leaves completely hid all the earth of the field. But there was no one who knew the name of the plants. Even when St. Francis asked him, the Devil only grinned and held his tongue, vouchsafing no reply.
Meanwhile the plants put out clusters of flowers on the ends of their stems. They were funnel-shaped and light purple. The Devil seemed to be delighted with the flowering of the plants in proportion to the trouble he had taken with them. So every day, after the morning and evening services, he always came out into the field and cultivated them devotedly.
Then one day ( St. Francis had gone off on a preaching tour for several days and was absent) a cattle dealer passed by the field leading a yellow cow. There across the fence in the field full of purple flowers stood a southern barbarian Brother in his black priest’s robe and broad-brimmed hat busily picking worms off the leaves. The flowers were so curious that the cattle dealer involuntarily stopped, took off his mushroom hat and called to the Brother politely,
“I say, holy one, what are those flowers?”
The Brother looked round. He had a flat nose and small eyes and was an altogether good-natured looking “redhead.”
“These?”
“Yes.”
The “redhead,” leaning on the fence, shook his head. Then he said in awkward Japanese,
“I’m sorry, but I can’t tell that one thing to anybody.”
“Oh, then did Francis- sama say that you shouldn’t tell?”
“No, not that.”