leaf and bud into new life and loveliness. It loosened the tiny
rivulet from the icy fingers of winter, and sped it merrily on its way
to a miniature lake, where shining goldfish darted here and there in
an ecstasy of motion. It stole into the shadows of a great pine-tree,
and touched the white wings of the pigeons as they cooed the song of
mating-time. It gleamed on the sandy path that led to the old stone
lantern, played into the eyes of Kwannon, the Goddess of Mercy, and
finally lost itself in the trees beyond.

Under a gnarled plum-tree, that for uncounted years had braved the
snow and answered joyously the first call of spring, a little maiden
stood and held out eager hands to catch the falling blossoms. The
flowering-time was nearly done, and the child stood watching the
petals twirl quickly down, filling the hollows and fashioning curious
designs on the mossy grass.

The softest of breezes coming across the river, over the thick hedge,
saucily blew a stray petal straight into the child's face. To Yuki
Chan it was a challenge, and with outstretched hands and flying feet
she gave chase to the whirling blossoms. Round and round the old tree,
into the hedge, and up the sandy path she raced, her long sleeves
spreading like tiny sails, her cheeks flushed to the same crimson as
her flowery playmates. A sudden stillness in the air ended the romp.
Yuki Chan returned to her playground beneath the tree, and taking her
captured petals from the folds of her kimono, began to count her
trophies.

"Ichi, ni, san, ichi, ni, san," she rhythmically droned, three being
the magical number that would bring good luck if the petals were
properly arranged and the number repeated often enough.