It was a favourite selection from Onokomachi, the blind poetess, who ever prayed for rain. The words were familiar to Tetsutaisho and he, too, stopped at the border and listened. Kinsan's voice rang tender and sweet, though there seemed a pathos which touched him and caused a deeper interest. Had he neglected her? Was she now pleading for that which he had so long sought? His memory went out to her, and he determined again to try.
Soon Kinsan's father was attracted by the new melody of her voice, and he, too, came and stood near and listened. No word was said until after the song had been finished. Then Fujimoto came forward and bowed to Tetsutaisho. This was the first warning Kinsan had of the unusual audience her singing had attracted, and she quickly arose and bowed and made excuses for her inattention.
"I would rather you sat there and sang than to have arisen and courtesied a thousand times," said Tetsutaisho, as he left the roadside and made his way among the lilacs to where she was standing. "One does not often have the opportunity, though the wish be constant, and the privilege of being one of such an audience!" he continued, as he leaned over and caressed first one and then another of the little children as they came huddling up. "Were it not that you deserve such happiness, Fujimoto, I might almost envy you your good fortune in being placed here amidst such loveliness. The trees, the birds, the flowers, the children--and, allow me, the daughter--among whom you dwell, must certainly inspire a rare happiness."
The children had by this time scampered in all directions, and the three elders were left to speak or go as they liked.
"Yes, honourable sir." said Fujimoto, touched not a little, "these are truly things not to be despised. The daughter is my comfort: all are my joy, and after all, my lot may not be a despicable one. Had I always the favour of Sumi, god of water, my task might be lighter. Still I am content, and happy so long as my Kinsan is spared to me."
Nothing further was said about Kinsan; the one and only object of interest which the nobleman could have or cared to have in the humble gardener's affairs. They walked along at Tetsutaisho's suggestion toward the cottage, which stood some little distance farther on. When the big officer entered the palace enclosure he had no intention of making the gardener's family a call. In fact, he had of late almost dismissed them from his mind; but the moment he heard Kinsan's voice the spark within again came to life, and when he drew near and saw how modestly she sat and how neatly she was gowned and how her eyes sparkled with life and how the blood rose to her cheeks, his heart flamed more fiercely than before. Tetsutaisho pondered, then said to himself: