Everything is scrupulously clean and severely simple. You only become aware that this is a superior dwelling, by remarking the fineness of the mats. In the centre, round a large _hibachi_ of bronze, filled with charcoal, a group are huddled close, for the all-pervading damp is chilling to the bones. Two well-known elders of the town are there--Zembei, and Rokubei his friend--the former talking volubly; while a man of middle age, the master of the house, is listening with dubious frown. His wife, Kennui, sits by, his hand in hers; while apart in a corner, with eyes as bright as a squirrel's, and flushed cheek, stands their eldest daughter Miné. Her mind--some call her a forward damsel--is disturbed, for, impatient and annoyed, she pushes aside a screen, and clatters off into the back garden, to tease with a finger the darting gold-fish that with mosquitoes reign in a pond. The frowning man is Koshiu, the most important farmer in these parts, broad-shouldered, grave, and grizzled, whose opinions are of weight in the province. Zembei--aged, with face like a walnut--has brought unpleasant news; indeed he has often dropped in of late, and each time his tidings are less agreeable. It is the old story, gruesome and too familiar. The rapacious Hojo needs more money--is always demanding more. But it is quite too bad to worry the men of Tsu, his own home, the poorest district in the Empire. Already the starving population have abandoned hope. In a former life they must have been very wicked, to suffer so much in this. After a long pause of dejection, "Maybe my lord knows not of our wretchedness," suggests the farmer's wife, by way of pouring oil upon the waters. "Peace, Kennui!" sighs her spouse. "As well throw stones at the sun, or try to scatter a fog with a fan, as look for humanity from a Hojo! They were ever merciless." "Too true!" groans Rokubei, the elder. "Thus the matter stands; though you have shown so little interest of late, that perchance I am wasting breath." "Ay, that hath he!" chimes in Zembei. "Why is it? You, Koshiu, whose words were ever of moment, and treated with respect, although from your stubborn pride you were never popular, instead of helping us, have been hanging back, content with grumbling complaint. We must act now, I tell you, and rend the air no more with idle moaning, or else we perish all! Gird up your loins, man. Awake! For unless this torrent of greed be stemmed, although less poor than most, you will soon be a beggar like the rest." "My husband," interrupted Kennui, "is misjudged. He loves the people, and grieves for them, but perceives that resistance is useless--idle remonstrance will but make their plight more pitiful." "The beetle in combat with the bear!" laughed the farmer drearily. "Act, forsooth! All this is idle prate, believe me. What can we do but die?"