Kwairyo.


But always, under the koromo [2] of the priest, Kwairyo kept warm within
him the heart of the samurai. As in other years he had laughed at peril, so
now also he scorned danger; and in all weathers and all seasons he
journeyed to preach the good Law in places where no other priest would have
dared to go. For that age was an age of violence and disorder; and upon the
highways there was no security for the solitary traveler, even if he
happened to be a priest.



In the course of his first long journey, Kwairyo had occasion to visit the
province of Kai. (1) One evening, as he was traveling through the mountains
of that province, darkness overcame him in a very lonesome district,
leagues away from any village. So he resigned himself to pass the night
under the stars; and having found a suitable grassy spot, by the roadside,
he lay down there, and prepared to sleep. He had always welcomed
discomfort; and even a bare rock was for him a good bed, when nothing
better could be found, and the root of a pine-tree an excellent pillow. His
body was iron; and he never troubled himself about dews or rain or frost or
snow.


Scarcely had he lain down when a man came along the road, carrying an axe
and a great bundle of chopped wood. This woodcutter halted on seeing
Kwairyo lying down, and, after a moment of silent observation, said to him
in a tone of great surprise:--