The cock had already crowed before Shibusawa reached his chamber and lay down to rest. He could not sleep, but arose and went for a walk in the woodland bordering the castle grounds. Here he searched out a secluded spot, where he sat down in the light of early morning to think and plan. The air was still and the sun just beginning to pierce the cool shade of the forest, with here and there a ray of warmth. Presently the quiet was broken by the sound of footsteps approaching through the garden, and looking up he saw Maido coming toward him.

“Are you here, too, and so early?” said the daimyo, with a ring of gladness that came from his heart. “I thought only the elders, like me, enjoyed a sunrise jaunt among the stately sentinels of time. Come, my lordship, join me and I’ll show you how a son’s return affects a father’s legs. It’s many a day since these old stokies of mind served me as they have this morning. It reminds me of the time when a mother brought you to my side. A happy day it was, and she lies up yonder, my boy, in the tomb, behind the temple. You may not dislike going there with your father—will you, this morning?”

Shibusawa may have anticipated the idea, for they set off together toward the family shrine. The distance was not great nor the hill steep; just enough to quicken old age and banter youth.

They did not tarry long at the tomb,—only long enough to revere the dead and inspire the living,—but soon arose and retraced their steps a short distance to where they seated themselves in the shade of the temple. As they sat they could see afar over the samurai dwellings and the noised-up city to the glassy bay in front, or over the castle grounds to the left, or to the timbered hills on the right. There they sat and talked at will. Now and then the conversation drifted back to Shibusawa’s absence, and each experience related touched more deeply the father’s slow but certain apprehension.

“I dare say there are no temples in that far-away land,” said the lord daimyo, more inquisitive than positive.

“Oh, yes, there are,” was the young prince’s quick rejoinder, “only they are much larger and less beautiful. They worship in herds in that country; and they have a paid supplicant to do the honours, while the multitude sit and gape and snore. It’s a great saving of time and trouble, this European method of salvation.”

“And have they gods?”

“Oh, yes; they have a God. The principle is just the same. It’s only the form that makes it different from ours.”

“Ah, the practice! And after all, that is man’s only reality: the ideal is the grander existence. And do these strange worshippers have habitations, and go about clad as we do?”

“They have houses—ours are not like theirs, thanks to good fortune—in which the idea, as in their churches, is to get as many under one roof as possible. They build floor over floor, and then wear their lives out climbing from one to the other. They are not only herders but climbers as well. Then the craze to encroach one upon another is so great that all try to live at a few isolated spots. There are millions of broad acres—the area is so great that for want of a comparison I cannot convey to you anything but a hazed idea—upon which the sun shines and over which the fresh air circulates, yet these people hang out of ten-story windows and pant for breath or hide away in some dark, damp rooms and stare their eyes out under the glare of firelight.”

“Horrors! my son. And they would teach us how to live?”

“Not only that, but they cover the streets with rock and steel and then force iron-wheeled cars over the rough surface or harsh-sounding rails until the roar and the clatter make them deaf or drive them insane.”

“Shocking!”

“And when they sleep at night they huddle together under the same quilt, and when they arise and go about their walled dens or out upon the filth-breeding, dust-driven streets they cover themselves with all sorts of coarse material far rougher than our matting on the floor or the material with which we sack our products of the field. Their feet are bound up in close-fitting skins on which are nailed or sewn stiff leather soles, and their heads are weighted down with all manner of hot, ill-shaped and wind-catching hats or other gear.”

“And is such their clothing?”

“Yes. And it is fashioned, mostly, so as to expose as much as possible the person’s form, or its lines, and it may be worn, or donned, in piecemeal. It is only to be commended for street sweeping or fly baiting. And what a mixture; and so untidy and so uncomfortable! It makes me creep all over when I think of it, and of how they swelter on a hot day and freeze on a cold one.”

“What barbarians!”

“And their food! Well, I can best impress you with that by saying that the cooks and doctors constitute a large percentage of the population, and that the mortality resulting from the strife carried on between the two classes, the one tearing down and the other building up, is hardly less than frightful. The science of both is a constant assault upon the stomach, with the odds so overwhelmingly in favour of the cooks that life is reduced to an average period of only some thirty-three years. And the taste, and the smell! Well, either is farthest removed from nature’s storehouse, and that is enough said, I warrant.”

“And that is where you have been seeking knowledge all this time?”

“Yes; I spent only four of the five years at college, learning how to cheat. Yes, cheat; that is the thing. First man, then nature. The former, because it is easy; the latter, because it is progress. And if the fructifications of a scientist, or a doctor, or a lawyer, or a preacher, or a merchant, do not meet with your ideas of success, then try the fortunes of a statesman or a warrior; and what you cannot get by diplomacy, force with powder and shot.”

“And that is what you call Christian civilisation?”

“It is so called.”

“Then shame!”

“Even so, their progress is none the less.”

“What is the secret?”

“The machine.”

The conversation broke off there and they both sat for a long time absorbed in study. The one looked backward, the other forward. Neither was satisfied; man never is.

Presently Shibusawa began rambling over his experiences, relating first an incident and telling afterwards of a conquest. His father’s spirits rose, and they laughed or marvelled together as an amusing episode or an awkward situation came to mind. He told of how fortune had compelled him to work his passage and earn his way from the time he left his native land until he had returned; of how he had pushed on from place to place until the American continent had been crossed, and how in the great city of New York he had struggled to complete a course in college. And withal he had been studious and so frugal that by the time he was graduated he had saved enough from his earnings to pay his passage to Europe, thence home again via the Suez Canal and Hong Kong.

His experiences had been somewhat unpleasant at first, but as time passed and he had become accustomed to work he did not find the necessities of the situation so irksome. Upon the whole he felt contented with results, and believed that his search for knowledge had not been amiss. Although he had been subjected to keen humiliation and had met with much hardship, he harboured no ill-feeling toward the new civilisation which he had encountered. He freely acknowledged that he appreciated the impossibility of any assimilation between the Occident and the Orient, and felt that while the one sojourned with the other he needs must suffer a disadvantage.

“While I regret that I have given you cause for so much anxiety,” continued Shibusawa, “I feel that I have done nothing to disgrace you, and that the experience and knowledge gained will sometime serve us well. In all things pertaining to life there must be a beginning, and that I have been a pioneer I do not regret. I shall always endeavour to make the best use of my opportunities, and I am now ready to take my proper place.”

“You have spoken well, my son, and Maido is proud.”

Soon after, though late in the morning, they arose and wended their way toward the castle, and as they went their interest gradually drifted to matters at home, including the marriage of Nehachibana. Maido told his son all about Takara’s recent disappearance from Tokyo, but mentioned only casually her sojourn with the Tetsutaishos. Though deeply interested Shibusawa showed little concern about his wife, and no criticisms were offered; he appreciated his father’s situation in the matter and resolved to be considerate. A deeper thought began to reassert itself, growing anxiety took hold of him, and he soon became wrapped with care only for Kinsan.