A Moorhen
It was an extremely peaceful afternoon, with a feeling of autumn in the keen air. Arranging his folding-chair on the outer edge of the verandah, Ryudo, the painter, gazed at the swampy ground in front of his house. Along a small track which edged a paddy-field he noticed a sportsman walking, headed by a pointer. In the far distance sounded two gun-shots. The dog stopped suddenly and pircked up his ears.
“I would like to keep a moorhen,” remarked Ryudo, looking back at his younger sister Otane, who was busy sewing behind him on the verandah. “And, I would lead fresh water on to my land, and would plant green reeds there. I wouldn’t mind having one or two of the moorhens, but I would let them roam about quite freely.”
“When you’ve realized your great ambition?” said Otane rather cynically, without lifting her eyes.
“O no. I could do such a thing anytime!”
“But could you afford to build a house with this land of yours?”
Ryudo burst into laughter at his sister’s dry remark.
“It is useless for you to have so many luxurious ideas, for you could never earn so much money!” ············································· That night, after they had taken their bath, and
