothing.
“It was when I was young. I used to tell her the story of Nagarano Otome, every time she called on us after leaving here. The song was very difficult for her to remember. But hearing if told her so often, she finally got everything by heart.”
“That accounts for it; I thought she knew a very literary sort of thing for a woman of her station—however that song is a sad one.”
“Sad, do you think? If I were that maiden, I would have never sung like that. In the first place, what good will it serve to throw yourself into a river and die?”