A little wearied by the day's journeying, I get to bed early, and sleep
as dreamlessly as a plant until I am awakened about daylight by a heavy,
regular, bumping sound, shaking the wooden pillow on which my ear
rests--the sound of the katsu of the kometsuki beginning his eternal
labour of rice-cleaning. Then the pretty musume of the inn opens the
chamber to the fresh mountain air and the early sun, rolls back all the
wooden shutters into their casings behind the gallery, takes down the
brown mosquito net, brings a hibachi with freshly kindled charcoal for
my morning smoke, and trips away to get our breakfast.
Early as it is when she returns, she brings word that a messenger has
already arrived from the Guji, Senke Takanori, high descendant of the
Goddess of the Sun. The messenger is a dignified young Shinto priest,
clad in the ordinary Japanese full costume, but wearing also a superb
pair of blue silken hakama, or Japanese ceremonial trousers, widening
picturesquely towards the feet. He accepts my invitation to a cup of
tea, and informs me that his august master is waiting for us at the
temple.
This is delightful news, but we cannot go at once. Akira's attire is
pronounced by the messenger to be defective. Akira must don fresh white
tabi and put on hakama before going into the august presence: no one may
enter thereinto without hakama. Happily Akira is able to borrow a pair
of hakama from the landlord; and, after having arranged ourselves
as neatly as we can, we take our way to the temple, guided by the
messenger.