he lay down there, and prepared to sleep. He had always welcomed discomfort; and even a bare rock was for him a good bed, when nothing better could be found, and the root of a pine-tree an excellent pillow. His body was iron; and he never troubled himself about dews or rain or frost or snow.
Scarcely had he lain down when a man came along the road, carrying an axe and a great bundle of chopped wood. This wood- cutter halted on seeing Kwairyō lying down, and, after a moment of silent observation, said to him in a tone of great surprise : —
“What kind of a man can you be, good Sir, that you dare to lie down alone in such a place as this? . . . There are haunters about here,— many of them. Are you not afraid of Hairy Things?”
“My friend,” cheerfully answered Kwairyō, “I am only a wandering priest, —a 'Cloud-and-Water-Guest,’ as folks call it: Un-sui-no-ryokaku. And I am not in the least afraid of Hairy Things, — if you mean goblin-foxes, or goblin-badgers, or any creatures of that kind. As for lonesome places, I like them: they are suitable for meditation. I am accustomed to sleeping in the open air: and I have learned never to be anxious about my life.”
“You must be indeed a brave man,
85
