THE DRAGON PAINTER
without a tear,—he cares but for pictures. And Mata is helpless,—Mata cannot help her babe! Arà! It is a world of dust!"
"How old was my mother when she came here, Mata?"
"Just eighteen. Younger than you are now, my treasure."
"She was both beautiful and happy, you have said."
"Yes, both, both! Ah, how time speeds for the old. It seems but a short year or more that we two entered here together, she and I. From childhood I had nursed her. I thought your father old for her, in spite of his young heart and increasing fame. But he loved her truly, and has mourned for her. Even now he prays thrice daily before her ihai on the shrine. And she loved him,—almost too deeply for a woman of her class. She loved him, and was happy!"
"Only one year!" sighed Umè. "But it must be a great thing to be happy even for one year. Some people are not happy ever at all."
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