priest, I long followed the profession of arms; and in those days I never

feared man or devil. My name then was Isogai Heidazaemon Taketsura of
Kyushu: there may be some among you who remember it."

At the mention of that name, a murmur of admiration filled the
court-room.; for there were many present who remembered it. And Kwairyo

immediately found himself among friends instead of judges, -- friends
anxious to prove their admiration by fraternal kindness. With honor they

escorted him to the residence of the daimyo, who welcomed him, and feasted
him, and made him a handsome present before allowing him to depart. When

Kwairyo left Suwa, he was as happy as any priest is permitted to be in this
transitory world. As for the head, he took it with him, -- jocosely

insisting that he intended it for a miyage.
And now it only remains to tell what became of the head.

A day or two after leaving Suwa, Kwairyo met with a robber, who stopped
him in a lonesome place, and bade him strip. Kwairyo at once removed his

koromo, and offered it to the robber, who then first perceived what was
hanging to the sleeve. Though brave, the highwayman was startled: he

dropped the garment, and sprang back. Then he cried out:-- "You! -- what
kind of a priest are you? Why, you are a worse man than I am! It is true

that I have killed people; but I never walked about with anybody's head
fastened to my sleeve... Well, Sir priest, I suppose we are of the same

calling; and I must say that I admire you!... Now that head would be of use
to me: I could frighten people with it. Will you sell it? You can have my

robe in exchange for your koromo; and I will give you five ryo for the
head."

Kwairyo answered:--
"I shall let you have the head and the robe if you insist; but I must tell

you that this is not the head of a man. It is a goblin's head. So, if you
buy it, and have any trouble in consequence, please to remember that you

were not deceived by me."
"What a nice priest you are!" exclaimed the robber. "You kill men, and

jest about it!... But I am really in earnest. Here is my robe; and here is
the money;-- and let me have the head... What is the use of joking?"

"Take the thing," said Kwairyo. "I was not joking. The only joke -- if
there be any joke at all -- is that you are fool enough to pay good money

for a goblin's head." And Kwairyo, loudly laughing, went upon his way.
Thus the robber got the head and the koromo; and for some time he played

goblin-priest upon the highways. But, reaching the neighborhood of Suwa, he
there leaned the true story of the head; and he then became afraid that the

spirit of the Rokuro-Kubi might give him trouble. So he made up his mind to
take back the head to the place from which it had come, and to bury it with

its body. He found his way to the lonelycottage in the mountains of Kai;
but nobody was there, and he could not discover the body. Therefore he

buried the head by itself, in the grove behind the cottage; and he had a
tombstone set up over the grave; and he caused a Segaki-service to be

performed on behalf of the spirit of the Rokuro-Kubi. And that tombstone --
known as the Tombstone of the Rokuro-Kubi -- may be seen (at least so the

Japanese story-teller declares) even unto this day.
A DEAD SECRET

A long time ago, in the province of Tamba (1), there lived a rich merchant
named Inamuraya Gensuke. He had a daughter called O-Sono. As she was very

clever and pretty, he thought it would be a pity to let her grow up with
only such teaching as the country-teachers could give her: so he sent her,

in care of some trusty attendants, to Kyoto, that she might be trained in
the polite accomplishments taught to the ladies of the capital. After she

had thus been educated, she was married to a friend of her father's family
-- a merchant named Nagaraya;-- and she lived happily with him for nearly

four years. They had one child, -- a But O-Sono fell ill and died, in the
fourth year after her marriage.

On the night after the funeral of O-Sono, her little son said that his
mamma had come back, and was in the room upstairs. She had smiled at him,

but would not talk to him: so he became afraid, and ran away. Then some of
the family went upstairs to the room which had been O-Sono's; and they were

startled to see, by the light of a small lamp which had been kindled before
a shrine in that room, the figure of the dead mother. She appeared as if

standing in front of a tansu, or chest of drawers, that still contained her
ornaments and her wearing-apparel. Her head and shoulders could be very

distinctly seen; but from the waist downwards the figure thinned into
invisibility;-- it was like an imperfectreflection of her, and transparent

as a shadow on water.
Then the folk were afraid, and left the room. Below they consulted

together; and the mother of O-Sono's husband said: "A woman is fond of her
small things; and O-Sono was much attached to her belongings. Perhaps she

has come back to look at them. Many dead persons will do that, -- unless
the things be given to the parish-temple. If we present O-Sono's robes and

girdles to the temple, her spirit will probably find rest."
I was agreed that this should be done as soon as possible. So on the

following morning the drawers were emptied; and all of O-Sono's ornaments
and dresses were taken to the temple. But she came back the next night, and

looked at the tansu as before. And she came back also on the night
following, and the night after that, and every night; -- and the house

became a house of fear.
The mother of O-Sono's husband then went to the parish-temple, and told

the chief priest all that had happened, and asked for ghostlycounsel. The
temple was a Zen temple; and the head-priest was a learned old man, known

as Daigen Osho. He said: "There must be something about which she is
anxious, in or near that tansu." -- "But we emptied all the drawers,"

replied the woman; -- "there is nothing in the tansu." -- "Well," said
Daigen Osho, "to-night I shall go to your house, and keep watch in that

room, and see what can be done. You must give orders that no person shall
enter the room while I am watching, unless I call."

After sundown, Daigen Osho went to the house, and found the room made
ready for him. He remained there alone, reading the sutras; and nothing

appeared until after the Hour of the Rat. [1] Then the figure of O-Sono
suddenly outlined itself in front of the tansu. Her face had a wistful

look; and she kept her eyes fixed upon the tansu.
The priest uttered the holy formula prescribed in such cases, and then,

addressing the figure by the kaimyo [2] of O-Sono, said: -- "I have come
here in order to help you. Perhaps in that tansu there is something about

which you have reason to feel anxious. Shall I try to find it for you?" The
shadow appeared to give assent by a slight motion of the head; and the

priest, rising, opened the top drawer. It was empty. Successively he opened
the second, the third, and the fourth drawer; -- he searched carefully

behind them and beneath them;-- he carefully examined the interior of the
chest. He found nothing. But the figure remained gazing as wistfully as

before. "What can she want?" thought the priest. Suddenly it occurred to
him that there might be something hidden under the paper with which the

drawers were lined. He removed the lining of the first drawer:-- nothing!
He removed the lining of the second and third drawers:-- still nothing. But

under the lining of the lowermost drawer he found -- a letter. "Is this the
thing about which you have been troubled?" he asked. The shadow of the

woman turned toward him, -- her faint gaze fixed upon the letter. "Shall I
burn it for you?" he asked. She bowed before him. "It shall be burned in

the temple this very morning," he promised;-- "and no one shall read it,
except myself." The figure smiled and vanished.

Dawn was breaking as the priest descended the stairs, to find the family
waiting anxiously below. "Do not be anxious," he said to them: "She will

not appear again." And she never did.
The letter was burned. It was a love-letter written to O-Sono in the time

of her studies at Kyoto. But the priest alone knew what was in it; and the
secret died with him.

YUKI-ONNA
In a village of Musashi Province (1), there lived two woodcutters: Mosaku

and Minokichi. At the time of which I am speaking, Mosaku was an old man;
and Minokichi, his apprentice, was a lad of eighteen years. Every day they