NEW YEAR'S DAY

"So many honorable sounds!" murmured UmÉ drowsily, and she listened for a moment without opening her eyes.

It was New Year's morning, so early that the sun was only just rising.

UmÉ could hear the clapping of many hands outside the house. "I, myself, meant to welcome the illustrious sun with the hand-joy," she said to herself, and sprang from her bed with wide-open eyes.

It took but a moment to slip into a thick kimono and push open the shoji. Someone had already opened the wooden shutters and UmÉ reached the corner of the street in time to see the round red sun send his first beams over the snow-covered roofs.

She clapped her hands joyously and bowed a welcoming "Ohayo" to the great ball of light. "Now I shall surely begin the year with good luck!" she said to herself as she slipped back into the house.

She closed the shoji and cuddled again between the soft quilts for warmth. Then it occurred to her to wonder why she had not seen her mother, who always rose very early, among the group that was greeting the New Year sun.

The air was filled with the sound of joy bells which were ringing from all the temples. One hundred and eight strokes must they ring, twelve times nine, to keep all evil spirits away from the city in this new year.

But there were other sounds which came from within the house. Was it,--yes, it surely was the sound of a little new baby's cry.

Again UmÉ was out of bed and pattering across the room to open her shoji. Her father was standing before the alcove in the honorable guest room, and he read the question in her face before UmÉ could ask it.

"Yes," he said, "a new son has come to our unworthy house on this morning of the New Year."

UmÉ bowed her forehead to the floor, "Omedeto, O Chichi San," she said. "I am most respectfully happy. May I go to see him and bid him honorable welcome?"

"After the breakfast is faithfully eaten, it may perhaps be permitted," answered her father. Then he asked, "Was there not some gift you have asked from the gods in the year that has passed?"

"I have asked many times for a gift, but neither the gods nor the goddesses have yet given it to me."

"Have you ever asked the generous mother for it?"

"No, O Chichi San."

"Why have you not asked your insignificant father?"

"O Chichi San, I feared you would not permit me to have what I most wished."

Her father looked at her gravely and took a package from his kimono sleeve. He gave it to UmÉ, saying as he did so, "Your thoughtful mother asked me to buy this in the foreign shop and give it to you this morning."

The package was tied with red and white paper string. UmÉ took it in both hands, raised it to her forehead, bowed her thanks, and opened it. Inside the package was a pair of red shoes with black heels!

"O Chichi San, how worthily beautiful!" and UmÉ danced about the room, clasping the pretty things to her heart. "This is what I have asked of Benten Sama and Kwannon and of the other goddesses," she said with shining eyes.

Then she stood still and said wonderingly, "But I did not ask for a baby brother, although he was more to be desired."

"Your mother gives both the shoes and the baby brother to you," said her father.

"May I not go to her and give her many thanks truly?" asked UmÉ.

"Your mother is ill," said her father. "It may be that she will never speak to us again."

"Oh, no!" cried UmÉ in great distress. She looked at the little red shoes and suddenly dropped them to the floor.

"Benten Sama may have them, if she will only make my honorable mother well," she said.

The pretty things which she had dreamed of, and longed for, and begged of all the gods, suddenly became of no value to her except as an offering to save her mother's life.

She knelt at her father's feet and bowed her head to the floor. "Have I your noble permission to go to Asakusa Temple and pray to the good Kwannon that my mother may become well?" she asked.

"Yes," her father answered, "and it may be that a gift of that which you most treasure will be pleasing to the Goddess of Mercy."

UmÉ looked down at the little red shoes, gathered them up and tucked them into her kimono sleeve; then ran to ask old Maru to go with her to the temple.

The little girl had never before been to the temple on so sad an errand.

"See," said old Maru as the jinrikisha-man took up his shafts, "the gate-pine-tree is giving you an honorable message."

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.

The man was trotting along, looking at every pine-tree arch. The treeless streets, as far as one could see, were a bower of pine and bamboo. Little children ran into the road, dressed in new kimonos and sashes. Boys were making images of Daruma Sama in the snow, messengers were bearing gifts from one house to another, and men dressed in uniform were already going to pay their respects to their beloved Emperor.

Some of the streets were almost impassable because of the number of beautifully dressed girls who were playing battledore and shuttlecock. The air was full of the bright fluttering toys as they were struck from one player to the other, and the silver world was a very merry place as UmÉ rode swiftly toward her home.

"If only the honorable mother is augustly well, and the new baby strong," she said wistfully, "our humble household might be the gayest of them all."

As they drew near to their own gateway, UmÉ clapped her hands. Tara and his father were in the garden and an enormous kite was just rising into the air. It was decorated with a great red sun and a bright red carp, and had a long tail of red and blue papers flying behind it. Higher and higher it rose, the tail turning and twisting in the wind.

"I know my honorable mother is better!" cried UmÉ, beside herself with joy.

"The chestnuts did not go into the lucky-bag for nothing," said old Maru contentedly. "I knew they would bring an answer to our prayer."

But UmÉ did not hear her. She left the old woman picking her way carefully along the snowy stepping-stones while she flew to her father.

"Is my admirable mother better?" she asked breathlessly.

"Yes," answered her father. "O Doctor San says she will soon be well."

"It is because the gracious Kwannon was pleased with the red shoes," said UmÉ softly.