“Do you remember I told you Prince Funato died an old man? And every year at the anniversary of the battle where I had protected him by my branches”—(here Fiam gave two of those sighs of his that sounded like whistles, and observed sadly, “What a beautiful willow I was then!”) “he came to find me?” “Indeed, I remember perfectly.” “Very well; his spirit has entered into one of his descendants.” “That is only a Japanese superstition.” “So you foreigners say; you also think that the Haji is an old Japanese superstition. You have told me so, and yet you see that I really exist.” “That is true. I beg your pardon.” “There is no harm done. Now I have met the man who has the spirit of Prince Funato.” “And who is it?” “The general.” “Not really.” “It is he who is the descendant of the prince.” “How did you find it out?” “I am a Haji, and can see things that men can’t.” “And does the general know it?” “No; the spirit never remembers its former life.” “Oh,” I smiled. “Don’t be so sceptical. You ought to have more faith in me. I can tell you something else.” “Go on, tell it.” “Did you see that tall, serious, gray-haired colonel, with a beautiful beard, seated at the right of the general?” “Yes, I think so.” “Colonel of the big thunderbolt?” “The artillery——” “If you like. Well, he is the old warrior that climbed up the mountain alone the last time to greet me. He trembled all over from age. I remember he leaned up against me and said: “‘Honorable Willow, we shall never meet again.’” Another little whistle showed me that Fiam was much moved by his recollections. By this time my European ideas were pretty nearly turned upside down. “What if Fiam should be right?” Two days later I called on the general with the pretext of thanking him for the excellent breakfast of moist bamboo roots that he had given me. I wanted to question him skilfully. I found him with knitted brows bending over a map. Every once in a while he gave an order to some officer, which was received and obeyed in silence. They were coming and going very solemnly. We could hear the tramp of horses arriving and departing outside the tent. Far off the cannon roared. After an exchange of compliments I risked asking the question which was on the tip of my tongue. “General,” I said, “among your ancestors was there one called Funato?” “Yes,” he answered, with some surprise, but with a smile of satisfaction; “Prince Funato Matabaci.” “And after a great battle was he not pursued by an enemy until he was saved by the Haji of a willow?” “Ah, ah!” laughed the general. “I see you are up in the legends of the country. I am glad to hear it.” Then ceasing to laugh, he added: “The fact is that Funato Matabaci went to war with Nitoba Riocito, and in great fright he hid in a wood. All the rest is legendary, and the fancy of an ignorant and credulous age.” Later when I told this to Fiam he was sad and very much hurt.