So for several evenings Sadako read to this stranger Fujinami her own father’s words, the words of a forerunner.

Japan is still a savage country, wrote Fujinami Katsundo, the Japanese are still barbarians.  To compare the conventional codes, which they have mistaken for civilization, with the depth and the height of Occidental idealism, as Christ perceived it and Dante and St. Francis of Assisi and Tolstoy, is “to compare the tortoise with the moon.”  Japan is imitating from the West its worst propensities—­hard materialism, vulgarity and money-worship.  The Japanese must be humble, and must admit that the most difficult part of their lesson has yet to be learned.  Cut and dried systems are useless.  Prussian constitution, technical education, military efficiency and bravado—­such things are not progress.  Japan must denounce the slavery of ancestor-worship, and escape from the rule of the dead.  She must chase away the bogeys of superstition, and enjoy life as a lovely thing, and love as the vision of a life still more beautiful.  She must cleanse her land of all its filth, and make it what it still might be—­the Country of the Rising Sun.

Such was the message of Asako’s father in his book, The Real Shinto.

“We are not allowed to read this book,” Sadako explained; “the police have forbidden it.  But I found a secret copy.  It was undutiful of your father to write such things.  He went away from Japan; and everyone said, ’It is a good thing he has gone; he was a bad man; he shamed his country and his family.’”

There was much in the book which Asako could not follow.  Her cousin tried to explain it to her; and many nights passed, thus, the two girls sitting up and reading by the pale light of the andon.  It was like a renewal of the old friendship.  Sometimes a low whistle sounded from outside the house.  Sadako would lay aside the book, would slip on her cloak and go out into the garden, where Sekine was waiting for her.

When she was left to herself Asako began to think for the first time in her life.  Hitherto her thoughts had been concerned merely with her own pleasures and pains, with the smiles and frowns of those around her, with petty events and trifling projects.  Perhaps, because some of her father’s blood was alive in her veins, she could understand certain aspects of his book more clearly than her interpreter, Sadako.  She knew now why Geoffrey would not touch her money.  It was filthy, it was diseased, like the poor women who had earned it.  Of course, her Geoffrey preferred poverty to wealth like that.  Could she face poverty with him?  Why, she was poor already, here in her cousins’ house.  Where was the luxury which her money used to buy?  She was living the life of a servant and a prisoner.

What would be the end of it?  Surely Geoffrey would come back to her, and take her away!  But he had no money now, and it would cost much money to travel to Japan.  And then, this terrible war!  Geoffrey was a soldier.  He would be sure to be there, leading his men.  Supposing he were killed?