"The hoof-beats of Arabian horses, with white-robed Bedouins flashing
their swords; all the glitter and splendour of war were woven into it.
Songs of victory, the rush of a cavalry charge, the faith of a dying
warrior, even the slow marches of defeat--it all went into the rug.
"Perhaps the Master Craftsman died, but the design was left, and willing
fingers toiled upon it, through the long years, each day putting new
beauty into it and new dreams. Then, one day, the final knot was tied,
by a Veiled Lady, who sighed softly in the pauses of her song, and
wondered at its surpassing loveliness." "And--" said Miss Ainslie,
gently.
"Some one who loved you brought it to you."
"Yes," she repeated, smiling, "some one who loved me. Tell me about
this," she pleaded, touching a vase of Cloisonne.
"It came from Japan," he said, "a strange world of people like those
painted on a fan. The streets are narrow and there are quaint houses on
either side. The little ladies flit about in gay attire, like so many
butterflies--they wear queer shoes on their dainty feet. They're as
sweet as their own cherry blossoms.
"The little man who made this vase, wore a blue tunic and had no robes
of state, because he was poor. He loved the daughter of a nobleman and
she loved him, too, though neither dared to say so. So he sat in front
of his house and worked on this vase. He made a model of clay, shaping
it with his fingers until it was perfect. Then a silver vase was cast
from it and over and over it he went, very carefully, making a design
with flat, silver wire. When he was satisfied with it, he filled it
in with enamel in wonderful colours, making even the spots on the
butterflies' wings like those he had seen in the fields. Outside the
design, he covered the vase with dark enamel, so the bright colours
would show.
"As he worked, the little lady he loved came and watched him sometimes
for a moment or two, and then he put a tiny bit of gold into the vase.
He put a flower into the design, like those she wore in her hair, and
then another, like the one she dropped at his feet one day, when no one
was looking.
"The artist put all his love into the vase, and he hoped that when it
was done, he could obtain a Court position. He was very patient with the
countless polishings, and one afternoon, when the air was sweet with the
odour of the cherry blossoms, the last touches were put upon it.
"It was so beautiful that he was commissioned to make some great vases
for the throne room, and then, with joy in his heart, he sought the hand
of the nobleman's daughter.