THE BURNING FIELDS

One afternoon in late summer Hamaguchi sat on the balcony of his house and watched the people in the village below. With him was his grandson, a lad of ten. The rice crop had been very fine, and the villagers were holding their harvest festival. All the shops were closed, and the streets were gayly decorated with ropes of straw and paper lanterns. The villagers in bright-colored clothing were about to join in the harvest dance.

Beyond the village Hamaguchi could see the vast blue sea, wrinkling under the bright after noon sun. Suddenly there came a slight shock. The house rocked three or four times and then stood still. Hamaguchi had felt many earth quakes in his time, and he was not at all frightened until he looked toward the sea.

The water had become dark green and very rough. The tide had suddenly changed --- the sea was running swiftly away from the land! The villagers stopped their dancing, and ran to the shore to watch. None of them knew what this strange thing meant. But the old man on the mountain had seen one such sight as a little child. He knew what the sea would do. There was no time to send a message to the village, nor to ring the big bell in the temple, and yet the people must be warned.

"Yone!" he called to his little grandson. "Light a torch! Quick!"

The boy was puzzled, but he asked no questions. He kindled the torch at once. The old man ran to the fields, where hundreds of rice stacks stood awaiting sale. It was all his wealth. He ran from one stack to another, applying the torch to each. The dry stalks caught fire quickly, and soon the red flames were shooting upward, and the smoke was rising in great columns to join the wind clouds in the sky.

Yone ran after his grandfather, shouting and crying, "Grandfather! Grandfather! Why? Why are you setting fire to the rice?"

The old man had no time to answer, but ran on, firing stack after stack. The high wind caught the sparks and loose brands and carried them farther, until the fields were all ablaze.

The watcher in the temple saw the fire, and set the big bell booming, and the people turned from the sea to look. In Japan every one in the village must give help in time of fire. No sooner did the people see that Hamaguchi's rice stacks were on fire than they began to run. Like a swarm of ants they climbed the mountain --- young men and boys, women and girls, old folk, mothers with babies on their backs, even little children joined in the race to put out the fire.

But when they reached the plateau, it was too late. The flames had already eaten the stacks of beautiful rice.

"It is too bad," the people exclaimed. "How did it happen?"

"Grandfather did it," cried Yone. "With a torch he set fire to the rice. He is mad."

In amazement the people stared at Hamaguchi. "You did this thing !" they cried. "You set fire to the rice fields! "

"Look toward the sea," said the old man, "and know my purpose."

The people turned and looked. Far out they saw a great wall of water sweeping toward them more swiftly than a bird flies. It was the returning sea!

The people shrieked, but their voices were lost in a great sound, deeper than thunder, as the wall of water struck the side of the mountain. The hills shook, and were drenched in a great burst of foam.

When the cloud of spray had disappeared, the people saw a wild sea raving over their village. Great angry waves seethed and tumbled above the house-tops. They rolled away roaring, tearing out houses and trees and great rocks, and bearing them off. Again the wall of water struck, and again and again, with less force each time. At last it fell back once more in its former bed.

The people stood speechless on the side of the mountain. The village was gone; the temple was gone; the fields had been torn away. Nothing was left of their homes but a few straw roofs that floated on the water. But every man and woman and child was safe on the mountain side.

Then the people knew why old Hamaguchi had set fire to the rice. There he stood among them, as poor as any. And they fell on their knees to thank him.

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