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    Little Sister Snow
    Little Sister Snow
    Little Sister Snow
    Ebook97 pages58 minutes

    Little Sister Snow

    By Genjiro Kataoka and Frances Little

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    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 27, 2013

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      Book preview

      Little Sister Snow - Genjiro Kataoka

      Little Sister Snow, by Frances Little

      The Project Gutenberg EBook of Little Sister Snow, by Frances Little

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

      almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or

      re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

      with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

      Title: Little Sister Snow

      Author: Frances Little

      Release Date: August 16, 2004 [EBook #5960]

      Last Updated: February 4, 2013

      Language: English

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITTLE SISTER SNOW ***

      Produced by Juliet Sutherland David Widger and the Online Distributed

      Proofreading Team

      LITTLE SISTER SNOW

      BY

      FRANCES LITTLE

      Author of The Lady of the Decoration

      WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY GENJIRO KATAOKA

      1909

      TO MY NIECE

      ALICE HEGAN RICE

      IN MEMORY OF MANY HAPPY MONTHS

      SPENT TOGETHER IN JAPAN

      CONTENTS

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      ILLUSTRATIONS

      A fervent, whispered prayer . . . Frontispiece

      She would throw her into the ditch

      The two old people

      Yuki San was called before her father

      With paint and brush she fell to work

      At the slightest sound she listened

      Not willing to be surpassed in salutation

      My heart bleed for lonely

      She busied herself with serving the tea

      Very helpless and lonesome

      To make good her promise to the gods

      CHAPTER I

      A quaint old Japanese garden lay smiling under the sunshine of a morning in early spring. The sun, having flooded the outside world with dazzling light, seemed to sink to a tender radiance as it wooed leaf and bud into new life and loveliness. It loosened the tiny rivulet from the icy fingers of winter, and sped it merrily on its way to a miniature lake, where shining goldfish darted here and there in an ecstasy of motion. It stole into the shadows of a great pine-tree, and touched the white wings of the pigeons as they cooed the song of mating-time. It gleamed on the sandy path that led to the old stone lantern, played into the eyes of Kwannon, the Goddess of Mercy, and finally lost itself in the trees beyond.

      Under a gnarled plum-tree, that for uncounted years had braved the snow and answered joyously the first call of spring, a little maiden stood and held out eager hands to catch the falling blossoms. The flowering-time was nearly done, and the child stood watching the petals twirl quickly down, filling the hollows and fashioning curious designs on the mossy grass.

      The softest of breezes coming across the river, over the thick hedge, saucily blew a stray petal straight into the child's face. To Yuki Chan it was a challenge, and with outstretched hands and flying feet she gave chase to the whirling blossoms. Round and round the old tree, into the hedge, and up the sandy path she raced, her long sleeves spreading like tiny sails, her cheeks flushed to the same crimson as her flowery playmates. A sudden stillness in the air ended the romp. Yuki Chan returned to her playground beneath the tree, and taking her captured petals from the folds of her kimono, began to count her trophies.

      Ichi, ni, san, ichi, ni, san, she rhythmically droned, three being the magical number that would bring good luck if the petals were properly arranged and the number repeated often enough.

      But the monotony of repetition brought rest, and soon Yuki Chan, forgetting to count, made a bed of the fallen petals and turned her face toward the little straw-roofed house from which noises of busy preparation came.

      It was a birthday. Not Yuki Chan's, for that came with the snow-time. This was the third day of the third month, which in the long ago was set apart as the big birthday of all little girls born in the lovely island, and was celebrated by the Festival of Dolls.

      Yuki Chan lay with her slim body stretched in the warmth of the sun. In every graceful line was the imprint of high breeding; her white face, so unusual with her race, was stamped with the romance and tragedy of centuries; while her eyes, limpid and luminous, looked out at the world with eager, questioning interest.

      Through the wide-open shoji of the house she caught glimpses of her father and mother hurrying and holding consultations. She marked frequent visits to the old warehouse that held the household treasures, and the bringing out of bundles wrapped in yellow cloth. The air brought her whiffs of cooking food, and the flower- and fish- men deposited a fair part of their stock on the porch. But Yuki Chan was banished from these joys of preparation because of naughtiness, and as she lay in the warm sunshine she thought of her recent wickedness. She smiled as she remembered how she had hid her father's pipe that he might work the faster, and broken the straps of her mother's wooden shoes,

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