half-kill you if you don't hurry out of this and come to your supper.
Really I believe you are getting too lazy to eat. The idea of sleeping
the whole afternoon under that turtle's belly!"
Bamboo, not yet fully awake, stumbled out of the tablet room, and his
father locked the iron doors.
THE MAD GOOSE AND THE TIGER FOREST
[Illustration]
Hu-lin was a little slave girl. She had been sold by her father when
she was scarcely more than a baby, and had lived for five years with
a number of other children in a wretched houseboat. Her cruel master
treated her very badly. He made her go out upon the street, with the
other girls he had bought, to beg for a living. This kind of life was
especially hard for Hu-lin. She longed to play in the fields, above
which the huge kites were sailing in the air like giant birds. She liked
to see the crows and magpies flying hither and thither. It was great fun
to watch them build their stick nests in the tall poplars. But if her
master ever caught her idling her time away in this manner he beat her
most cruelly and gave her nothing to eat for a whole day. In fact he was
so wicked and cruel that all the children called him Black Heart.
Early one morning when Hu-lin was feeling very sad about the way she was
treated, she resolved to run away, but, alas! she had not gone more than
a hundred yards from the houseboat when she saw Black Heart following
her. He caught her, scolded her most dreadfully, and gave her such a
beating that she felt too faint to stir.
For several hours she lay on the ground without moving a muscle, moaning
as if her heart would break. "Ah! if only someone would save me!" she
thought, "how good I would be all the rest of my days!"
Now, not far from the river there lived an old man in a tumble-down
shanty. The only companion he had was a goose that watched the gate for
him at night and screamed out loudly if any stranger dared to prowl
about the place. Hu-lin and this goose were close friends, and the slave
girl often stopped to chat with the wise fowl as she was passing the old
man's cottage. In this way she had learned that the bird's owner was a
miser who kept a great deal of money hidden in his yard. Ch'ang, the
goose, had an unusually long neck, and was thus able to pry into most of
his master's affairs. As the fowl had no member of his own family to
talk with, he told all he knew to Hu-lin.
On the very morning when Black Heart gave Hu-lin a beating for trying
to run away, Ch'ang made a startling discovery. His lord and master was
not really an old miser, but a young man in disguise. Ch'ang, feeling
hungry, had slipped into the house at daybreak to see if any scraps had
been left from the last evening's meal. The bedroom door had blown open
in the night, and there lay a young man sound asleep, instead of the
greybeard whom the gander called his master. Then, before his very eyes,
the youth changed suddenly into his former shape and was an old man
again.
In his excitement, forgetting all about his empty stomach, the
terror-stricken goose rushed out into the yard to think over the
mystery, but the longer he puzzled, the more strange it all seemed. Then
he thought of Hu-lin, and wished that she would come by, that he might
ask her opinion. He had a high regard for the slave girl's knowledge and
believed that she would understand fully what had taken place.
Ch'ang went to the gate. As usual, it was locked, and there was nothing
for him to do but wait for his master to rise. Two hours later the miser
walked out into the yard. He seemed in good spirits, and he gave Ch'ang
more to eat than usual. After taking his morning smoke on the street in
front of the house, he strolled around it leaving the front gate ajar.
This was precisely what the gander had been expecting. Slipping quietly
into the road, he turned towards the river where he could see the
houseboats lined up at the wharf. On the sand near by lay a well-known
form.
"Hu-lin," he called as he drew near, "wake up, for I have something to
tell you."
"I am not asleep," she answered, turning her tear-stained face towards
her friend.
"Why, what's the matter? You've been crying again. Has old Black Heart
been beating you?"
"Hush! he's taking a nap in the boat. Don't let him hear you."
"It's not likely he would understand goose-talk if he did," replied
Ch'ang, smiling. "However, I suppose it's always best to be on the safe
side, so I'll whisper what I have to say."
Putting his bill close to her ear, he told Hu-lin of his recent
discovery, and ended by asking her to tell him what it all meant.
The child forgot her own misery at hearing his wonderful story. "Are you
quite sure there was not some friend of the miser's spending the night
with him?" she asked gravely.
"Yes, yes, perfectly sure, for he has no friends," replied the gander.
"Besides, I was in the house just before he locked up for the night, and
I saw neither hair nor hide of any other person."
"Then he must be a fairy in disguise!" announced Hu-lin wisely.
"A fairy! what's that?" questioned Ch'ang, more and more excited.
"Why, you old goose, don't you know what a fairy is?" And Hu-lin laughed
outright. By this time she had forgotten her own troubles and was
becoming more and more amused at what she had heard. "Hark!" she said in
a low tone, and speaking very slowly, "a fairy is----" Here she lowered
her voice to a whisper.
The gander nodded violently as she went on with her explanation, and
when she had finished, was speechless with amazement, for a few moments.
"Well," he said finally, "if my master is that kind of man, suppose you
slip away quietly and come with me, for, if a fairy is what you say he
is, he can save you from all your troubles and make me happy for the
rest of my days."
[Illustration: "PUTTING HIS BILL TO HER EAR, HE TOLD HU-LIN OF HIS
RECENT DISCOVERY."]
"I wonder if I dare?" she answered, looking round fearfully towards the
houseboat, from the open scuttle of which came the sound of deep
snoring.
"Yes, yes, of course!" coaxed Ch'ang. "He gave you such a beating that
he won't be afraid of your taking to your heels again very soon."
Hurriedly they went to the miser's compound. Hu-lin's heart was beating
fast as she tried to decide what to say when she should actually stand
before the fairy. The gate was still partly open and the two friends
entered boldly.
"Come this way," said Ch'ang. "He must be in the back-yard digging in
his garden."
But when they reached the vegetable patch there was no one to be seen.
"This is very strange," whispered the gander. "I don't understand it,
for I have never known him to grow tired of work so early. Surely he
cannot have gone in to rest."
Led by her friend, Hu-lin entered the house on tiptoe. The door of the
miser's bedroom stood wide open, and they saw that there was no one
either in that room or any other room of the miserable cottage.
"Come! let's see what kind of bed he sleeps on," said Hu-lin, filled
with curiosity. "I have never been in a fairy's room. It must be
different from other people's rooms."
"No, no! just a plain brick bed, like all the rest," answered Ch'ang, as
they crossed the threshold.
"Does he have a fire in cold weather?" asked Hu-lin, stooping to examine
the small fire hole in the bricks.
"Oh, yes, a hot fire every night, and even in spring when other people
have stopped having fires, the brick bed is hot every night."
"Well, that's rather strange for a miser, don't you think?" said the
girl. "It costs more to keep a fire going than it does to feed a man."
"Yes, that's true," agreed Ch'ang, pruning his feathers. "I hadn't
thought of that. It is strange, very. Hu-lin, you're a wise child. Where
did you learn so much?"
At that moment the gander turned pale at hearing the gate slam loudly
and the bar thrown into place.
"Good gracious! what ever shall we do?" asked Hu-lin. "What will he say
if he finds us here?"
"No telling," said the other, trembling, "but, my dear little friend, we
are certainly caught, for we can't get away without his seeing us."
"Yes, and I've already had one beating to-day! And such a hard one that
I don't believe I could live through another," sighed the child, as the
tears began to flow.
"There, there, little girl, don't worry! Let's hide in this dark corner
behind the baskets," suggested the gander, just as the master's step was
heard at the front door.
Soon the frightened companions were crouching on the ground, trying
to hide. Much to their relief, however, the miser did not go into his
bedroom, and they soon heard him hard at work in the garden. All that
day the two remained in their hiding place, afraid to show themselves
outside the door.
"I can't imagine what he would say if he found out that his watch-goose
had brought a stranger into the house," said Ch'ang.
"Perhaps he would think we were trying to steal some of the money he
has hidden away," she answered, laughing, for as Hu-lin became used
to her cramped quarters she grew less frightened. At any rate she
was not nearly so much afraid of the miser as she had thought she was.
"Besides," she reflected, "he can't be so bad as old Black Heart."
Thus the day wore on and darkness fell over the land. By this time girl
and goose were fast asleep in one corner of the miser's room and knew
nothing more of what was happening.
When the first light of a new day filtered through the paper-covered
window above the miser's bed, Hu-lin awoke with a start, and at first
she could not think where she was. Ch'ang was staring at her with
wide-open frightened eyes that seemed to be asking, "What can it all
mean? It is more than my goose brain can think out."
For on the bed, instead of the miser, there lay a young man whose hair
was a black as a raven's wing. A faint smile lightened up his handsome
face, as if he was enjoying some delightful dream. A cry of wonder
escaped Hu-lin's lips before she could hold it back. The sleeper's eyes
opened instantly and were fixed upon her. The girl was so frightened
that she could not move, and the gander trembled violently as he saw the
change that had come over his master.
The young man was even more surprised than his guests, and for two
minutes he was speechless. "What does this mean?" he asked, finally,
looking at Ch'ang. "What are you doing in my bedroom and who is this
child who seems so frightened?"
"Forgive me, kind sir, but what have you done to my master?" asked the
gander, giving question for question.
"Am I not your master, you mad creature?" said the man, laughing. "You
are more stupid than ever this morning."
"My master was old and ugly, but you are still young and handsome,"
replied Ch'ang in a tone of flattery.
"What," shouted the other, "you say I am still young?"
"Why, yes. Ask Hu-lin, if you don't believe me."
The man turned towards the little girl.
"Yes, indeed you are, sir," she replied in answer to his look. "Never
have I seen a man so beautiful."
"At last! at last!" he cried, laughing joyfully, "I am free, free, free
from all my troubles, but how it has come about is more than I can say!"
For a few minutes he stood in a deep study, snapping his long fingers
as if trying to solve some hard problem. At last a smile lighted up his
face. "Ch'ang," he asked, "what was it you called your guest when you
spoke of her a minute ago?"
"I am Hu-lin," said the child simply, "Hu-lin, the slave girl."
He clapped his hands. "That's right! That's right!" he cried. "I see it
all now; it is as plain as day." Then, noticing the look of wonder on
her face, "It is to you that I owe my freedom from a wicked fairy, and
if you like, I'll tell you the story of my misfortune."
"Pray do, kind sir," she replied eagerly. "I told Ch'ang that you were
a fairy, and I should like to know if I was right."
"Well, you see," he began, "my father is a rich man who lives in a
distant county. When I was a boy he gave me everything I wished. I was
so humoured and petted from earliest childhood that at last I began to
think there was nothing at all in the world I could not have for the
asking, and nothing that I must not do if I wished to.
"My teacher often scolded me for having such notions. He told me there
was a proverb: 'Men die for gain, birds perish to get food.' He thought
such men were very foolish. He told me that money would go a long way
towards making a man happy, but he always ended by saying that the gods
were more powerful than men. He said I must always be careful not to
make the evil spirits angry. Sometimes I laughed in his face, telling
him that I was rich and could buy the favour of gods and fairies. The
good man would shake his head, saying, 'Take care, my boy, or you will
be sorry for these rash speeches.'"
"One day, after he had been giving me a long lecture of this sort, we
were walking in the garden of my father's compound. I was even more
daring than usual and told him that I cared nothing for the rules other
people followed. 'You say,' said I, 'that this well here in my father's
yard is ruled by a spirit, and that if I were to anger him by jumping
over it, he would be vexed and give me trouble.' 'Yes,' said he, 'that
is exactly what I said, and I repeat it. Beware, young man, beware of
idle boasting and of breaking the law.' 'What do I care for a spirit
that lives on my father's land?' I answered with a sneer. 'I don't
believe there is a spirit in this well. If there is, it is only another
of my father's slaves.'
"So saying, and before my tutor could stop me, I leaped across the mouth
of the well. No sooner had I touched the ground than I felt a strange
shrinking of my body. My strength left me in the twinkling of an eye,
my bones shortened, my skin grew yellow and wrinkled. I looked at my
pigtail and found that the hair had suddenly grown thin and white. In
every way I had been changed completely into an old man.
"My teacher stared at me in amazement, and when I asked him what it all
meant my voice was as shrill as that of early childhood. 'Alas! my dear
pupil,' he replied, 'now you will believe what I told you. The spirit of
the well is angry at your wicked conduct and has punished you. You have
been told a hundred times that it is wrong to leap over a well; yet you
did this very thing,' 'But is there nothing that can be done,' I cried;
'is there no way of restoring my lost youth?' He looked at me sadly and
shook his head.
"When my father learned of my sad condition he was terribly upset. He
did everything that could be done to find some way for me to regain my
youth. He had incense burned at a dozen temples and he himself offered
up prayers to various gods. I was his only son, and he could not be
happy without me. At last, when everything else had been done, my worthy
teacher thought of asking a fortune-teller who had become famous in the
city. After inquiring about everything that had led up to my sad plight,
the wise man said that the spirit of the well, as a punishment, had
changed me into a miser. He said that only when I was sleeping would
I be in my natural state, and even then if any one chanced to enter my
room or catch a glimpse of my face, I would be at once changed back into
a greybeard."
"I saw you yesterday morning," shouted the gander. "You were young and
handsome, and then before my very eyes you were changed back into an old
man!"
"To continue my story," said the young man, "the fortune-teller at last
announced that there was only one chance for my recovery and that a very
small one. If at any time, while I was in my rightful shape, that is, as
you see me now, a mad goose should come in, leading a tiger-forest out
of slavery, the charm would be broken, and the evil spirit would no
longer have control over me. When the fortune-teller's answer was
brought to my father, he gave up hope, and so did I, for no one
understood the meaning of such a senseless riddle.
"That night I left my native city, resolved not to disgrace my people
any longer by living with them. I came to this place, bought this house
with some money my father had given me, and at once began living the
life of a miser. Nothing satisfied my greed for money. Everything must
be turned into cash. For five years I have been storing away money, and,
at the same time, starving myself, body and soul.
"Soon after my arrival here, remembering the fortune-teller's riddle,
I decided that I would keep a goose to serve as night watch-man instead
of a dog. In this way I made a start at working out the riddle."
"But I am not a mad goose," hissed the gander angrily. "If it had not
been for me you would still be a wrinkled miser."
"Quite right, dear Ch'ang, quite right," said the young man soothingly;
"you were not mad; so I gave you the name _Ch'ang_, which means mad, and
thus made a mad goose of you."
"Oh, I see," said Hu-lin and Ch'ang together. "How clever!"
"So, you see, I had part of my cure here in my back-yard all the time;
but though I thought as hard as I could, I could think of no way of
securing that Ch'ang should lead a tiger-forest into my room while I was
sleeping. The thing seemed absurd, and I soon gave up trying to study it
out. To-day by accident it has really come to pass."
"So I am the tiger-forest, am I?" laughed Hu-lin.
"Yes, indeed, you are, my dear child, a pretty little tiger-forest, for
_Hu_ means _tiger_, and _lin_ is surely good Chinese for a _grove of
trees_. Then, too, you told me you were a slave girl. Hence, Ch'ang led
you out of slavery."
"Oh, I am so glad!" said Hu-lin, forgetting her own poverty, "so glad
that you don't have to be a horrible old miser any longer."
Just at that moment there was a loud banging on the front gate.
"Who can be knocking in that fashion?" asked the young man in
astonishment.
"Alas! it must be Black Heart, my master," said Hu-lin, beginning to
cry.
"Don't be frightened," said the youth, soothingly stroking the child's
head. "You have saved me, and I shall certainly do as much for you. If
this Mr. Black Heart doesn't agree to a fair proposal he shall have a
black eye to remember his visit by."
It did not take long for the grateful young man to buy Hu-lin's liberty,
especially as he offered as much for her freedom as her master had
expected to get when she was fourteen or fifteen years of age.
When Hu-lin was told of the bargain she was wild with delight. She bowed
low before her new master and then, kneeling, touched her head nine
times on the floor. Rising, she cried out, "Oh, how happy I am, for now
I shall be yours for ever and ever and ever, and good old Ch'ang shall
be my playmate."
"Yes, indeed," he assured her, "and when you are a little older I shall
make you my wife. At present you will go with me to my father's house
and become my little betrothed."
"And I shall never again have to beg for crusts on the street?" she
asked him, her eyes full of wonder.
"No! never!" he answered, laughing, "and you need never fear another
beating."
THE NODDING TIGER
[Illustration]
Just outside the walls of a Chinese city there lived a young woodcutter
named T'ang and his old mother, a woman of seventy. They were very poor
and had a tiny one-room shanty, built of mud and grass, which they
rented from a neighbour. Every day young T'ang rose bright and early and
went up on the mountain near their house. There he spent the day cutting
firewood to sell in the city near by. In the evening he would return
home, take the wood to market, sell it, and bring back food for his
mother and himself. Now, though these two people were poor, they were
very happy, for the young man loved his mother dearly, and the old woman
thought there was no one like her son in all the world. Their friends,
however, felt sorry for them and said, "What a pity we have no
grasshoppers here, so that the T'angs could have some food from heaven!"
One day young T'ang got up before daylight and started for the hills,
carrying his axe on his shoulder. He bade his mother good-bye, telling
her that he would be back early with a heavier load of wood than usual,
for the morrow would be a holiday and they must eat good food. All day
long Widow T'ang waited patiently, saying to herself over and over as
she went about her simple work, "The good boy, the good boy, how he
loves his old mother!"
In the afternoon she began watching for his return--but in vain.
The sun was sinking lower and lower in the west, but still he did not
come. At last the old woman was frightened. "My poor son!" she muttered.
"Something has happened to him." Straining her feeble eyes, she looked
along the mountain path. Nothing was to be seen there but a flock of
sheep following the shepherd. "Woe is me!" moaned the woman. "My boy!
my boy!" She took her crutch from its corner and limped off to a
neighbour's house to tell him of her trouble and beg him to go and look
for the missing boy.
Now this neighbour was kind-hearted, and willing to help old Mother
T'ang, for he felt very sorry for her. "There are many wild beasts in
the mountains," he said, shaking his head as he walked away with her,
thinking to prepare the frightened woman for the worst, "and I fear that
your son has been carried off by one of them." Widow T'ang gave a scream
of horror and sank upon the ground. Her friend walked slowly up the
mountain path, looking carefully for signs of a struggle. At last when
he had gone half way up the slope he came to a little pile of torn
clothing spattered with blood. The woodman's axe was lying by the side
of the path, also his carrying pole and some rope. There could be no
mistake: after making a brave fight, the poor youth had been carried off
by a tiger.
Gathering up the torn garments, the man went sadly down the hill. He
dreaded seeing the poor mother and telling her that her only boy was
indeed gone for ever. At the foot of the mountain he found her still
lying on the ground. When she looked up and saw what he was carrying,
with a cry of despair she fainted away. She did not need to be told what
had happened.
Friends bore her into the little house and gave her food, but they could
not comfort her. "Alas!" she cried, "of what use is it to live? He was
my only boy. Who will take care of me in my old age? Why have the gods
treated me in this cruel way?"
She wept, tore her hair, and beat her chest, until people said she had
gone mad. The longer she mourned, the more violent she became.
The next day, however, much to the surprise of her neighbours, she set
out for the city, making her way along slowly by means of her crutch. It
was a pitiful sight to see her, so old, so feeble, and so lonely. Every
one was sorry for her and pointed her out, saying, "See! the poor old
soul has no one to help her!"
In the city she asked her way to the public hall. When she found the
place she knelt at the front gate, calling out loudly and telling of her
ill-fortune. Just at this moment the mandarin, or city judge, walked
into the court room to try any cases which might be brought before him.
He heard the old woman weeping and wailing outside, and bade one of the
servants let her enter and tell him of her wrongs.
Now this was just what the Widow T'ang had come for. Calming herself,
she hobbled into the great hall of trial.
"What is the matter, old woman? Why do you raise such an uproar in front
of my yamen? Speak up quickly and tell me of your trouble."
"I am old and feeble," she began; "lame and almost blind. I have no
money and no way of earning money. I have not one relative now in all
the empire. I depended on my only son for a living. Every day he climbed
the mountain, for he was a woodcutter, and every evening he came back
home, bringing enough money for our food. But yesterday he went and did
not return. A mountain tiger carried him off and ate him, and now, alas!
there seems to be no help for it--I must die of hunger. My bleeding
heart cries out for justice. I have come into this hall to-day, to beg
your worship to see that the slayer of my son is punished. Surely the
law says that none may shed blood without giving his own blood in
payment."
"But, woman, are you mad?" cried the mandarin, laughing loudly. "Did you
not say it was a tiger that killed your son? How can a tiger be brought
to justice? Of a truth, you must have lost your senses."
The judge's questions were of no avail. The Widow T'ang kept up her
clamour. She would not be turned away until she had gained her purpose.
The hall echoed with the noise of her howling. The mandarin could stand
it no longer. "Hold! woman," he cried, "stop your shrieking. I will do
what you ask. Only go home and wait until I summon you to court. The
slayer of your son shall be caught and punished."