Then all the gods and goddesses, the familiar spirits of the earth, which assist Man and are his companions like horses and oxen,--all were moved by the miserable cries of the hairless creatures, like the barking of little dogs; and they all assembled at the mouth of the river Yokigawa, spirits both of the sea and of the air,--like herds of buffalo, like schools of herring, like flocks of starlings. There the virgin Amaterasu was hidden in a cave in the earth, like a honeycomb in the hollow of a tree, like a treasure in a jug. “A lamp is not extinguished except by a more brilliant light,” they said. “Amaterasu is there! We do not see her, but we know that she has not left us. Her glory has not suffered diminution. She is hidden in the earth like a cricket, like an ascetic in the retreat of his own thoughts. How shall we make her come out? What appeal can we make to her, and what can we offer her that will be as beautiful as she?” Then from a stone fallen from heaven they made a mirror, very pure, completely round. They tore down a pine-tree and swathed it in garments of gold and scarlet, like a doll. They adorned it like a woman, and they put the mirror upon it for a face. And they placed this sacred _gohei_ exactly in front of the cavern, which contained the indignant soul of light. What voice could they choose powerful enough to pierce the earth, to say, “Amaterasu, I am here! I am here, and I know that you are here also! Show yourself to me, oh vision of my eyes! Oh Life, come out of the sepulcher!” The familiar voice, the first voice that she hears when she passes the horizon of human life: the cock calling from the farms on every side at the first crimson streak of dawn,--his is the cry of light itself, the trumpet that no obscurity can stifle! Night or day, indifferent to the visible presence of his goddess or to her withdrawal, indefatigably he carries on his fanfare, with precision he articulates his faith. So before the buried Amaterasu they led the great white bird. And he crowed. And, having crowed, he crowed again. Then, as if they could not fail to respond to his summons, all the noises of life awoke: the murmur of the day; active, interminable speech; the sound of thousands thronging the hours; the vibrating word whose rhythm is meted out by the bonze with his mallet of wood in the depth of his temple. All these sounded at once,--all the gods, responding to their names. They were very timid, very faint. However Amaterasu in the earth heard them, and was astonished. And here one must insert the image of Uzumé, just as, in the little popular books, her picture interrupts the black shower of letters. She had invented all this, the dear goddess. She had concocted this wonderful strategy. And now she danced intrepidly on the stretched skin of her drum, frantic with hope; and all that she could find to lure out the sun was a poor little song invented for children: _Hito futa miyo...._