now, till his acquisitive eyes light upon a pile of crystal trumpets.
“Ah!” exclaims Mousmé, as she sees him pause, “he must have one.”
It is obvious that queer little Aki’s heart is set upon possessing one of these weirdly articulate instruments, so another quarter of a yen changes hands, and Aki adds his quota to the unearthly, gobbling sounds which dozens of these strange instruments produce, blown by other equally lusty-lunged boys.
The houses we pass by are all thrown open, and decorated exquisitely with flowers and foliage. It is a scene of fairy-like beauty, and Mousmé at my side, upon whom I have to look down to admire, is a fairy.
She is getting tired; Aki is dragging on her arm, and I am glad when the climb up is done, and we are at last at the bottom of the first flight of the temple steps.
