calls for careful handling. I saw one of the itinerant lacquer
collectors, his hands wrapped in cotton, operating on a tree.

During a particularly hot run we had the good fortune to come on a
soda-water spring from which we all drank freely. A factory erected to
tap the spring was in ruins. Evidently the cost of carriage was
prohibitive.

In these hills the rice was planted farther apart than is usual so
that the sun might warm the water. Here as elsewhere _daikon_ were
hung up to dry on walls and trees, and looked like giant tallow
candles. Below a bridge, which marked the village boundary, flags had
been flung down by way of keeping off epidemics. Evil spirits were
warded off by special dances.

The porch of a little tea-house where we rested was covered with
grapes. Soon after leaving it we reached our destination for the
night, a small town of houses of several storeys which clustered on a
hillside under the shadow of a Zen temple. Meat and eggs were
forbidden to the town, but as the residents were all Zen Buddhists the
restriction was no hardship. There was no cow in the place, but
condensed milk was allowed. A man at the inn told me that he knew of
ten Shinto shrines which forbade the use of chickens and eggs in their
localities. The view from the temple, perched high on its rock above
the wide riverway, was exceptionally fine. Parties of boys and girls
of thirteen paid visits to this temple "because thirteen is known as a
perilous age." The people of the vegetarian town, instead of feeding
on the fish in the river, fed them. I saw a shoal of fish being given
scraps at the water edge.