To-day these rites are not allowed by law. They once consoled; but the law is a good law, and just--since there exist men willing to mock the divine which is in human hearts.] So it came to pass that O-Toyo found herself one night in a lonely little temple at the verge of the city--kneeling before the ihai of her boy, and hearing the rite of incantation. And presently, out of the lips of the officiant there came a voice she thought she knew,--a voice loved above all others,--but faint and very thin, like a sobbing of wind. And the thin voice cried to her: "Ask quickly, quickly, mother! Dark is the way and long; and I may not linger." Then tremblingly she questioned: "Why must I sorrow for my child? What is the justice of the gods?" And there was answer given: "O mother, do not mourn me thus! That I died was only that you might not die. For the year was a year of sickness and of sorrow--and it was given me to know that you were to die; and I obtained by prayer that I should take your place.[7] [7] _Migawari_, "substitute," is the religious term. "O mother, never weep for me! It is not kindness to mourn for the dead. Over the River of Tears[8] their silent road is; and when mothers weep, the flood of that river rises, and the soul cannot pass, but must wander to and fro. [8] "Namida-no-Kawa." "Therefore, I pray you, do not grieve, O mother mine! Only give me a little water sometimes." III From that hour she was not seen to weep. She performed, lightly and silently, as in former days, the gentle duties of a daughter. Seasons passed; and her father thought to find another husband for her. To the mother, he said: "If our daughter again have a son, it will be great joy for her, and for all of us." But the wiser mother made answer: "Unhappy she is not. It is impossible that she marry again. She has become as a little child, knowing nothing of trouble or sin." It was true that she had ceased to know real pain. She had begun to show a strange fondness for very small things. At first she had found her bed too large--perhaps through the sense of emptiness left by the loss of her child; then, day by day, other things seemed to grow too large--the dwelling itself, the familiar rooms, the alcove and its great flower-vases--even the household utensils. She wished to eat her rice with miniature chopsticks out of a very small bowl such as children use. In these things she was lovingly humored; and in other matters she was not fantastic. The old people consulted together about her constantly. At last the father said: "For our daughter to live with strangers might be painful. But as we are aged, we may soon have to leave her. Perhaps we could provide for her by making her a nun. We might build a little temple for her." Next day the mother asked O-Toyo: