place for everyone in Japan to be ready for the last journey as it is in America to have a trunk in the house.”
“Come over this way,” said Sister, leading us to the other side of the room. “Here is something that belongs to you, Etsu-bo. You had better take charge of it.”
She pulled out a narrow drawer. Within, wrapped in purple crêpe on which was the Inagaki crest, lay a slender parcel about a foot long. My heart gave a bound. It was one of our three family treasures—the saihai used by Tokugawa Ieyasu, and presented by him to my ancestor on the battlefield of Sekigahara.
Reverently I lifted the precious thing to my forehead. Then, bidding the children sit with bowed heads, I slowly unwrapped the square of crêpe, disclosing a short, thick rod of lacquered wood, having on one end a silk cord for a wrist loop and on the other a bronze chain-clasp that held a bunch of soft, tough paper cut in strips.
We all sat very quiet while Sister told the children of the brave ancestor who, in a time of peril, saved the life of his great overlord; and how Ieyasu, in gracious remembrance, presented him with his own bloodstained coat, his wonderful Masamune sword, and this rod which he used in guiding his followers on the battlefield. “And,” concluded Sister, “all three are still kept in the Inagaki family as sacred treasures.”
“It looks like just a plain wooden stick, doesn’t it?” whispered Chiyo to Hanano.
“So it is,” said Sister. “As plain as the most simple director rod used by any ancient general; for Ieyasu lived in the age when was written, ‘An ornamental scabbard signifies a dull blade.’ ”
“The pieces of paper are so yellow and ragged,” said Hanano. “Did they use to be white?”
“Yes,” I answered. “They are yellow because they are so old. And the reason the papers are ragged is be-
