THE trees had dropped their leaves, and, with naked arms extended, seemed to speak voicelessly of the winter almost come. Only the evergreen pines kept their warm coats of green, and under their shade the travelers found a temporary refuge from the wind and the cold, piercing rain.

Moonlight had been very sure that they had climbed the hill in which was hidden the retreat of the nun who had previously harbored her, and where she knew she could find a refuge to which not even the agents of the Saito might penetrate. But Kioto is surrounded by hills on all sides, and the geisha had lost her way.

With the little Omi to run before her and sell to the chance passer-by or pilgrim, for a sen or two, the jewels of the crazed wife of Matsuda, or to beg rice and fish from charitably disposed temples, they had subsisted thus far.

At first she had turned a deaf ear to the entreaties of her maiden, that they go to the city below rather than to the bleak, deserted, autumn hills. But now, as the penetrating rain searched down through even the wide-spreading branches of the pine-trees, her heart ached heavily.

Omi, shivering against her mistress’s side, began to cry, and recommenced her prayers to return to the city below. The troops were returning, and even here on the quiet hillside the sound of the beating drum, the wild and hoarse singing, and cheering of the soldiers and the citizens was heard.

“Why perish in the cold hills?” asked the little apprentice-geisha, “when the warm, happy city calls to us? Oh, let us go! Let us go!”

Feeling the cold hands of her baby, the geisha shivered; yet as she looked off hungrily to where the little maiden pointed she felt a sense of strong reluctance almost akin to terror. It was down there they were looking for her, she knew. There they would take from her the honorable child of her beloved lord.

“How much colder it is getting,” reproached Omi, crossly; “and see, graciousness, your kimono is not even padded.”

“Undo my obi, Omi. Wrap it about yourself and his lordship. It is seven yards long, and will protect you both amply.”

“But you, sweet mistress? I will not take your obi. Your hands are cold. The august clogs are broken even!”

She knelt to tie the thong firmer, and while still kneeling Omi continued her beseeching.

“Now, if we start downward, we shall travel much quicker. I will bear his lordship on my back. We can reach the city in less than a night and a day. I know a little garden just on the outskirts of Kioto. There we can spend the night. With warm rice and sake and—”

“Hush, Omi, it is impossible.”

Omi threw back her head and began to wail aloud, just as a child would have done. The burden of her cry was that she was cold, very cold, and she was very sure that they would all perish in the wet and horrible mountains. The geisha tried vainly to quiet her. At last she said:

“Omi, if you love me, be patient for yet another day. If to-morrow we do not find the shrine of the honorable nun, then—then—” her voice broke, and she turned her face away. Omi caught at her hand and clung to her joyously.

“Oh, you have promised!” Then, as she saw the distress of her mistress, she cried out remorsefully that she was prepared to follow her wherever she desired to go—yes, even if it should prove to be the highest point of the mountains, said the little maid. After a moment, as the geisha made no response, Omi, already regretting her generous outburst, sighed heavily and declared it was very hard. She sat back on her heels, upon the damp ground, and looked off plaintively toward the city below. How she longed for the bright lights of the geisha-house, the chatter and the movement, the dance and the song, the warm quilt under which was hidden the glowing kotatsu, close to which, Omi knew, the geishas would creep at night for comfort. As she felt the drizzling rain and wind and saw nothing but the dark trees about her, her little head drooped upon her breast, and she began to sob drearily again.

Suddenly the Spider bent above the child and patted her softly upon the head.

“Play a little tune upon your samisen, my Omi, and I will sing to you a little song I myself have composed to the honorable baby-san.”

Instantly Omi’s face cleared. Crouched upon her heels, looking up adoringly at her mistress, she picked upon her instrument, and while the cold rain dripped down upon them the Spider sang:
Neneko, neneko, ya!
Sleep, my little one, sleep,
As the bottomless pit of the ocean,
So is my love so deep!
Neneko, neneko, ya!
Sleep, my little one, sleep!
As the unexplored vasts of Nirvana,
So is my love so deep!

As the softly crooning voice of the dancer stole out upon the air a little cortège which had found its way up the intricate mountain-path halted there in the woods. In silence the runners dropped the shafts of the vehicles. Sup............