"Unhappy she is not. It is impossible that she marry again. She
has become as a little child, knowing nothing of trouble or sin."
It was true that she had ceased to know real pain. She had begun
to show a strange fondness for very small things. At first she
had found her bed too large--perhaps through the sense of
emptiness left by the loss of her child; then, day by day, other
things seemed to grow too large,--the dwelling itself, the
familiar rooms, the alcove and its great flower-vases,--even the
household utensils. She wished to eat her rice with miniature
chop-sticks out of a very small bowl such as children use.
In these things she was lovingly humored; and in other matters
she was not fantastic. The old people consulted together about
her constantly. At last the father said:--
"For our daughter to live with strangers might be painful. But as
we are aged, we may soon have to leave her. Perhaps we could
provide for her by making her a nun. We might build a little
temple for her."