tongue. It was in the midst of your gracious hospitality, Honourable Mistress, that Honourable Master entered the room and assured us all that we were received with agreeable welcome. I had composed a humble poem of the kind that calls for a reply to make it complete; and was so bold as to repeat it to Honourable Master with the request that he honour me with closing words. My poem, as suitable for a New Year greeting, was a wish for good luck, good health, and good will to this honourable mansion.
“The Seven—the Good-fortune gods—
Encircle this house with safely-locked hands;
And nothing can pass them by.
“Then Honourable Master”—and Goro deeply bowed—“with a wrinkle of fun on his lips, and a twinkle of fun in his eyes, replied as quickly as a flash of light:
“Alas! and alas! Then from this house
The god of Poverty can never escape;
But must always stay within.”
Goro enjoyed his joke-poem so much that Mother united her gentle smile with the gay laughter of his companions who were always ready to applaud any word spoken in praise of the master they had all loved and revered.
But bright-eyed Kin whispered to Ishi and Ishi smiled and nodded. Then Taki and Toshi caught some words and they, too, smiled. Not until afterward did I know that Kin’s whisper was:
“The gods of Poverty are sometimes kind.
They’ve locked their hands with the Good-luck gods
And prisoned joy within our gates.”
Thus lived the spirit of democracy in old Japan.
