“Yes! yes!” cried all the gods. “Put the names together and we will hasten to the duties of our own shrines.”
“Our work for the year is ended,” spoke the voice of authority.
The youth crept away, excited and indignant, and sorely diappointed.
As he trudged slowly along the road on his homeward way, both disappointment and indignation grew, but when he came in sight of Chestnut Village and saw the comfort able house of the village master with its thick thatch and large screen heavy with drying sheafs of rice, his anger lessened and he thought, “After all, it is not so bad!” He walked slowly by the open door. A child’s bed of cushions was just within. He saw a baby’s face and a tiny close-shut hand.
“Twelve years, at least, to wait!” he suddenly cried. “I will not have it so! I will defy the gods!” On the tokonoma was a sword-rest holding the single sword of a humble vassal. Grasping it, he made a quick thrust through the cushions, and bounding through the door, he hurried on his way.
Years passed. Fate was kind and Taro prospered, but no bride could he find. More years passed. At last, patiently accepting bachelorhood as a punishment for his defiance of the gods, he became resigned.
Then a surprising thing happened. A go-between called with the offer of a bride—beautiful, industrious, dutiful. Taro was delighted. Negotiations were carried through; the bride came; the marriage took place and the young wife proved all that the happy Taro could wish. One warm day, when she was sewing on the porch, she loosened her collar folds and Taro saw an odd curving scar on her neck.
“What is it?” he asked.
