CRICKETS AND FIREFLIES
"To-night we must see the Bon-ichi," said Mr. Harding, "for to-morrow
will begin the Feast of the Lanterns." The young man had arrived on the
scene the day before, surprising every one except, perhaps, his sister.
"Oh, I have read of the Bon-ichi," said Mary Lee. "I think the Feast of
Lanterns must be the most wonderful of all. I wish we could see some of
the customs in the native houses."
"No doubt that could be managed," returned Mr. Harding. "The Feast
of Lanterns, or Bormatsuri, as it is called here, is truly a most
beautiful festival. It begins on the thirteenth of July and continues
to the fifteenth. It answers somewhat to the All Soul's Day which you
know they celebrate in special ways in Europe. I think, however, that
you will find the ceremonies here even more interesting."
"Tell us something about them," said Eleanor.
"New mats are woven for this feast to be placed upon all the Buddhist
altars. Shrines and altars are decorated with lotus flowers, the
natural flowers when possible, when not, paper ones are used. Fresh
boughs of anise and other plants are used as well. The little lacquered
tables from which the Japanese take their meals, and which you have
so often seen, are placed on the altar to hold the food served to the
spirits of the departed. In the very poor houses, these offerings of
food are sometimes merely wrapped in a leaf and laid on the fresh mats.
Wine is not given, neither do they give fish nor meat to the departed
friends, but they offer fresh, pure water and give them tea every hour.
They serve the meals exactly as they would to living guests, even
supplying chop-sticks."
"It is something like the Indian custom, this giving of food to the
dead," remarked Mary Lee. "Why is it called the Feast of the Lanterns?"
"Because the prettiest sorts of lanterns are hung each night before the
houses. These are in special shapes and have a peculiar kind of paper
fringe. At the going down of the sun, torches are placed in the ground
before the earthly homes of the ghosts so that they may find their way.
Welcome fires, too, are seen all along the shores of the streams, the
lakes and the sea where there are villages."
"How perfectly lovely," exclaimed Nan.
"To my mind," Mr. Harding went on, "the last evening, the fifteenth
of July, is decidedly the most interesting of all. It is then that
the priests offer food to those poor ghosts who have no friends to
give them anything, and it is the night when the dance of Bon-odori is
given."
"Oh, I should like to see that," said Eleanor.
"But the most beautiful of all the customs," Mr. Harding continued,
"is that of sending out the little boats of farewell, with a lantern
at each prow and a freightage of dainty food. In these tiny crafts the
souls of the ancestors are supposed to return to their ghostly homes by
way of the sea, bearing with them written words of loving cheer."
"It must be wonderful to see all the little boats afloat."
"It is a thing not to be forgotten. At the present time it is forbidden
to launch them on the sea at the open ports, but in isolated regions
they are still sent forth."
"It is all the most fascinating and charming feast that we have heard
anything about," declared Mary Lee. "We must go over and tell mother
and the rest about it. They will want to go to the Bon-ichi, of course."
"I will go with you," said Eleanor jumping up.
They had been sitting in the pretty garden near where a little fountain
splashed softly over rocks and pebbles, washing the feet of slender
aquatic plants and then trickling on to form a small pool in which a
tiny island was visible. Nan would have followed the two girls, but as
Mr. Harding said, "Please don't go," she sank back again into her seat.
She would yield to the temptation this once. Jack would be in evidence
that evening and she must then efface herself, so she would take these
few golden moments for her very own.
"I want you to go with me to the Bon-ichi this evening," said Mr.
Harding. "Will you?"
"Why, yes," replied Nan. "We are all going, aren't we?"
"But you will go with me, won't you?"
Nan laughed. "As if it were an opera or the theatre you were inviting
me to, I suppose."
"Exactly." He spoke quite seriously and Nan, stealing a glance at him,
saw that he looked very grave and earnest.
"Oh, very well, I will consider myself specially invited," she replied
lightly, "though I don't see what special difference it will make."
"We were lost in the crowd that night at the temple festival in Tokyo,
you remember."
Nan fidgeted with the leaf of a small plant near her. It made her very
happy to have him talk this way, yet she wished he would not. No, she
did not wish he would not. She would like to be lost in any crowd so
long as he was by her side. She wondered if Jack really did like him so
very much, and wasn't it disloyal to Carter to encourage Jack to smile
on any one else?
Mr. Harding interrupted these conjectures by repeating, "You do
remember, don't you?"
For answer Nan said, "I have the wee rabbit to remind me."
"And Kamakura?"
"I have this." She took the little jade figure from the small bag she
carried and held it out.
Mr. Harding took it in his hand, looked at it with a smile and handed
it back saying, "Will you mind very much being lost again?"
Nan shot him a swift look. She felt the color rising to her cheeks as
she answered, "I will not mind." Then fearful of further temptation she
arose and fled, not even turning her head as Mr. Harding called after
her, "Please, Miss Nan, don't go. Please come back."
Back she would not come, but she was happy, happy. She would let
herself go for this one time. Surely so much was her due. In a little
while these happy days would be over. Mr. Harding would be returning to
his work. In the meantime let him choose between her and the younger
girl. She would let fate decide.
Why Mr. Harding had gone so far as to venture on such an invitation,
Eleanor might have explained. She adored Nan and had charged her
brother with fickleness. Had asked why he treated Nan with such
coldness when at first the two had seemed to be the best of friends. He
had replied that it was all Nan's own doings, that she had turned the
cold shoulder, and that he could but accept his position. "I think she
wishes me to understand that some one else has a prior claim," he said
at last.
Eleanor considered this before she replied. "I don't believe a word of
it. I am quite sure she is not engaged to any one, but I shall make it
my business to find out from Mary Lee. If she isn't and even though she
may be interested in some other man, I don't see why you haven't as
good a chance as he has. There isn't a girl in the world I would rather
have for my sister, Neal, old boy."
"You are a trump, Nell," returned her brother, but he did not say that
there was no girl he would rather she should have for a sister, an
omission which Eleanor thought of in the light of after events.
By some hokus-pokus, Jack found herself in the society of Mr. Montell
when they all started off for the Bon-ichi. This young man had come up
with Neal Harding, and it is to Eleanor's credit that she managed to
hand him over to Jack rather than to accept his escort for herself.
Jack did not mind the experience in the least, although if it had been
given her to choose, she would have selected Mr. Harding.
Between the flickering light of lanterns and torches all the way down
the street moved a crowd of people and soon the party of Americans
became a part of the throng, themselves, though soberly clad,
conspicuous above the little women in bright garments and the small
men in blue or black or gray. In spite of this, Nan and her companion
were soon separated from the rest. They had stopped long before a booth
where were sold lotus flowers and leaves for the ceremony of the morrow.
They lingered, too, to look at the bundles of hemp sticks, the crude
dishes of earthenware, made especially for the ghostly visitors. As
they turned away from these last, Mr. Harding looked down with a smile.
"Now we are alone," he said with a smile.
Nan understood. Who is so alone as in a crowd? Some distance ahead
she caught sight, once in a while, of the colonel's soldierly figure
towering up above his companions, and once or twice she could see
Jack's hat, and her sparkling face turned gaily toward her escort.
"We have gone back to the temple fair at Tokyo, I hope," said Mr.
Harding as Nan grew more and more expansive and chatty.
"We won't talk about goings back," returned she lightly. "It is always
better to go ahead. What is done is done. We can control the future
somewhat, but we cannot help the past."
"That sounds like one of Confucius' philosophies. I accept the lesson
it holds."
Just what did he mean by that? Nan felt that she had been more didactic
than wise and wished she had said something else. She must be more
guarded. She forgot her introspections in the beauty of the things to
be seen at the next stall: wonderful lanterns of most beautiful shapes
and colors, although there were some that were a pure luminous white
and these were intended for the cemeteries. They stood long looking at
them but in time moved on to where queer little figures made of straw
were offered for sale. "What in the world are these?" inquired Nan.
"These are horses for the ghosts to ride and oxen to work for them,"
her companion told her.
"How queer, how very queer, and what is that on the next stall?"
"That is incense."
A little further along they came upon Jean and Mary Lee all absorbed in
a display of tiny horsehair cages, from which twinkled and sparkled
myriads of lights. Alongside of these were larger cages, though small
enough, of bamboo from whose interiors the strident notes of great
green crickets came incessantly.
"Aren't they darling?" cried Jean enthusiastically as Nan came up. "You
can get a cricket and a cage for two cents, and for one cent you can
buy fifteen fireflies in a cage. Mary Lee and I are getting ever so
many."
"What for?" inquired Nan.
"Oh, just to give them their freedom. We hate to see the poor little
creatures caged. The cages are so curious that we want those anyhow."
"Have they any religious fitness?" Nan asked Mr. Harding.
"Oh, no, they are only for the children."
Nan concluded that she must have a cage, too, and bore away a galaxy
of twinkling stars which she declared she would make a ceremony of
liberating.
Then while Mr. Harding told her a pretty tale of how the fireflies came
to exist at all, and then wandered off into other folk-lore, they moved
slowly out of the seething crowd to find their way into shadowy groves
and at last to come upon a shrine before which lights were burning but
where no one worshiped, for it seemed quite deserted.
"If we could but reach Kwannon-with-the-Horse's-Head," said Mr.
Harding, "we could send up a prayer for the animals which have died,
and Kwannon might answer."
"And where is Kwannon-with-the-Horse's-Head?"
"Away down near Izumo. I have seen the shrine and it seemed a very
pleasant thing to think that these people cared to remember the welfare
of their animals, and to want them to enter a better state after the
trials of this. Their religion seems very fanciful and, to us, full of
all sorts of errors, but one comes across very beautiful customs every
now and then."
Nan knelt before the little shrine and opened her cage of fireflies.
One after another found its freedom, darting out and floating up into
the dimness of further distance. They stood watching them glimmering
fitfully under the dark trees. "They seem like departing souls,
themselves," said Nan. "They make me think of 'Vital spark of heavenly
flame.'"
"Then you have found in them a symbol that the Japanese seem not to
have discovered. I knew you would surprise me with something of the
kind."
"How did you know?"
"I divined it as one sees with the eyes of his spirit."
"There is one poor little firefly left," said Nan suddenly observing a
faint glimmer still coming from the tiny cage. "I am afraid he is hurt.
If I knew what to feed him on I would take him home and keep him till
he is able to fly."
"They feed the crickets on eggplant and melon rind. We can get some on
the way back, or we can find out what to give this little fellow."
"Then that is what we must do, though I wonder if we take him so far
away if he can find his way back to his companions. Do you suppose he
will want to? Or does it make no difference to a vital spark where it
is liberated?"
"I don't imagine it will make any difference. I know my soul could find
its way to----" He stopped short fearing he was growing too bold.
"To where?" asked Nan.
"To its kindred soul," was the reply which was not exactly what was
first intended.
Nan sighed. It was all so dreamily mysterious out there in the mild
warm air under the trees. It was a great temptation to stay and listen
to perhaps more daring speeches. They were both silent for a little
while, Nan watching the feeble glimmer of the imprisoned insect, and
Mr. Harding watching her in the light of the lantern hung before the
shrine. "It is very lovely here," said Nan at last, "but I think we
should go back."
"Must we? I could stay forever."
"It is very lovely," repeated Nan, but she began to move away from the
spot.
They passed a temple where people were coming and going and heard the
clanging of its gong, the shuffle of feet upon the stairway leading to
it, the murmur of voices. "Shall we go up?" asked Mr. Harding.
Nan shook her head. "No, I don't care to, do you?"
"No, I would rather stay a little longer in the shadow of my dreams."
They stood apart for a moment watching the moving throng, and then they
turned away, each dwelling in a world far away from that which they
saw, the land of Heart's Desire.
For some reason, Nan noticed that whenever Jack started off with Mr.
Harding alone, after the night of the Bon-ichi, she was not allowed to
go far without being joined by either Mary Lee or Eleanor, but when
she, herself, happened to come upon either of these two latter in the
young man's company, some mysterious errand would take one or the other
to another part of the house or grounds. She was too happy to search
very far for the cause of this and accepted what fate brought her in
the way of a tête-à-tête. That it was anything more than accident she
did not ask, that it was really a conspiracy she did not for a moment
imagine. For one short week she would enjoy herself and then let come
what must.
The last day of the Feast of Lanterns was the great one. On its morning
Mary Lee came to her. "I want you to do something for me, Nan," she
said. "I suppose you will think it is foolish, and of course I don't
in the least believe in these queer religions, for who could? But I do
want to do one thing. It seems as if somehow Phil might know that I am
sending him a message and it would comfort me to pretend. I want to
launch a little boat on the river this evening. Will you come with me?"
"Of course I will," said Nan heartily. "I don't think it is foolish at
all. I should feel exactly the same under the circumstances. Where will
you get the boat?"
"Oh, I have it. I managed all that. I shall not do as the Japanese do,
of course, and load it with food. I shall only write a little letter
and shall send out my boat with the lantern on it. I hope Phil will
know," she said wistfully.
Nan's eyes filled with tears. This was the romance of Mary Lee's life
she understood. All the poetry and romance of her nature was centred in
the memory of the young lover she had lost. "I am sure, if our dear
angels know anything of what we do, he will know," she answered her
sister gently. "Are we not compassed about by a cloud of witnesses?"
she added. "He must know, Mary Lee."
"I am glad you remembered that," returned her sister. "It is
comforting. I will come for you, shall I? or will you come for me?"
"Whichever you say."
"Perhaps you'd better come for me, then we can steal away by ourselves
more easily. I know just the spot."
The sun had set, but there was still light in the sky, when Mary Lee
and Nan set out for a secluded place along the riverside. The little
straw boat which Mary Lee carried was carefully screened from view and
it was not till they reached the river's brink that she took it from
its wrappings to set it afloat with its tiny lantern and the written
message of love and longing. Very carefully Mary Lee lighted the small
lantern, very cautiously set the tiny craft afloat and watched it drift
off adown the current to join the fleet further along. The twinkling
lights from many another frail bark showed that a host of phantoms were
supposedly moving out upon the current to find the sea at last.
The two girls stood silently watching the boat slowly making its way
down-stream. When its tiny spark at last vanished around a bend in the
river Mary Lee turned away with a quick sob. "Sometimes I feel as if I
could not bear it," she said.
Nan put her arms lovingly around the younger girl and laid her cheek
against the fair hair. "I know, I know," she whispered, "but he is
always there, dear, and always yours."
"Yes," returned the other, "and that is all that comforts."
"Suppose you had been obliged to give him up to some one else, loving
him as you did, wouldn't it have been harder?"
"I don't know. Perhaps. Yes, he is mine, forever mine, and he may not
be very far away if I could only have faith to realize it. I shall
think he does know and is glad to have me do what I have done to-night."
They returned slowly saying little. As they neared the hotel, they saw
Jack and Mr. Harding sauntering through the garden paths. They appeared
to be having an animated conversation. "Do you like Mr. Harding as much
as you did at first?" inquired Mary Lee.
"Oh, yes," returned Nan in as indifferent a manner as she could assume
though she felt the color rush to her face. Mary Lee stole a glance at
her, and remembered what Nan had forgotten. It was when she did not
talk freely of any special man that she might be counted on as feeling
the deeper interest. Nan rarely discussed Neal Harding and Mary Lee
drew her own conclusions.
"I wonder what Carter would say if he saw Jack now," she said after a
pause.
"He knows what Jack is," replied Nan, "and moreover I don't know that
he has any right to criticize her actions. We only assume that he has
any claim. Jack has never said so."
"No, she is a perfect sphinx upon the subject. Sometimes I think she
doesn't care a rap for him and again I am convinced that she would
never consider any one else."
"She is too young to know her own mind."
"I knew my own mind when I was younger than she."
"Well, I think she ought to have her chances."
"And you think Neal Harding is one of them."
"I think it within the bounds of possibility."
"Nonsense!"
"Why nonsense? He attracts her and I think she would attract him if----"
"If what?"
"If propinquity were made a factor."
"Do you think she would be happy married to Neal Harding?"
"Certainly. Why shouldn't she be? He is a fine, honorable gentleman
with a good mind and with excellent prospects. I cannot imagine how any
one could find fault with him."
Mary Lee smiled wisely. "Oh, I am not picking flaws. I think he is fine
but I don't concede that he would suit Jack in the least."
"Oh!" Nan seemed a little bewildered, but Mary Lee, watching the pair
wandering around the garden together, made up her mind to several
things which she did not reveal to Nan.
Jack espied her sisters as they came forward. She ran to meet them
exclaiming: "Why, where have you all been? We have been looking all
over for you. Mr. Harding wants us to see the great dance, the dance
called Bon-odori. Eleanor and the rest are waiting for us. The others
have gone on ahead."
There was nothing to do but follow out the suggestion and in due time
the party reached the temple court where the strangely-fascinating,
weird dance was going on. It was one of those peculiar religious rites
performed in many countries on special feast days, though varying with
the time and place, a quaint and rhythmical march, accompanied by the
clapping of hands, the beat of a drum. A procession of maidens swaying,
turning, stepping lightly, moving gracefully around the temple court;
this is what they saw. Presently others joined the procession, men
and again other women. Then began the songs, curious antiphonal chants
rising with more and more volume as the company of marching figures
grew larger.
"It reminds me of some strange old Scriptural rite," said Mrs. Corner
to the colonel. "One might imagine the daughters of Israel going out to
meet David, or dancing before the golden calf. It is very Oriental, but
really very beautiful. The hands are very expressive and the rhythm is
perfect."
"I have seen the dance done in different parts of Japan," returned the
colonel, "and it is never quite the same, but it is always interesting."
They tarried till a booming bell gave signal that the dance was over
and then they joined the throng of toddling women and shuffling men who
turned toward their homes.
"To-morrow," said the colonel, "the fishermen can go out again, for
those who have parents need not go without meat, although those who
have lost a parent must wait a day longer before they can have fish to
eat."
"But we shall have fish," said Mrs. Craig with decision. And so ended
the great Festival of the Bonku.
[Illustration: CHAPTER XIV
JEAN VISITS]