As he spoke his voice rang with the pride of ages, and the council halls echoed and re-echoed with applause. Even Ikamon was for the moment swept away with enthusiasm, as the vigorous man swung his great arms and shouted the glory of the nation's defenders. It was not so much a want of understanding that made Tetsutaisho slow to feel the necessity of change, but it was more the red blood coursing through his veins which gave him an unbounded faith in the loyal, faithful, worshipping army at his command. He believed in their superiority and felt them worthy of their country's confidence, and as he retired from the chamber and walked out into the park his step livened with pride and his whole being quickened with a rising confidence in himself and a growing contentment with the world. He thought of his home and of the love that Takara had lain at his feet; of the faithful, patient consideration of Nehachibana, his lawful wife and worthy helpmeet; of his mother, and how she fretted and worried and fussed as opportunities came and her station advanced; then suddenly he came upon Kinsan and all this vanished from his memory as if a thing of yesterday. She was with her father, who stood off some distance turning a tiny stream of water into the garden, which showed the ravages of a long dry spell. It was Choyo, the ninth day of the ninth month, and there had been no rain for more than a moon past. Kinsan sat in the shade of a spreading oak, at one corner of the garden near where the roadway passed, and grouped about her were a number of children whose wide eyes sparkled with interest as she repeated to them a poem well suited to the occasion. 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. CHAPTER XVI A GREAT SORROW 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.