Umé looked back as the old nurse continued, "When autumn winds blow the leaves from the other trees and leave them sad and cheerless, the pine holds its needles more green and vigorous than ever. We should be like the pine, brave to conquer our troubles when they come." Umé tried to smile. "I will be obediently brave," she said. Old Maru nodded approvingly. "As the pine stands for strength and the bamboo for uprightness, so the fern means hope and the seaweed good fortune." Umé began to be a little cheerful. "I dreamed of Fujiyama, the sacred, in the night," she said, "that means great happiness." "Yes," said old Maru comfortably, "everything points to good fortune this morning. Let us hope that the merciful goddess will be gracious to grant our prayer." The sound of the temple bells still filled the air. Everywhere the streets and houses were decorated with paper lanterns and flags and banners, each one white with a round red sun. The lanterns were strung in rows across the streets and on the houses from the low eaves to the veranda posts. At the temple they hung at every possible point from roof to steps. Umé and Maru went reverently through all the ceremony of washing the hands and mouth, ringing the bell, dropping the offering of coins in the box and buying the rice-cakes. They left their clogs at the entrance among several other pairs, for many sad hearts had come to the temple with petitions on this early morning of the New Year. When Umé left the temple the pretty red shoes were lying at the feet of the Goddess Kwannon, and the child's face looked full of hope. As they sat in the jinrikisha old Maru said, "One can never do too much for the honorable mother." Then she added proudly, "No other nation in the world can show such examples of filial love as Japan." "What do you mean?" asked Umé, who could listen to a story now that her heart was lightened of its fear. "I mean the example of the four and twenty paragons," replied the nurse. "The gods never gave me a son. If they had I should have prayed that he might be like the paragon who, when he himself was very old, became a baby so that his parents might not realize how old they had grown." "But I thought we Japanese liked to become very old," said Umé, puzzled. "I always say 'Ohayo, old woman,' to the batter-cake woman at the corner, and she is gratefully pleased." "That is true. But the paragon showed his filial affection by acting as a baby," persisted old Maru. "It was a noble thing to do." "How many paragons were there?" asked Umé. "Four and twenty," replied the old woman. "Was one of them a little girl, and did she give up her red shoes?" asked Umé. Old Maru looked doubtful. "It was a long time ago," she said. "I think no red shoes had been made in the world at that time." But Umé was again thinking of her mother. "Tell the jinrikisha-man to go faster," she urged.