and down the slope in front of my house, with amazing peals of laughter.
But at last he became troublesome by reason of his noise; and I had to tell
him that he must find another playground. He bowed submissively, and then
went off,-- sorrowfully trailing his broomstick behind him. Gentle at all
times, and perfectly harmless if allowed no chance to play with fire, he
seldom gave anybody cause for complaint. His relation to the life of our
street was scarcely more than that of a dog or a chicken; and when he
finally disappeared, I did not miss him. Months and months passed by before
anything happened to remind me of Riki.


"What has become of Riki?" I then asked the old woodcutter who supplies
our neighborhood with fuel. I remembered that Riki had often helped him to
carry his bundles.


"Riki-Baka?" answered the old man. "Ah, Riki is dead -- poor fellow!...
Yes, he died nearly a year ago, very suddenly; the doctors said that he had
some disease of the brain. And there is a strange story now about that poor
Riki


"When Riki died, his mother wrote his name, 'Riki-Baka,' in the palm of
his left hand,-- putting 'Riki' in the Chinese character, and 'Baka' in
kana (1). And she repeated many prayers for him,-- prayers that he might be
reborn into some more happy condition.


"Now, about three months ago, in the honorable residence of Nanigashi-Sama
(2), in Kojimachi (3), a boy was born with characters on the palm of his