AS the laggard sun crept stealthily out of the east, a vision of
extraordinary loveliness burst upon them. There, within but the length
of a single hill and field from them, the ragged peaks of the old Temple
Tokiwa raised a lordly head above the sun-flecked pines.
Stripped of its wealth, but not its beauty, showing the ravages of fire
and assault upon its burnished walls, deserted, falling to the decay of
neglected age, it was more compellingly majestic than any of the famous
structures the Tojin-san had seen.
The approach was over terraces made of countless stone steps, many of
them now loose and entirely overgrown with grass and weeds.
The pagoda was of seven stories, its crimson eaves still fringed with
shattered wind-bells.
A swarm of pigeons flew about its eaves and roof, and came to meet them
in a voluble, almost intelligent cloud. She ran to meet them, holding
out her arms and calling and chirping to them. Dipping into her long
sleeves, she brought up handfuls of the rice she had not forgotten to
bring with her, and threw it generously among them. They pecked at her
hand, seeking scoldingly for the food, and sprang upon her shoulders,
her head, her hands. Presently, chidingly, she drove them off, shaking
her sleeves at them and waving them back.
Now she drew the Tojin into the temple, pushing back its rusty doors
with a careful hand.
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