Chapter III (14)

This plan appeared such a good one that it was at once approved of, and immediately the goat ran halting before the hunter, and appeared to be so feeble and faint that her pursuer thought he had her safe in his clutches again, and so, laying down his sack, ran after the goat with all his might. That cunning creature suffered him now and again almost to come up to her, and then led him another wild-goose chase till at last she had lured him out of sight; which Zirac seeing, began gnawing the string that tied the mouth of the sack, and soon set free the tortoise, who went at once and hid himself in a thick bush.

At length the hunter, tired of running after his prey, gave up the chase, and returned to take up his sack.

"Here," said he, "I have something safe; thou art not quite so swift as that plaguing goat; and if thou wert, art too well confined here to find the way to make thy little legs any use to thee." So saying, he went to the bag, but not finding the tortoise he was amazed, and thought himself in a region of hobgoblins and spirits, since he had by some mysterious means lost two valuable objects, a goat and a tortoise! He did not know, you see, what wonders true friendship can work when all are pledged to help one another.

The four friends soon met together again, congratulated one another on their escapes, made afresh their vows of friendship, and declared that they would never separate until death parted them.

MY LORD BAG OF RICE

Long, long ago there lived in Japan a brave warrior known to all as Tawara Toda, or "My Lord Bag of Rice." His true name was Fujiwara Hidesato, and there is a very interesting story of how he came to change his name.

One day he sallied forth in search of adventures, for he had the nature of a warrior and could not bear to be idle. So he buckled on his two swords, took his huge bow, much taller than himself, in his hand, and slinging his quiver on his back started out. He had not gone far when he came to the bridge of Seta-no-Karashi spanning one end of the beautiful Lake Biwa. No sooner had he set foot on the bridge than he saw lying right across his path a huge serpent-dragon. Its body was so big that it looked like the trunk of a large pine tree and it took up the whole width of the bridge. One of its huge claws rested on the parapet of one side of the bridge, while its tail lay right against the other. The monster seemed to be asleep, and as it breathed, fire and smoke came out of its nostrils.

At first Hidesato could not help feeling alarmed at the sight of this horrible reptile lying in his path, for he must either turn back or walk right over its body. He was a brave man, however, and putting aside all fear went forward dauntlessly. Crunch, crunch; he stepped now on the dragon's body, now between its coils, and without even one glance backward he went on his way.

He had only gone a few steps when he heard some one calling him from behind. On turning back he was much surprised to see that the monster dragon had entirely disappeared and in its place was a strange-looking man, who was bowing most ceremoniously to the ground. His red hair streamed over his shoulders and was surmounted by a crown in the shape of a dragon's head, and his sea-green dress was patterned with shells. Hidesato knew at once that this was no ordinary mortal and he wondered much at the strange occurrence. Where had the dragon gone in such a short space of time? Or had it transformed itself into this man, and what did the whole thing mean? While these thoughts passed through his mind he had come up to the man on the bridge and now addressed him:

"Was it you that called me just now?"

"Yes, it was I," answered the man; "I have an earnest request to make to you. Do you think you can grant it to me?"

"If it is in my power to do so I will," answered Hidesato, "but first tell me who you are?"

"I am the Dragon King of the Lake, and my home is in these waters just under this bridge."

"And what is it you have to ask of me?" said Hidesato.

"I want you to kill my mortal enemy the centipede, who lives on the mountain beyond," and the Dragon King pointed to a high peak on the opposite shore of the lake.

"I have lived now for many years in this lake and I have a large family of children and grandchildren. For some time past we have lived in terror, for a monster centipede has discovered our home, and night after night it comes and carries off one of my family. I am powerless to save them. If it goes on much longer like this, not only shall I lose all my children, but I myself must fall a victim to the monster. I am, therefore, very unhappy, and in my extremity I determined to ask the help of a human being. For many days with this intention I have waited on the bridge in the shape of the horrible serpent-dragon that you saw, in the hope that some strong brave man would come along. But all who came this way, as soon as they saw me were terrified and ran away as fast as they could. You are the first man I have found able to look at me without fear, so I knew at once that you were a man of great courage. I beg you to have pity upon me. Will you not help me and kill my enemy the centipede?"

Hidesato felt very sorry for the Dragon King on hearing his story, and readily promised to do what he could to help him. The warrior asked where the centipede lived, so that he might attack the creature at once. The Dragon King replied that its home was on the mountain Mikami, but that as it came every night at a certain hour to the palace of the lake, it would be better to wait till then. So Hidesato was conducted to the palace of the Dragon King, under the bridge. Strange to say, as he followed his host downward the waters parted to let them pass, and his clothes did not even feel damp as he passed through the flood. Never had Hidesato seen anything so beautiful as this palace built of white marble beneath the lake. He had often heard of the Sea King's Palace at the bottom of the sea, where all the servants and retainers were salt-water fishes, but here was a magnificent building in the heart of Lake Biwa. The dainty goldfishes, red carp, and silvery trout, waited upon the Dragon King and his guest.

Hidesato was astonished at the feast that was spread for him. The dishes were crystallized lotus leaves and flowers, and the chopsticks were of the rarest ebony. As soon as they sat down, the sliding doors opened and ten lovely goldfish dancers came out, and behind them followed ten red-carp musicians with the koto and the samisen. Thus the hours flew by till midnight, and the beautiful music and dancing had banished all thoughts of the centipede. The Dragon King was about to pledge the warrior in a fresh cup of wine when the palace was suddenly shaken by a tramp, tramp! as if a mighty army had begun to march not far away.

Hidesato and his host both rose to their feet and rushed to the balcony, and the warrior saw on the opposite mountain two great balls of glowing fire coming nearer and nearer. The Dragon King stood by the warrior's side trembling with fear.

"The centipede! The centipede! Those two balls of fire are its eyes. It is coming for its prey! Now is the time to kill it."

Hidesato looked where his host pointed, and, in the dim light of the starlit evening, behind the two balls of fire he saw the long body of an enormous centipede winding round the mountains, and the light in its hundred feet glowed like so many distant lanterns moving slowly toward the shore.

Hidesato showed not the least sign of fear. He tried to calm the Dragon King.

"Don't be afraid. I shall surely kill the centipede. Just bring me my bow and arrows."

The Dragon King did as he was bid, and the warrior noticed that he had only three arrows left in his quiver. He took the bow, and fitting an arrow to the notch, took careful aim and let fly.

The arrow hit the centipede right in the middle of its head, but instead of penetrating, it glanced off harmless and fell to the ground.

Nothing daunted, Hidesato took another arrow, fitted it to the notch of the bow and let fly. Again the arrow hit the mark, it struck the centipede right in the middle of its head, only to glance off and fall to the ground. The centipede was invulnerable to weapons! When the Dragon King saw that even this brave warrior's arrows were powerless to kill the centipede, he lost heart and began to tremble with fear.

The warrior saw that he had now only one arrow left in his quiver, and if this one failed he could not kill the centipede. He looked across the waters. The huge reptile had wound its horrid body seven times round the mountain and would soon come down to the lake. Nearer and nearer gleamed the fire-balls of eyes, and the light of its hundred feet began to throw reflections in the still waters of the lake.

Then suddenly the warrior remembered that he had heard that human saliva was deadly to centipedes. But this was no ordinary centipede. This was so monstrous that even to think of such a creature made one creep with horror. Hidesato determined to try his last chance. So taking his last arrow and first putting the end of it in his mouth, he fitted the notch to his bow, took careful aim once more and let fly.

This time the arrow again hit the centipede right in the middle of its head, but instead of glancing off harmlessly as before it struck home to the creature's brain. Then with a convulsive shudder the serpentine body stopped moving, and the fiery light of its great eyes and hundred feet darkened to a dull glare like the sunset of a stormy day, and then went out in blackness. A great darkness now overspread the heavens, the thunder rolled and the lightning flashed, and the wind roared in fury, and it seemed as if the world were coming to an end. The Dragon King and his children and retainers all crouched in different parts of the palace, frightened to death, for the building was shaken to its foundations. At last the dreadful night was over. Day dawned beautiful and clear. The centipede was gone from the mountain.

Then Hidesato called to the Dragon King to come out with him on the balcony, for the centipede was dead and he had nothing more to fear.

Then all the inhabitants of the palace came out with joy, and Hidesato pointed to the lake. There lay the body of the dead centipede floating on the water, which was dyed red with its blood.

The gratitude of the Dragon King knew no bounds. The whole family came and bowed down before the warrior, calling him their preserver and the bravest warrior in all Japan.

Another feast was prepared, more sumptuous than the first. All kinds of fish, prepared in every imaginable way, raw, stewed, boiled and roasted, served on coral trays and crystal dishes, were put before him, and the wine was the best that Hidesato had ever tasted in his life. To add to the beauty of everything the sun shone brightly, the lake glittered like a liquid diamond, and the palace was a thousand times more beautiful by day than by night.

His host tried to persuade the warrior to stay a few days, but Hidesato insisted on going home, saying that he had now finished what he had come to do, and must return. The Dragon King and his family were all very sorry to have him leave so soon, but since he would go they begged him to accept a few small presents (so they said) in token of their gratitude to him for delivering them for ever from their horrible enemy the centipede.

As the warrior stood in the porch taking leave, a train of fish was suddenly transformed into a retinue of men, all wearing ceremonial robes and dragon's crowns on their heads to show that they were servants of the great Dragon King. The presents that they carried were as follows:

First, a large bronze bell.
Second, a bag of rice.
Third, a roll of silk.
Fourth, a cooking pot.
Fifth, a bell.

Hidesato did not want to accept all these presents, but as the Dragon King insisted, he could not well refuse.

The Dragon King himself accompanied the warrior as far as the bridge, and then took leave of him with many bows and good wishes, leaving the procession of servants to accompany Hidesato to his house with the presents.

The warrior's household and servants had been very much concerned when they found that he did not return the night before, but they finally concluded that he had been kept by the violent storm and had taken shelter somewhere. When the servants on the watch for his return caught sight of him they called to every one that he was approaching, and the whole household turned out to meet him, wondering much what the retinue of men, bearing presents and banners, that followed him, could mean.

As soon as the Dragon King's retainers had put down the presents they vanished, and Hidesato told all that had happened to him.

The presents which he had received from the grateful Dragon King were found to be of magic power. The bell only was ordinary, and as Hidesato had no use for it he presented it to the temple near by, where it was hung up, to boom out the hour of day over the surrounding neighborhood.

The single bag of rice, however much was taken from it day after day for the meals of the knight and his whole family, never grew less--the supply in the bag was inexhaustible.

The roll of silk, too, never grew shorter, though time after time long pieces were cut off to make the warrior a new suit of clothes to go to Court in at the New Year.

The cooking pot was wonderful, too. No matter what was put into it, it cooked deliciously whatever was wanted without any firing--truly a very economical saucepan.

The fame of Hidesato's fortune spread far and wide, and as there was no need for him to spend money on rice or silk or firing, he became very rich and prosperous, and was henceforth known as _My Lord Bag of Rice_.

THE LITTLE HARE OF OKI

_A Japanese Fairy Tale_

RETOLD BY B. M. BURRELL

Alice lived in New York, but she still had the nurse who had taken care of her when she was a tiny baby in far-away Japan. Nurse wore the picturesque kimono and obi of her native land, and looked so different from other people that friends often wondered how Alice could feel at home with her. Love, however, is the same the world over, and no one loved Alice better than did her little Japanese nurse.

When Papa and Mama were at dinner, and Alice and Nurse had the library all to themselves till bedtime, the little girl would often pull two chairs up to the fire and say coaxingly:

"There is just time for a story!" And Nurse would smile her funny Japanese smile and begin:

"Long, long ago, when the great Japanese gods ruled from high heaven,--"

This was the beginning Alice liked best, for it meant that a fairy tale would follow. And Nurse would perhaps continue:

"--a little hare lived on the island of Oki. It was a beautiful island, but the hare was not satisfied: he wished to get to the mainland. He did not know how to manage this; but one day he thought of a plan. Hopping down to the shore, he waited till a crocodile came out to sun himself, then opened a conversation with him.

"'There are, I suppose, many crocodiles in the sea,' he began.

"'Many, many!' the crocodile answered.

"'Not so many, however, as there are hares on the island of Oki,' returned the little hare.

"'The crocodiles in the sea outnumber the hares of Oki as the drops in the sea outnumber the trees of the island,' declared the crocodile, in his deepest voice.

"'It does not seem right for a little bit of a creature like myself to differ with your lordship,' said the hare, politely, 'but I should like to see a proof of your statement.'

"'How can we prove it?' the crocodile questioned.

"'You can call all your friends and place them from here to the mainland, each with his nose on the tail of the neighbor before him; then I can easily jump from one to the other, counting as I go.'

"The crocodile agreed to this plan, thinking it a good one. 'But how can we count the hares?' he asked.

"'That we will decide after I have numbered the crocodiles,' the hare suggested.

"The crocodile was satisfied, and bade the hare come to the same place next morning to do the counting. Of course the little animal was on hand bright and early.

"There stretched an unbroken line of crocodiles, a floating bridge to the mainland!

"The little hare lost no time hopping across it, you may be sure. As he reached the last crocodile and prepared to jump to shore, his heart was so full of pride at the success of his ruse that he could not resist crying aloud:

"'How I have fooled you big creatures! I wished for a bridge to the mainland, and you have served my need!' Then he jumped.

"The last crocodile opened his wide jaws and closed them again with a snap. The hare was too quick to be caught, but the monster's teeth touched him and tore off most of his fur! As the poor thing limped away, a crocodile called after him:

"'You see what happens when you trifle with creatures stronger than yourself!'

"The little hare did not know much, but he felt that he was learning. He had no heart to explore the beauties of the mainland now, but crawled under a bush by the roadside and wished that some one would tell him how to cure his wounds.

"After some time he heard the noise of many people on the road. He crept out to see what was coming, and beheld a crowd of young men, carrying burdens as if they were on a journey. They were all tall and handsome, and wore beautiful clothes fit for princes.

"One of them spied the little hare and cried: 'Well, friend, why do you look so sad?'

"The hare, proud of being called 'friend' by this fine gentleman, told how he had deceived the crocodiles. The men laughed loudly, and one of them said: 'Since you are so clever, it is strange that you do not know the best way to cure your wounds. You should bathe in the salt sea, and then climb a hill so that the Wind Goddess can blow upon you with her cool breath.'

"The little hare thanked the strangers for their advice, and then asked them where they were journeying. They replied that they were eighty-one princes, all wishing to marry the princess of that country. She was very rich, and the responsibility of managing her wealth and kingdom was too much for her; so she had given notice that she desired to marry a wise and noble prince whom she could trust to rule for her.

"'So wealth and power do not always bring content?' the hare questioned.

"'They would content us!' the eighty princes answered. (The eighty-first was not present. He was of a kindly and gentle disposition, which caused his brothers to laugh at and impose upon him. To-day they had given him most of the luggage to carry, so he could not walk as fast as they.) As they started on the way, one of the princes called to the hare: 'Good-by! And don't forget to bathe your wounds in the salt sea!' And with loud laughter they continued their journey.

"The little hare did not give himself time to forget. He hurried to the shore and let the waves roll over him, but instead of making him feel better, the biting salt water only increased his pain.

"'I must hurry to the Wind Goddess,' the poor hare thought.

"He climbed the high hill with difficulty and lay down on the top, hoping for relief from his suffering. But the stiff grass pricked his wounds, and the biting wind caused them to throb more painfully. At last he realized that the cruel princes had deceived him, and he crawled back to his bush by the roadside, where he lay with closed eyes.

"A gentle voice roused him. 'Who has wounded you, little hare?' it asked.

"The little hare looked up and saw a beautiful youth standing beside him. His experience with men made him think that it would be best to fly from the stranger; but the young man's kind glance conquered his fear, and he answered: 'I left the island of Oki to see the wonders of the mainland, and I have fared badly from the exchange.' Then he told once more how he had left the island, and also about the bad advice the eighty princes had given him.

"The young man sighed. 'They used you ill, little creature,' he said. 'You learned that it is foolish to meddle with beings stronger than yourself; now you see how wicked it is to torment those weaker. My brother princes should have told you to bathe in the fresh water of the river and to lie on the soft rushes. Now, good-by, little friend. May good luck attend you!' And he walked quietly away, bending beneath the large burden he carried.

"The little hare knew that the stranger was the eighty-first of the princes, and so for a time, he feared to follow his advice. But he was in such pain that he decided to go to the river, which flowed like a silver ribbon through the fields toward the ocean. Into the cool water he plunged and immediately felt better, as the sand and bitter salt of the sea were washed from his wounds. Then he took a nap on the soft rushes.

"When he awoke he no longer was in pain, so he was filled with gratitude toward the young prince who had given him such kind and wise advice. He sat up, feeling quite strong again, and tried to think of a way in which he could repay his benefactor. In the distance he saw the roofs of the princess's palace rising among the trees which surrounded it. This gave him an idea, and he lost no time in carrying it out.

"Across the fields he hopped toward the palace, never stopping till he reached the garden wall. He crept in under the high gate, and there stood the princess under a cherry-tree covered with blossoms. The little hare went up to her and said respectfully:

"'Gracious Princess, I bring to you advice, if you will accept it from so insignificant a person as I.'

"'Speak, little hare,' the beautiful princess answered, for she knew that the best things are often found in unexpected places, and things are not always what they seem to be.

"'Eighty princes are coming to-day as suitors for your hand. They are dressed in rich and beautiful robes, and their faces are gay and smiling; but all that is only to hide the cruelty of their hearts. Following them is a young man who is as wise as he is kind and gentle. Turn the eighty from your gate, but honor the youngest suitor as greater than they.'

"'How do you know all this?' the princess questioned.

"So the little hare told his story for the third time, speaking so earnestly that the princess could not fail to be impressed by it. She thanked him for his advice, and after giving him some tender leaves to eat, prepared to receive the eighty-one brothers. They came a few minutes later, resplendent in the magnificent clothes they had put on in the princess's honor. Indeed, they all looked so handsome that she found it hard to believe the story of their cruelty. While they were talking of their journey to her kingdom, however, some of the princes told how they had made sport of a little hare too stupid to know that salt was not the best thing for open wounds, and she noticed that the youngest brother was the only one who did not enjoy the story. At this, rage filled her gentle heart.

"'Turn out the eighty princes!' she cried to her attendants; 'no one who is cruel to so small a creature as a little hare is fit to rule over a kingdom. But with you,' she added, turning to the youngest prince, 'will I share my throne, for you are a wise and merciful man.'

"You may be sure the youngest prince was happy to hear that, for, after once seeing the beautiful princess, the thought of parting from her was like lead in his breast.

"So the cruel brothers were drummed out of the palace with shouts of scorn; but the gentle prince and princess went into the garden to thank the little hare. They could not find him, however, search as they would; for as soon as he learned of the success of his plan, he had hopped away to see the world, wiser for his day's experiences."

"Is that all?" Alice asked.

"That is all," Nurse answered. "And now it is time for you to go to bed."

By MARGARET JOHNSON

In flowery, fair Cathay,
That kingdom far away,
Where, odd as it seems, 't is always night when here we are
having day,
In the time of the great Ching-Wang,
In the city of proud Shi-Bang,
In the glorious golden days of old when sage and poet sang,

There lived a nobleman who
Was known as the Prince Choo-Choo.
(It was long before the Chinaman wore his beautiful silken queue.)
A learned prince was he,
As rich as a prince could be,
And his house so gay had a grand gateway, and a wonderful
roof, sky-blue.

His garden was bright with tints
Of blossoming peach and quince,
And a million flowers whose like has not been seen before or since;
And set 'mid delicate odors
Were cute little toy pagodas,
That looked exactly as if you _might_ go in for ice-cream sodas!

A silver fountain played
In a bowl of carven jade,
And pink and white in a crystal pond the waterlilies swayed.
But never a flower that grew
In the garden of Prince Choo-Choo
Was half so fair as his daughter there, the Princess Loo-lee Loo.

Each day she came and sat
Oh her queer little bamboo mat.
(And I hope she carried a doll or two, but I can't be sure of that!)
She watched the fountain toss,
And she gazed the bridge across,
And she worked a bit of embroidery fine with a thread of silken
floss.

She touched her wee guitar,
The gift of her prince-papa,
And she hummed a queer little Chinese tune with a Chinese tra-la-la!
It was all that she had to do
To keep her from feeling blue,
For terribly lonely and dull sometimes was poor little Loo-lee Loo.

Her father had kites to fly
Far up in the free blue sky
(For a Chinaman loves with this elegant sport his leisure to occupy);
And what with his drums and gongs,
And his numerous loud ding-dongs,
He could have any day, in a princely way, a regular Fourth of July.

Her mother, the fair Su-See,
Was as busy as she could be,
Though she never went out, except, perhaps, to a neighboring
afternoon tea;
She was young herself, as yet,
And the minutes that she could get
She spent in studying up the rules of Elegant Etiquette.

So the princess nibbled her plums,
And twirled her dear little thumbs,
And lent sometimes a wistful ear to the beating of distant drums;
Until one April day--
_Tsing Ming_, as they would say--
She saw at the gate a sight that straight took Loo-lee's breath away.

Two dimples, soft and meek,
In a brown little baby cheek,
Two dear little eyes that met her own in a ravishing glance oblique;
A chubby hand thrust through
The palings of bamboo--
A little Celestial, dropped, it seemed, straight out of the
shining blue.

A playmate, a friend, a toy,
A live little baby boy--
Conceive, if you can, in her lonely state, the Princess
Loo-lee's joy!
How, as fast as her feet could toddle
(Her shoes were a Chinese model),
She hurried him in, and almost turned his dear little
wondering noddle.

"Oh, is it," she bent to say
In her courteous Chinese way,
"In my very contemptible garden, dear, your illustrious wish
to play?"
And when he nodded his head
She knew that he would have said,
"My insignificant feet are proud your honored estate to tread!"

Oh, then, but the garden rang
With laughter and joy--ting, tang!
There was never a happier spot that day in the realm of the
great Ching-Wang!
And oh, but it waned too soon,
That golden afternoon,
When the princess played with her Ray of the Sun, her darling
Beam of the Moon!

For when the shadows crept
Where the folded lilies slept,
Out into the garden all at once the prince her father stepped,
With a dignified air benign,
And a smile on his features fine,
And a perfectly gorgeous gown of silk embroidered with flower
and vine.

A fan in his princely hand,
Which he waved with a gesture bland
(Instead of a gentleman's walking-stick it was carried, you
understand),
In splendor of girdle and shoe,
In a glitter of gold and of blue,
With the fair Su-See at his side came he, the lordly Prince
Choo-Choo.

The princess bent her brow
In a truly celestial bow,
Saluted her father with filial grace, and made him the grand kotow.
(For every child that's bright
Knows well the rule that's right,
That to knock your head on the ground nine times is the way
to be polite.)

"And, pray, what have we here?"
In language kind though queer
The prince observed. "It looks to me like a little boy, my dear!"
"Why, that's what it is!" in glee
The princess cried. "Fing-Wee--
Most Perfectly Peerless Prince-Papa, a dear little brother for me!"

Loud laughed the Prince Choo-Choo,
And I fancy he said "Pooh-pooh!"
(That sounds very much like a Chinese word, and expresses
his feelings, too!)
And the fair Su-See leaned low.
"My Bud of the Rose, you know
If little Fing-Wee our son should be, your honors to him must go!"

But the princess's eyes were wet,
For her dear little heart was set
On having her way till she quite forgot her daughterly etiquette.
"Oh, what do I care!" she said.
"If he only may stay," she plead,
"I will give him the half of my bowl of rice and all of my fish
and bread!"

"Dear, dear!" said the Prince Choo-Choo,
"Now here is a how-do-you-do!
Is there nothing, O Jasmine-Flower, instead? A parasol pink or blue?
A beautiful big balloon?"
But she wept to the same old tune,
"I'd rather have little Fing-Wee, papa, than anything under the moon!"

Then the prince he called for lights,
And he called for the Book of Rites,
And all of the classical literature that he loved to read o' nights;
And he read till the dawn of day
In his very remarkable way,
From end to beginning, from bottom to top, as only a Chinaman may.

"My father adopted a son,
His father the same had done;
Some thousands of years ago, it appears, the custom was thus begun."
He stopped for a pinch of snuff;
His logic was sound, though tough;
You may rightfully follow what plan you please, if it's only
antique enough!

"A son," he thoughtfully said,
"To serve me with rice and bread;
To burn the paper above my grave and honor my aged head!
Oh, try me the tortoise sign
With a tortoise of ancient line:
If he turns his toes straight in as he goes, the boy is certainly
mine!"

Oho! but the garden rang
On that wonderful night--ting, tang!
When a banquet meet was served the élite of the city of proud
Shi-Bang!
And all who passed that way
Might read in letters gay
As long as your arm: "The Prince Choo-Choo adopts a son to-day!"

There was knocking of heads galore;
There were trumpets and drums a score;
The gay pavilions were lit with millions of lamps from ceiling
to floor.
And oh, but the chop-sticks flew
In the palace of Prince Choo-Choo,
And the gifts that were brought for the little Fing-Wee would
fill me a chapter or two.

But with never a single toy,
The princess cried for joy,
Nor cared she a jot that they all forgot it was she who had
found the boy!
Her dear little heart it sang
Like a bird in her breast--ting, tang!
There was never a happier child that night in the realm of
the great Ching-Wang!

And her mother, the fair Su-See,
She looked at the little Fing-Wee--
There were mothers in China some thousands of years before you
were born, trust me!
She looked at the children two,
And down in the dusk and the dew,
With a tender mist in her eyes she kissed the Princess Loo-lee Loo!

THE CURIOUS CASE OF AH-TOP

(_A Chinese Legend_)

The slant-eyed maidens, when they spied
The cue of Ah-Top, gaily cried,
"It is some mandarin!"
The street-boys followed in a crowd;
No wonder that Ah-Top was proud
And wore a conscious grin!

But one day Ah-Top's heart grew sad.
"My fate," he said, "is quite too bad!
My cue will hang behind me.
While others may its beauty know,
To me there's naught its grace to show,
And nothing to remind me."

At length he hit upon a plan,
Exclaiming, "I'm a clever man!
I know what I will do:
I'll simply wheel myself around,
And then the pigtail will be found
Where I can see it, too."

He spun himself upon his toes,
He almost fell upon his nose,
He grew red in the face.
But when Ah-Top could whirl no more,
He found the pigtail as before,
Resolved to keep its place.

"A'ha!" he cried, "I turned too slow.
Next time, you see, I'll faster go.
Besides, I stopped too soon.
Now for a good one! Ah, but stay--
I'll turn myself the other way!"
He looked like a balloon!

So fast he whirled, his cue flew out
And carried Ah-Top round about.
An awful moment came--
The helpless spinner could not stop!
The poor man had become a top!
This gave the toy its name.

THE JACKAL AND THE CAMEL

_A Hindu Tale_

The Jackal stood looking across the river where the crabs lay in the sun on the sand.

"Oh," said the Jackal, "if I could only swim, how good those crabs would be! I wish I had a boat or a canoe!"

Just then the Camel came out of the woods. "Now," said the Jackal, "if I can only get the Camel to take me across the river! I can ride high up on his hump, and it will be just as good as a boat."

"Good morning, friend," said the Jackal to the Camel. "Are you hungry? I know a place where the sugar cane grows higher and sweeter than anywhere else."

"Where? Where?" cried the Camel. "Tell me, and I will go there at once."

"I could take you to the place," said the Jackal, "but it is across the river, and I cannot swim."

"Oh," said the Camel, "that is all right. Get up on my back and I will take you across, and you can show me where the sugar cane is."

"All right," said the Jackal, "and I will look along the bank of the river and see if I can find any fat crabs on that side."

"Jump up quickly," said the Camel, "it makes me hungry just to think of sugar cane."

So the Jackal jumped up on the Camel's back, and the Camel swam across the river, and the Jackal did not get the least bit wet, even the tip of his tail. (The Jackal does not like to get even the tip of his tail wet.)

When they were across the river the Camel went off to the patch of sugar cane, and the Jackal ate the crabs which lay out in the sun on the sand. It was not long until he had eaten as many crabs as he could, and wanted to go back to the other side of the river. So he went to where the Camel stood in the cane patch.

"Why, have you finished your crabs?" asked the Camel.

"Yes. I cannot eat another one. Let us go back."

"Oh," said the Camel, "I have hardly begun to eat yet."

"Very well," said the Jackal, "I will go out to the edge of the patch and lie down and wait for you."

But the Jackal did not lie down. He was in a hurry to go home, now that he had eaten all the crabs he wanted. So he said: "I do not want to wait here. I know a little song I can sing that will make that Camel hurry."

So he began to sing. Of course, the Camel did not pay any attention, but the farmer heard, as the Jackal knew he would, and came running out with sticks to chase the Jackal. But the Jackal hid in the high cane, and the farmer could not find him. He did find the Camel, however, and called to his boys, and they beat the Camel with sticks and drove him out of the cane.

When the farmer and his boys had gone, the Jackal came out of the cane and found the Camel lying on the sand bruised with the beating he had gotten.

"Oh, friend," he exclaimed, "where have you been? I have been hunting for you in the cane."

"Do not call me friend," said the Camel. "Why did you sing that song that made the farmer come out and beat me?"

"Oh," said the Jackal, "did the farmer come out and beat you? That is too bad. But I always sing a song after dinner."

"Ah, do you?" said the Camel. "I did not know that. Very well. Let us go home. Climb up while I am lying down."

So the Jackal climbed upon the Camel's back, and he entered the water and began to swim across the river, the Jackal riding high on the hump of the camel so as not to get wet, even to the tip of his tail.

When they were about the middle of the stream the Camel said: "I believe that I shall roll over."

"Do not do that," exclaimed the Jackal, "for I shall get wet and be drowned."

"Maybe you will," said the Camel; "but you see I always roll over after dinner."

So he rolled over in the water, and the Jackal got wet--first the tip of his tail, and then all over, and was drowned.

HASHNU THE STONECUTTER

_A Japanese Story_

Hashnu the Stonecutter sat beside the highway cutting stone. It was hard work, and the sun shone hot upon him.

"Ah me!" said Hashnu, "if one only did not have to work all day. I would that I could sit and rest, and not have to ply this heavy mallet.

Just then there was a great commotion, and Hashnu saw a crowd of people coming up the road. When they drew nearer he noticed that one of them was the King. On his right side rode soldiers, all arrayed in armor and ready to do his bidding, while on the left rode courtiers, seeking to serve him and win his favor.

And Hashnu, watching, thought what a fine thing it would be to be a King, and to have soldiers to do his bidding, and courtiers to serve him, and he said:

"Ah me, ah me,
If Hashnu only a King could be."

At once he heard a voice say: "Be thou the King."

Then in a moment Hashnu found that he was no longer the stonecutter, sitting beside the highway with a heavy mallet in his hand, but the King, dressed in armor, riding in the midst of soldiers and courtiers, and all about him doing homage.

He rode very proudly for a while, and his subjects bowed low before him. But the armor was heavy, and the helmet pressed hard upon his brow, and his head throbbed with the weight of it. He was indeed weary and faint with the heat, because, though a King, the sun beat hot upon him!

And he said to himself: "Lo, I am the King, and yet the sun can make me faint and weary. I had thought that to be a King was to be stronger than anything else, but the sun is stronger than the King!"

And as they rode further, and the sun still beat hard upon him, he said:

"Ah me, ah me,
If Hashnu only the sun could be!"

Then he heard a voice say: "Be thou the sun."

And in a moment he was no longer the King, riding among his courtiers, but the sun, blazing high in the heavens, shining hot upon the fields and the meadows. As he did not know how to shine, he allowed his rays to fall too fiercely upon the world, and grass and grain were dried up and withered, and men lamented because of the cruelty of the heat. But Hashnu thought he was doing great things, and was very proud, until a cloud came between him and the earth, so that his rays no longer fell upon the fields and the cities of men.

And Hashnu said: "Lo, I am the sun, and my rays fell upon the fields and the cities, and all acknowledge my power. But the cloud is stronger than the sun, for it shuts off my rays from the earth."

Then, because the cloud would not go, but became heavier and blacker, Hashnu lamented, and said:

"Ah me, ah me,
If Hashnu only the cloud could be."

And in a moment he was no longer the sun, shining fiercely upon the earth, but the cloud, riding in the sky, shutting off the rays of the sun, and pouring rain upon the fields and the meadows, filling the rivers and the streams to overflowing. But he did not know how to let down the rain wisely, and it fell too heavily, and the rivers rose high and destroyed the fields and the cities, and the meadows were turned into swamps, and the grain rotted in the ground, and the wind blew, and trees were uprooted, and houses fell before it. But Hashnu cared for none of these things, for he thought he was doing very finely indeed.

But as he looked down upon the earth he saw that a rock beside the highway stood unmoved and firm, for all of his raining and blowing. And he said: "For all I am strong, and can blow down trees and destroy cities, and can pour my waters upon the earth and flood the fields and the meadows, yet does that rock defy my power. I, Hashnu, would be stronger than the rock!"

But the rock was unchanged, and Hashnu, lamenting, said:

"Ah me, ah me,
If Hashnu only the rock could be!"

Then he heard a voice say: "Be thou the rock."

And in a moment he was no longer the cloud, with the wind blowing hard, and pouring water upon the earth, but the rock, fixed and unmoved beside the highway. Now, at last, he felt that he was stronger than all. But even as he rejoiced, he felt the sharp point of a stonecutter's chisel, and heard the sound of his heavy mallet striking upon its head. Then he knew that, though the water had fallen upon the rock and been unable to change it, and the wind had blown hard against it and had no effect, yet would the stonecutter change and alter it, and make it take whatever shape he desired. And he said:

"Ah me, ah me,
If Hashnu only the stonecutter could be!"

And he heard a voice say: "Be thou thyself."

Then Hashnu found himself again sitting beside the highway with a chisel in his hand, and a mallet on the ground beside him, and the rock before him. And the King had gone by, and the rays of the sun were now shadowed by the cloud, from which no rain fell, but only a grateful shade. And Hashnu said:

"The sun was stronger than the King, the cloud was stronger than the sun, the rock was stronger than the cloud, but I, Hashnu, am stronger than all."

And so he worked on, now well content to do each day his added task.

THE TIGER, THE BRAHMAN, AND THE JACKAL[N]

Once upon a time a Tiger was caught in a trap. He tried in vain to get out through the bars, and rolled and bit with rage and grief when he failed.

By chance a poor Brahman came by. "Let me out of this cage, oh, pious one!" cried the Tiger.

"Nay, my friend," replied the Brahman, mildly; "you would probably eat me if I did."

"Not at all!" declared the Tiger; "on the contrary, I should be forever grateful, and serve you as a slave!"

Now, when the Tiger sobbed, and sighed, and wept, and swore, the pious Brahman's heart softened; and at last he consented to open the door of the cage. Out popped the Tiger, and, seizing the poor man, cried: "What a fool you are! What is to prevent my eating you now, for after being cooped up so long I am just terribly hungry!"

In vain the Brahman pleaded for his life; the most he could gain was a promise to abide by the decision of the first three things he chose to question as to the justice of the Tiger's action.

So the Brahman asked first a Pipal Tree what it thought of the matter; but the Pipal Tree replied coldly: "What have you to complain about? Don't I give shade and shelter to every one who passes by, and don't they in return tear down my branches to feed their cattle? Don't whimper--be a man!"

Then the Brahman, sad at heart, went farther afield till he saw a Buffalo turning a well-wheel; but he fared no better from it, for it answered: "You are a fool to expect gratitude! Look at me! Whilst I gave milk they fed me on cotton-seed and oil-cake, but now I am dry they yoke me here, and give me refuse as fodder!"

The Brahman, still more sad, asked the Road to give him its opinion.

"My dear sir," said the Road, "how foolish you are to expect anything else! Here am I, useful to everybody, yet all, rich and poor, great and small, trample on me as they go past, giving me nothing but the ashes of their pipes and the husks of their grain!"

On this the Brahman turned back sorrowfully, and on the way he met a Jackal, who called out: "Why, what's the matter, Mr. Brahman? You look as miserable as a fish out of water!"

The Brahman told him all that had occurred.

"How very confusing!" said the Jackal, when the recital was ended; "would you mind telling me again, for everything has got so mixed up?"

The Brahman told it all over again, but the Jackal shook his head in a distracted sort of way, and still could not understand.

"It's very odd," said he, sadly, "but it all seems to go in at one ear and out of the other! I will go to the place where it all happened, and then perhaps I shall be able to give a judgment."

So they returned to the cage, by which the Tiger was waiting for the Brahman, and sharpening his teeth and claws.

"You've been away a long time!" growled the savage beast, "but now let us begin our dinner."

"Our dinner!" thought the wretched Brahman, as his knees knocked together with fright; "what a remarkably delicate way of putting it!"

"Give me five minutes, my lord!" he pleaded, "in order that I may explain matters to the Jackal here, who is somewhat slow in his wits."

The Tiger consented, and the Brahman began the whole story over again, not missing a single detail, and spinning as long a yarn as possible.

"Oh, my poor brain! oh, my poor brain!" cried the Jackal, wringing its paws. "Let me see! How did it all begin? You were in the cage, and the Tiger came walking by--"

"Pooh!" interrupted the Tiger, "what a fool you are! I was in the cage."

"Of course!" cried the Jackal, pretending to tremble with fright; "yes! I was in the cage--no I wasn't--dear! dear! where are my wits? Let me see--the Tiger was in the Brahman, and the cage came walking by--no, that's not it, either! Well, don't mind me, but begin your dinner, for I shall never understand!"

"Yes, you shall!" returned the Tiger, in a rage at the Jackal's stupidity; "I'll make you understand! Look here! I am the Tiger--"

"Yes, my lord!"

"And that is the Brahman!"

"Yes, my lord!"

"And that is the cage!"

"Yes, my lord!"

"And I was in the cage--do you understand?"

"Yes--no! Please, my lord--"

"Well?" cried the Tiger, impatiently.

"Please, my lord!--how did you get in?"

"How!--why in the usual way, of course!"

"Oh, dear me!--my head is beginning to whirl again! Please don't be angry, my lord, but what is the usual way?"

At this the Tiger lost patience, and, jumping into the cage, cried: "This way! Now do you understand how it was?"

"Perfectly!" grinned the Jackal, as he dexterously shut the door, "and if you will permit me to say so, I think matters will remain as they were!"

[N] From "Indian Fairy Tales," edited by Joseph Jacobs; used by permission of the publishers, G. P. Putnam's Sons.

THE STORY OF THE WILLOW PATTERN PLATE

RETOLD BY M. ALSTON BUCKLEY

Once upon a time there lived in China a rich and haughty mandarin, who had great riches in lands, and horses, and priceless jewels. This great man had one lovely daughter with soft black eyes, and raven hair that scarcely could be told in texture from the silken robes she wore. The mandarin loved his daughter and showered dazzling jewels on her, and bought rich robes, heavy with choicest needlework, that she might wear them.

Now the mandarin had a faithful secretary, a young man named Chang, whose every thought was given to the business of the man he served. But as he went about the house with downcast eyes, Chang saw the daughter of the mandarin trip lightly to her father's side to whisper in the ear of her indulgent parent, or flash across the hall, or through the garden where she fed her goldfish in the lake, and when her mother called her name, Kong Lee, it seemed to him like sounds of liquid music. The mandarin talked always of his secretary, and said that he was honest and true and good, and told the truth and did his work as well as ever any man could do it.

Kong Lee learned to think of him and love him.