THE people had long laboured and groaned under the oppressive misrule of Hang Ti, the local magistrate. He was, without doubt, a bad ruler, a man possessed of none of the tenderer feelings of humanity, and one who ground the faces of the poor for his own advancement. Under his mal-administration illegal taxes had been super-imposed on salt, likin barriers established where none should exist, the gaols were crowded with those unfortunates who would not submit to his further extortions, and the whole land cried out for redress.

At last the long-suffering poor took into their own hands the only means they possessed of calling the “Son of Heaven’s” attention to their pitiable condition. An insurrection was fomented and quickly blazed into serious rebellion. Villages were sacked, whole districts laid waste, and soon accounts of these doings reached Peking. By swiftest messengers a mandate signed with the “Vermilion Pencil” was conveyed to Hang Ti, ordering him to raise troops forthwith and to crush the rebels, at the same time enjoining all peacefully minded persons to abstain from nervous excitability, but rather to pursue the cultivation of all the virtues, more especially those of thrift, energy, and the study of the classics.

Hang Ti’s troops, with their pay long in arrears, no stomach for the fight, and most of them secretly in sympathy with the rebels, were routed at the first engagement, and then the whole province was given up to bloodshed, rapine, and excesses of every description.

A second Imperial Order soon followed the first summoning Hang Ti to the capital, whither he hastily repaired, having first laid his hands on as much of his ill-gotten wealth as he could conveniently carry, hoping thereby to bribe the palace underlings, and so mitigate in some measure the punishment he deserved.

On his arrival in Peking he was not permitted to enter his Imperial master’s presence, but was presented by an official with a handsome silk scarf, a polite hint that he might hang himself and so save his person the greater indignity of decapitation. So Hang Ti passes out of the story, and an energetic officer named Yeh Lok reigned in his stead.

Yeh subdued the rebels with a firm hand, and in three months the district, although somewhat depopulated, was reported to the “Son of Heaven” as being “Happy, contented, and at peace.” Yeh next turned his attention to the administration of his district, and found that there utter chaos reigned in every department. The prisons were overcrowded to a disgraceful extent, and the majority of the unfortunate prisoners had not even any crime registered against them. Yeh’s heart bled for them: this shocking state of affairs had to be at once remedied. The idea of keeping people in prison for indefinite periods without trial revolted Yeh’s every sense of what was right and just. He ordered them, therefore, to be taken out in batches of forty and to be beheaded. Forty each day till the gaols were empty and cleared of all persons wrongfully incarcerated.

Lok Hing squatted in tattered blue cotton garments behind a tin of pea-nuts at the roadside; an old umbrella afforded him a grateful shade from the blazing sun, and his well-ventilated and roomy clothes allowed of his scratching any portion of himself with the least possible effort. He was a man of no ambition, content to earn a few cash by selling pea-nuts and spend his life in a philosophical melancholy. As he sat tapping the tin with an elongated finger-nail and droning out a mournful eulogy of his wares, To Tao, the hunchback, passed.

To Tao by his infirmity was unfitted for heavy manual labour, but his distorted body seemed to be endowed with some marvellous power of rendering natural objects equally grotesque. No one for hundreds of li around could produce small trees in such fantastic shapes and weird eccentricities of growth as he. Hence to all outward appearances almost as poverty stricken as Lok Hing, To Tao was a man of some means, seeing that the wealthy gentry were only too glad to purchase the curious trees and shrubs that resulted from his untiring care and peculiar skill.

As To Tao passed, Lok Hing softly sang: “Forty yesterday, forty the day before, in all three hundred and sixty, and now all are finished.”

“What does my brother mean?” asked To Tao, whose close attention to the cultivation of his plants had left him ignorant of public affairs.

“Forty each day for nine days have been beheaded, and now there remains but one, whom my lord the magistrate will have strangled this day.”

Then Lok Hing told the hunchback of the one remaining prisoner, an old woman whose crime no one knew. She had been about forty years in prison, and had herself forgotten why she had been placed there, and that Yeh Lok had been so moved at the recital of her wrongs that he had vowed neither to eat nor drink until justice had been done her by suitable strangulation.

The hunchback heard the story without any outward emotion, but his heart was heavy within him. He alone knew the old woman’s story. She was his mother. His father had been a notable brigand, and his mother had been seized by the then tao-tai and held as a hostage till the brigand should be caught or slain. To Tao’s father, however, died a natural death at a ripe old age, and now for some years the hunchback had ministered to the material comforts of his remaining parent by sending her food and little luxuries daily in the prison.

There was nothing more to be done now, however, as already the procession was approaching along the dusty road with two stout coolies carrying the old woman in a basket slung on a thick bamboo pole.

Hastily purchasing some pea-nuts from Lok Hing, the hunchback approached the basket and handed them through its wide meshes to his mother. The old dame received the nuts gratefully, and continued to munch them with evident enjoyment until the final tightening of the string round her neck rendered further deglutition not only unnecessary but impossible.

The magistrates, officials, soldiers, and rabble then returned to pursue their several occupations or amusements, and To Tao, with rage in his heart, also departed to his house, where he had long kept a handsome coffin with which to do the last thing properly by his aged parent. This action of To Tao in providing a coffin for the aged prisoner was accounted to him for righteousness, no one being cognisant of the relationship that had existed between the two.

In this way peace having been restored and all internal affairs of State set running smoothly, the new magistrate, who was something of a Sybarite, began to turn his attention to improvements in his yamen, and to the surrounding of himself with every luxury. He spent money freely, employing hosts of builders, carpenters, painters, and other workmen in embellishing his house and grounds, and in this way soon earned a certain popularity as a beneficent magistrate. Yeh, however, had unwittingly earned the undying hatred of the hunchback, whose filial piety would allow him to leave no stone unturned in his endeavour to avenge the—to his mind—illegal execution of his aged mother. Having beautified the interior of his yamen, the magistrate turned his attention to the spacious grounds surrounding his residence, and who more able to provide fantastic rock-work, design ornamental ponds, bridges, hills, and valleys, and complete the whole scheme with cunning dwarf trees and shrubs, than the hunchback gardener, To Tao?

Accordingly, to his huge inward satisfaction, the hunchback was commanded to wait on the great man, and he failed in no way to please the magistrate with his original ideas and quaint suggestions. To Tao’s manner was all that could be desired: he grasped every idea of the magistrate almost before it was expressed, and his own politely suggested improvements so entirely corresponded with Yeh’s wishes that he completely won his employer’s confidence. No tree in To Tao’s collection was too valuable for Yeh, and soon the grounds of the yamen, under the magic of the hunchback’s witchery, became a veritable paradise. When all was completed Yeh insisted upon taking the hunchback into his permanent service as gardener-in-chief, and the cunning fellow, after a suitable demur, accepted the position in the magistrate’s household. Thus the first step in his scheme of revenge was accomplished.

The hunchback was the only servant in the yamen engaged locally, the remainder of Yeh’s retinue having followed their master from a distant province where this official had previously held sway. This fact proved of the greatest value to To Tao, for as he continued to ingratiate himself with his master he was employed on various other duties in addition to gardening, and his local knowledge enabled him to carry out every commission entrusted to him with complete satisfaction to his lord. The district having now lapsed into a condition of uneventful peace and a certain amount of commercial prosperity, Yeh sought relaxation in every luxury and some small amount of dissipation. To Tao here again proved most useful and trustworthy, and he took good care to unobtrusively encourage his master in what, at first, were mild extravagances, but which with the insidious help of To Tao soon developed into vices.

The hunchback gardener, having now completely won the confidence of his master, made frequent journeys on his behalf to the distant city of Canton, and these journeys resulted in many cases of sweet champagne finding their way to Yeh’s yamen, to say nothing of dancing and singing girls, troupes of entertainers and acrobats, and the charming frail beauties for which that city is so famous. Indulgence seemed to only whet Yeh’s appetite, and far from any feeling of satiety he more and more relied on To Tao’s resource and good taste in furnishing him with the continual novelty and change that now seemed necessary to the magistrate’s very existence.

After every absence the magistrate would insist on hearing all the gossip of the great city, and the hunchback, with a vivid imagination, never failed to interest and amuse his master. Consequently Yeh, in addition to receiving some new beauty into his establishment, had the pleasure of hearing of others from his faithful servant, and of many new delights, polite amusements, and gorgeous scenes that the clever fellow professed to have witnessed while away.

Yeh’s curiosity had for some time been greatly piqued by hearing the praises of one Su Sing, a beautiful girl residing in the Flower Boats of Canton, and at length, after a somewhat prolonged absence, the hunchback was able to return to the yamen with the much-desired charmer under his protection. Yeh was entirely delighted with her appearance, manners, and accomplishments, and the same evening, after a sumptuous meal, he was in the very best humour for hearing an account of his faithful messenger’s adventures.

To Tao being summoned found his master reclining with one arm round the new favourite, smoking a cigar and sipping the sweetest of sweet champagne, the only other person present being the female attendant of the new beauty. Yeh ordered the hunchback to speak freely, as the four of them were safe from any interruption or eaves-dropping, and so pleased was he with his new inamorata that he was willing to make her the confidante of all his affairs and intrigues, even of his amours.

For at least an hour To Tao, who was no mean raconteur, amused his audience with accounts of his doings in the great city, amusing anecdotes of important persons, the latest gossip and scandals, and even some account of the doings of the outer barbarians, who were separated from the Middle Kingdom by the seas.

“And there is one other strange thing I have seen in Canton,” continued the hunchback. “It is a method of detecting leprosy sometimes practised by the jeunesse dorÉe when visiting the Flower Boats.”

To Tao was quick to notice the almost imperceptible start given by Yeh at the mention of this dreaded disease, and a wild exultation filled his breast. Here at last was a means to his hand whereby his master should pay his debt in full for the execution of the old woman.

“Tell us of it,” commanded Yeh, with a forced gaiety; “it will perhaps amuse us. These superstitions, however, bear seldom any foundation of truth in them.”

“It is in this way, Excellency. The suspected person and one or two others known to be untainted are taken into a dark room. Some spirit mixed with salt is poured in a dish, a small piece of tow is dropped in to act as a wick, and then a light is applied. As your Excellency knows, the light produced is of a bluish green, and by this illumination the faces of all healthy persons look deadly white, but the face of the leper appears red as fire, although he have no other sign of leprosy visible to the most careful observer.”

“Come, come, we will test the efficacy of this foolish old superstition,” cried the magistrate.

The materials having been brought, the four retired to a small unlighted apartment, and To Tao ignited the spirit. Eagerly Yeh scanned the faces round him, now rendered ghastly by the green light, when suddenly he noticed a look of horror spread over the faces of the two women. Su Sing burst into tears, and her attendant threw herself on her face on the floor. To Tao alone remained unmoved.

“Speak! speak!” screamed the magistrate. “What means this foolishness?”

With bowed head To Tao meekly responded: “It is nothing, Excellency, the girls are silly and frightened. Believe me, it is nothing. The girls must most certainly be low-born, or they would know better how to behave in your august presence.”

Yeh, however, was far from satisfied. He summoned the attendants, ordered lights to be brought, dismissed the girls, and ordered To Tao to remain. The two being left alone, with nervous haste Yeh poured out a tumbler of champagne and demanded an instant explanation of the hunchback.

“Speak!” he said, “and the truth, moreover, or it may be my unpleasant duty to interrogate you under torture.”

To Tao begged his master to excuse him, repeating that the whole affair was due to the stupidity of the girls. Yeh flew into a violent temper, and said that if the hunchback did not instantly explain the servants would be called in and To Tao delivered to the inquisitor. Whereupon, with downcast eyes, the trembling servant said—

“Excellency, your face by the green light was——”

“Was what?” thundered Yeh.

“Red,” faltered the shivering cripple.

Yeh staggered and looked like to fall had not To Tao supported him. After gulping down more champagne the magistrate became somewhat more composed, when he ordered the hunchback to leave him till the morning. The exulting servant retired well satisfied with the first effects of his revenge.

Early next morning To Tao was summoned to Yeh’s couch. The magistrate’s appearance was ghastly, and he seemed to have aged a decade since the previous night.

“I will not live with this loathsome disease in my blood,” he said. “All my life the fear of contracting it has haunted me, and now it has come. The foreign devils, however, possess a wonderful poison, and by that means I will die. The poison is contained in a glass tube fitted with a piston, and is taken by pushing a needle under the skin. Death by this means is most pleasant, I have heard. You will go at once to Hong Kong and procure these things, and during your absence I will set my affairs in order. Go!”

To Tao would have preferred to stop and gloat over his enemy’s mental anguish, but this pleasure was denied him. It took him four days to journey to Hong Kong; there he easily procured a hypodermic syringe, but the obtaining of morphia was a more difficult matter. It took To Tao a further two days to make the acquaintance of a hospital orderly and bribe him to steal the required drug. Then To Tao returned. The ten days of his absence had been passed by Yeh in a fever. He had ordered all his affairs, given out that he was seriously ill (as indeed he was), and had paid and dismissed all his dancing-girls, courtesans, and mountebanks.

The change in Yeh would have struck To Tao as dreadful were it not as a soothing balm to his revengeful spirit to see how terribly his enemy had suffered. Yeh was at once all eagerness for the drug which To Tao, much as he would have wished it, was unable to withhold. And now Yeh had composed himself on his couch, and To Tao alone silently watched him with impassive face. Soon the drug’s influence was felt, and a delicious drowsiness came over the magistrate.

“Excellency, can you hear me? I have much to say.”

“I can hear well, brother. All is peace,” replied the magistrate.

“That is well,” continued the hunchback. “Your life was pleasant before this disease held you, was it not, my lord?”

“Yes, very, very pleasant, but now I would rather die than live a leper. Before, life was sweet, but now, death seems far preferable.”

“But you do not suffer from leprosy.”

Yeh started up and leant on his elbow.

“What do you mean?” he demanded, almost thoroughly aroused.

“I mean,” responded To Tao, “that Su Sing and her attendant were my creatures and with me in a plot to kill you. Many times I could have killed you by poison, but I wished to make you suffer first, and I think I have indeed succeeded by persuading you that you had contracted that loathsome disease.”

Yeh remained silent for a while, and To Tao feared that he would sink into the sleep of death. At last he dreamily asked—

“Why did you wish me this ill?”

“Because you slew my mother, the old prisoner in the gaol. She is now avenged.”

Again a silence. The drug was rapidly gaining entire possession of Yeh’s brain. Very slowly he spoke his last words.

“Brother, you did well. You acted as a filial child should. I have a wife and two sons in Szechuen. If my sons heard of the manner of my death they would do the same to you and more also. But they will never know. I think, perhaps, it is better they should not, for, indeed, you are a marvellous gardener. Send my body to Szechuen and now—now—I would—sleep——”

So Yeh the magistrate slept, To Tao religiously carried out his dead master’s last wishes, and then returned to his gardens.

His fame as a producer of dwarf trees spreads daily further and further afield, which, coupled with his increasing prosperity, point to rewards received for a virtuous life.