More Tales in the Land of Nursery Rhyme | Page 2

frost----"
"Pip! Pip!" rudely interrupted the Robin. "If you are going to talk
science, madam, I must beg to be excused," and he promptly hid his

head under his wing, and the Sparrow followed suit.
The Owl paid no heed to this interruption, but lectured on, and having
talked for about ten minutes or so with no applause, withdrew to a
further corner of the barn and fell asleep.
When she had gone, the Japanese birds began murmuring softly to each
other. The Robin brought his head from under his wing with a start.
"What's that you said?" he inquired.
"In our country," began the elder Japanese bird, with a slightly foreign
accent, but in otherwise perfect English, "we look on snowflakes as the
whirling mantles of the dancing moon maidens; and when the trees and
mountain-peaks are seen covered with snow in the morning, we say the
moon maidens have left their mantles hanging up or spread out to dry."
"Charming idea, and most romantic," piped the Robin. "I am not
romantic myself, and I must say that the Mother Goose idea strongly
appeals to my practical nature. Still, there may be something in what
you say."
"An absolutely too sweet notion. Fancy a foreigner thinking of it,"
chirped the Sparrow.
"Have you ever seen a Moon Maiden?" continued the Robin, without
heeding the Sparrow's rude interruption.
"No, they are invisible now," said the Japanese bird; "but my
great-grandfather told my father a story about one of them once. We
always tell it to each other in snow time. It keeps us warm and makes
us think of home."
The other Japanese bird piped a few sad notes, which, as the Robin said,
"stirred his nature to the very depths!"
"Would it be asking too much for you to tell us the story too?" he said.
"I hope it is something cheerful, though; the roast beef and

plum-pudding type of story is what appeals to me."
"Hoots!" said the Owl, waking from her little nap. "I like melodrama. I
hope there is a villain in it, and a churchyard or two."
"And I hope there is a strong domestic interest," said the Sparrow, with
a feeble giggle.
"Anyway, please tell us," said the Robin. "I am absolutely freezing and
must have something to distract my thoughts--ri tol de rol!"
The elder Japanese bird rustled his feathers softly for a minute or two,
and then, with his eyes fixed on the grey sky and driving snow, and
interrupted from time to time by the howling of the wind, he began:
You must know that our country, like this, is surrounded by the blue
sea; and that the sandy shores are fringed with pine trees, and that
behind the pine trees rise the hills and mountains. Yea, and behind all
these lies the one most beautiful mountain in the world, our Fuji, to
look on whom is the greatest privilege that can be given to bird or man.
You must know, also, that across the blue sea, for those who can find it,
is the direct path to the country of the moon. There dwell the moon
maidens, creatures so lovely that it is beyond me to describe them.
They are dressed in white glistening mantles, and spend their lives
dancing and singing to the stars. On great occasions, such as birthdays,
they are allowed to visit our country, some even to gaze on the
all-glorious Fuji. But though they swim across the sea, and often spread
out their mantles to dry when they reach the hills, yet must they always
be sure to put their mantles on again before they leave our shores, or
they will fade and vanish into nothingness, and never again reach the
moon where is their home.
There was once a Moon Maiden who was fairer to look upon than all
the others, and danced more divinely than any of them. Her name was
Tsuki, the Daughter of the Moon. To her, too, was it granted on her
birthday to visit our country, and to gaze on the all-glorious Fuji.

Wrapping her feather mantle round her, she swam down the path which
leads from the moon across the blue sea to our shores.
When she arrived on the sands among the pine trees, she searched
about for some spot where she might hang her feather mantle to dry,
while she climbed a neighbouring hill to gaze on the all-glorious Fuji.
She saw one pine tree taller than the others, with a flat surface of
branches at the top, and taking her glistening, dripping mantle with her,
she flew to the topmost branch. There she spread out her mantle and
left it to dry.
She then fled away to the neighbouring peak, which, climbing, she
beheld Fuji, bathed in moonlight,