THE SINGING INSECTS
Umé sat on the edge of the veranda, taking coins from a little silk bag
and spreading them out before her.
"Ichi, ni, san, shi, go," she counted, up to fourteen. "Fourteen sen,"
she said. "If I had one more I could buy the kind of singing insect I
like best."
"What is that?" asked Tara.
"It is a kirigirisu."
"What shall you buy, then?" asked Tara.
"I shall have to buy a suzumushi, and two other honorably cheap ones,"
Umé told him.
"Ask the august father for one more sen," Tara advised.
But Umé shook her head. "The august father has given me all the sen he
has for me this month," she answered.
"How do you know?"
"Because I have already asked for one more sen, and that was his
honorable answer."
"I have one sen which you may have if you will let me call the
kirigirisu partly mine," said Tara. "I have a black cricket, a little
grass lark, that I caught in our own garden last night, and it chirps so
cheerfully that I do not need to buy any other singing insect."
"It does not matter whose insect it is," said Umé, "if it only sings."
So Tara gave his sen to Umé and she went to find Tei, who went with her
down to the street of shops. There, among numberless other booths, the
children found one where nothing but singing insects were for sale.
The insects were of different colors and sizes. Some were black, some
were brown and some were bright green. The one that Umé chose looked
much like a brown grasshopper.
"He sings most musically in the hours of darkness," said the insect
merchant. "While you lie in your bed he will say to you, 'Tsuzuré--sasé,
sasé, sasé.'"
Both little girls laughed at the words, which mean, "Torn clothes--patch
up, patch up, patch up."
"They are strange words for the honorable insect-singer," said Tei.
Each insect was in a little cage which was made of horsehair or fine
strands of bamboo. The cages were of different shapes and sizes for the
different kinds of insects. Some were tall and shaped like a bee-hive,
some were oblong and others were square. Umé's kirigirisu was in a cage
four inches long.
Tei also had a few sen. She looked at many insects carefully and finally
chose a beautiful bright green grasshopper that made a sound like the
weaving of a loom:--"Ji-i-i-i, chon-chon! Ji-i-i-i, chon-chon!"
Then home trotted the two little girls with their cunning cages.
It was a very warm day and the good mother was waiting for them with
cups of cold tea. She looked at the insects and smiled at the baby who
kotowed an honorable welcome to them.
"When I was a child," she said, "my unselfish mother told me a wise
story about those same two insects."
Immediately the children seated themselves.
"We will be most respectfully quiet and listen, if you will tell it to
us," said Umé.
"Long, long ago," began the mother, "when Japan was young, there were
two faithful and obedient daughters who supported their blind old father
by the labor of their hands. The elder girl spent all her days in
weaving while the other was just as industriously sewing. In that way
they took faithful care of their blind father for many years.
"Finally the old man died, and so deeply did the two daughters mourn for
him that soon they died also.
"One summer evening a strange sound was heard on their graves. It was a
new sound that no one had ever heard there before, and it was made by
two little insects which were swinging and singing on a blade of grass
above the place where the two daughters lay.
"On the tomb of the elder was a pretty green insect, producing sounds
like those made by a girl weaving,--'Ji-i-i-i, chon-chon! Ji-i-i-i,
chon-chon!' This was the first weaver-insect. On the tomb of the younger
sister was an insect which kept crying out,--'Tsuzuré--sasé, sasé!
tsuzuré--sasé sasé, sasé!' ('Torn clothes--patch up, patch up! Torn
clothes--patch up, patch up, patch up!') This was the first kirigirisu.
"Since that time these same little insects cry to every Japanese mother
and daughter to work well before the cold winter days, to do all the
weaving and sewing and mending and have the winter clothing ready.
"We used to believe that the spirits of the two girls took these
shapes," she ended.
In the silence that followed the story, Tei's little insect sang,
"Ji-i-i, chon-chon! Ji-i-i, chon-chon!" and Umé's answered, "Tsuzuré,
sasé, sasé! Tsuzuré, sasé, sasé!"
The night was creeping over the garden. The sound of the temple bells
rang through the air, and little flashes of light twinkled in unexpected
places.
The children gathered closer to the mother and begged for one more story
before bed-time.
"Did you ever hear of Princess Splendor?" she asked.
The children never had heard the story, and their mother told it to
them.
"She was a beautiful little moon-child who came down to the world
hundreds of years ago. There was but one way for her to come, and that
was on a silver moonbeam.
"While she sat on a pine branch resting from her journey, a wood-cutter
found her and took her to his home, where she stayed for many years.
"But the Emperor, passing through the forest, wondered why the little
brown house of the wood-cutter shone with such a wonderful glow, and
when he found that there was a beautiful moon-child there, he went to
see her.
"By day or by night it was just the same with the house; it always shone
with the glory of the Princess Splendor.
"Of course the Emperor wished to marry her; but he had been too late in
finding her, because she was to return to her home in the moon at the
end of twenty years, and the end of the twenty years had come.
"She begged to stay with the Emperor and began to weep, but it was of no
use. The moon-mother took her home and tried to comfort her; but her
tears went on falling, and they take wings to themselves as fast as they
fall. These fireflies are the golden tears of the lovely Princess
Splendor."
It was quite dark when the story was finished, and Tei jumped up. "I
must go home and show the intelligent insect to my honorable mother,"
she said.
"Tara and I will walk across the gardens with you," said Umé.
She reached under the veranda for three slender bamboo poles, while Tara
ran for candles to put in the paper lanterns which hung on the end of
the poles.
Soon the three lanterns went bobbing down the garden path through the
dusk, and the sound of happy voices floated back to the mother.
"It was of no use!" said Umé's voice.
"What was of no use?" asked Tara.
"Princess Splendor could not marry the right prince," answered Umé.
The mother smiled, and rising, carried Yuki San into the house, while
the temple bells were still ringing through the twilight.