Taro thought it over. Then he said, "Well, come behind the
lantern, and just this once I'll do it. But don't you tell, and
don't you ask me to again."

"Cross my heart, Taro," Take promised. "I won't tell. You are a
good, kind boy."

Taro tied the sash the best he could, but it looked very queer.
It looked so queer that when, after a while, their Mother saw it
she said, "Come here, my child; your sash is tied upside down!
But I know it is hard to reach behind you. I must teach you how
to make a nice big bow all by yourself." And Take never told her
that Taro did it. No one ever knew it until this minute!

When they were all dressed, the Twins ran out into the garden.

There had been a shower in the night, and the leaves were all
shiny, they had been washed so clean by the rain. The dew
sparkled on the green iris leaves beside the tiny river, and the
sunshine made the fish look like lumps of living gold in the
blue waters of the little lake. The birds were singing in the
wistaria vine that grew over the porch, and two doves were
cooing on the old stone lantern that stood by the little lake.
They were Taro's pet doves.

Taro held out his fingers. "I haven't forgotten to bring you
something," he called.

The doves flew down and lit upon his shoulders. Taro took a few
rice kernels from the sleeve of his kimono--which he used as a