THE BURNING OF THE RICEFIELDS[1]

[Footnote 1: Adapted from _Gleanings in Buddha-Fields_, by Lafcadio Hearn.
(Kegan Paul, Trench, Trübner and Co. Ltd. 5s. net.)]

Once there was a good old man who lived up on a mountain, far away in
Japan. All round his little house the mountain was flat, and the ground
was rich; and there were the ricefields of all the people who lived in the
village at the mountain's foot. Mornings and evenings, the old man and
his little grandson, who lived with him, used to look far down on the
people at work in the village, and watch the blue sea which lay all round
the land, so close that there was no room for fields below, only for
houses. The little boy loved the ricefields, dearly, for he knew that all
the good food for all the people came from them; and he often helped his
grand father to watch over them.

One day, the grandfather was standing alone, before his house, looking far
down at the people, and out at the sea, when, suddenly, he saw something
very strange far off where the sea and sky meet. Something like a great
cloud was rising there, as if the sea were lifting itself high into the
sky. The old man put his hands to his eyes and looked again, hard as his
old sight could. Then he turned and ran to the house. "Yone, Yone!" he
cried, "bring a brand from the hearth!"

The little grandson could not imagine what his grandfather wanted with
fire, but he always obeyed, so he ran quickly and brought the brand. The
old man already had one, and was running for the ricefields. Yone ran
after. But what was his horror to see his grandfather thrust his burning
brand into the ripe dry rice, where it stood.