Daughter of the Samuari. Etsu Inagaki Sugimoto

was early. Rice patches throughout Echigo were bowing with rich promise early in October, but of course, nobody was ever married in the no-god month, so the first good-luck day in November was chosen.

      It is during October that the marriage gods all meet in Idzumo temple to join the names of those who are to wed. One of the favourite stories for grandmothers and nurses to tell little girls is about a youth of olden time who was so unfortunate as to have no parents or elder brother. There being no one to arrange a marriage for him, he grew to the age of twenty and was still a bachelor.

      One October day he decided to visit Idzumo temple to see if his name was coupled with that of any maiden. So, taking with him, as a gift, the first rice-sheaf of his harvest, he started on his long day's journey. As he approached the temple steps he heard voices. Names were being called like counting: "He; she." "He; she." He recognized the name of a young man he knew; then another, and another—each paired off with the name of a young woman.

      "Maa! Maa!"whispered the astonished youth, "I have intruded upon a meeting of the gods."

      But his interest was too great to allow him to retreat. Creeping between the ornamental posts that supported the floor, he listened, guiltily, but with anxious hope.

      Another two names! Another! "He; she." "He; she"—but alas! not his own.

      Finally a voice of authority announced, "These are planned. Our last day is almost gone and our work for the year is ended."

      "Wait a moment," said another voice. "There is Taro. Again he is left. Cannot we find a maiden for him?"

      The youth's heart gave a bound, for he was Taro.

      "Oh, troublesome!" impatiently cried a god. "Again comes that name!"

      "We need not haste. He has no one to arrange for him," said another.

      "His name must go uncoupled for another year," came from a distant corner. "There is no maiden left."

      "Wait!" spoke the first voice. "In Chestnut Village a girl has just been born in the house of the village master. The family is of higher class, but let us give her to Taro. Then our work will be done."

      "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 disappointed.

      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 comfortable 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.

      "That is a strange mystery," said the bride, smiling. "When I was only a babe, my grandmother heard me cry, and coming, found my father's sword on the floor and I with this curving cut across my neck and shoulder. No one was near, and it was never learned how it happened. My grandmother said that I was marked by the gods for some wise purpose. And so it must be," concluded the wife as she leaned again over her sewing.

      Taro walked thoughtfully away. Again he saw the baby face and the tiny close-shut hand; and he realized how hopeless it is to try to thwart the decree of the gods.

      When Ishi told us this story, she always closed with, "And so you see it is useless not to accept gratefully the will of the gods. What is planned must be obeyed."

      When the day of Sister's wedding came, we were all greatly excited; but the real excitement of a Japanese marriage is at the house of the bridegroom, as it is there that the wedding takes place. However, the ceremony of leaving home is always elaborate, and for several days our entire house was filled with the sound of people ordering and people obeying. Then came a day when Taki, Ishi, and Toshi were busy for hours, all three folding bedding and packing bridal chests; and the next day the procession of bridal belongings went swinging out of our gateway and on over the mountain to Sister's home-to-be.

      Two days later Sister went away. The hairdresser came very early that morning, for the bride's hair had to be arranged in the elaborate married style with wonderful ornaments of tortoise-shell and coral. Then her face and neck were covered with thick white powder and she was dressed in a robe and sash of white—the death colour—because marriage means the bride's death to her father's family. Beneath this was a garment of scarlet, the dress of a new-born babe, typical of her birth into her husband's family. Mother had on her beautiful crest dress, and Brother looked like Father in the ceremonious pleated linen skirt and stiff shoulder-piece of the kamishimo. I was so glad to see him look like Father.

      Just as the bridal palanquin was brought to the door, we all went to the shrine for Sister to say farewell to the spirit of our ancestors, for, after marriage, she would belong no longer to our family, but to her husband's. She bowed alone before the shrine. Then Mother slipped over the mat to her side and presented her with a beautiful mirror-case, the kind that all Japanese ladies wear with ceremonial dress. Sister's was beautiful mosaic-work of crepe in a pattern of pine, bamboo, and plum. It had been made by our great-grandmother's own hands. Inside it was a small mirror. A brocade-covered crystal hung from it on a silk cord and, on the edge of the case, slipped under the band, was a long silver hairpin. In olden days this was a dagger. These are emblematic of the mirror, the jewel, and the sword of the Imperial regalia.