From that hour she was not seen to weep. She performed, lightly and
silently, as in former days, the gentle duties of a daughter.
Seasons passed; and her father thought to find another husband for her.
To the mother, he said:
"If our daughter again have a son, it will be great joy for her, and
for all of us."
But the wiser mother made answer:
"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 chopsticks 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."
Next day the mother asked O-Toyo:
"Would you not like to become a holy nun, and to live in a very, very
small temple, with a very small altar, and little images of the
Buddhas? We should be always near you. If you wish this, we shall get a
priest to teach you the sutras."
O-Toyo wished it, and asked that an extremely small nun's dress be got
for her. But the mother said:
"Everything except the dress a good nun may have made small. But she
must wear a large dress--that is the law of Buddha."
So she was persuaded to wear the same dress as other nuns.