It was more than a day or two before he put into execution the plan suggested to him in such an unexpected manner. What alone fascinated him was the unknown. Like all his race, he was inherently inquisitive and full of the spirit of research into the causes of facts and events which were new to him. But a mystery solved was a last season's novelty—something which it was hardly worth bothering about.

So he sat in the dusk, when his work was over, with his bird-cage in his hand trying to teach his mynah to talk as the others did, and not thinking of much else. But the bird had become stupid, and the half-formed words he thought he had once caught were no longer to be heard. He was anxious to have a talking bird, for every one knew it was possible to teach some birds to talk if you showed patience and tact. Suddenly one evening he tired of the pastime. He remembered the door that had puzzled him, and cage in hand he sauntered very indifferently to the spot indicated to him. With the long curved copper-hook of his cage firmly grasped in his mouth, he at length swarmed up the outhouse, making a great noise in the process, but getting himself soon enough astride of the compound wall.

In the little courtyard below him there was no one to be seen. He could not see a single shadow or a single movement behind the latticed windows, and he quickly imagined that every one had gone out.

He sat surveying this silence for some time, humming to himself mechanically. At this hour just before dusk the world was always very quiet and peaceful. All work was over. Men and women far and wide were gossiping and passive, the squabbles and bickerings of the day forgotten. As he sat with his feet comfortably pulled up under him, he finally fell into a brown study from which he was brought by a laugh. He looked to the right, he looked to the left; but after scanning every possible hiding-place, he could detect no movement.

"This is an odd thing," he exclaimed aloud. "Who is it that laughed?"

Again there was the same amused noise. Thoroughly puzzled, he forgot his caution. Standing boldly upright, he commenced walking along the top of the high wall, swinging his bird-cage in his hand and studying the courtyard below him closely. His trim little figure stood out against the skyline in such a way that he could be seen at a great distance. So absorbed had he become that he entirely forgot his whereabouts. But suddenly he was aroused by a shout and a voice that he greatly feared.

It was the Buffalo—the steward—who had seen him. That he knew without turning round. For a moment he nearly gave way to an inclination to bolt. Then his inherent pride asserted itself, and without flinching he turned round.

"Little toad," called the steward angrily in his big raw voice as he waddled through the bushes towards him. "Who gave you permission to go up there? How many times have you been warned that if you break orders you would be dismissed?"

"I know," he confessed in apparent humility. "But my bird flew from its cage owing to my carelessness in leaving the door open. After chasing it everywhere it finally took refuge up here and the only way to catch it was to clamber after it. No harm has been done, however, and now my bird is safe."

He swung his cage in the air as if in proof of his assertion.

"Who cares whether your bird flew away or not!" retorted the steward angrily, puffing for breath. "Often have I told you that disobedience entails punishment. Hsia lai(come down) that I may beat you."

Now he flourished a piece of bamboo he had picked up, and stood immediately beneath the wall in a posture of exaggerated rage. To the boy the prospect suddenly became forbidding and his confidence began to desert him.

"It is not easy to come down," he said, temporizing and wondering how he should escape. "If I slip here I shall hurt myself in the fall and besides there is my bird to think of."

He scratched his head in his dilemma, hating to surrender. Of course he could run along the wall until he came to a place where he could drop to the ground far from the old man, and then his swiftness of foot would save him. But breaking-off this parley would mean that he had burnt his boats. No Chinese, young or old, ever closes the door on compromise. That is quite certain.

He hunted round quickly with his eyes. Just then to his amazement in the little courtyard, on the other side of the wall, he saw the girl appear from behind a huge earthenware pot containing water-lilies. She had been crouching there all this while. And seeing that he had seen her, she signed to him vigorously to keep silence.

"Yeh-yeh," she called from behind the wall to the steward who could not see her. Wang the Ninth, turning his head first in one direction and then in another, noted that the old man's manner instantly changed.

"Yes, yes," he said hurriedly, glancing over his shoulder to see that nobody was overhearing them. "What can I do?"

"Listen," called the girl over the wall to him. "Do not trouble about this boy. It is a small affair. He is doing no wrong. He would only show me the bird which I told him to do some days ago."

"Still if the master saw him," returned the steward doubtfully.

"It is my wish," responded the girl.

There was a moment's dead silence. Then, with something muttered under his breath, the old man shuffled away.

Wang the Ninth stood with his mouth wide open from amazement. He watched the old man retreat out of sight as if the most surprising thing in the world had taken place; and then, when he was sure that it was really true, words poured from his mouth.

"He listens to you!" he exclaimed blankly. "Not a word does he dare to say in reply. He just listens. Well, well," he ended, waggishly shaking his head. "Here is the strangest thing that ever happened—a man who obeys a woman."

Now admiration crept into his looks. He looked down at the girl in such a frankly approving way that she was a little nonplussed. The mastery she had displayed was something entirely novel to him, for the idea that a man might have to take orders from a woman had never occurred to him before. In his world the women slaved and worked and rarely rebelled save over money-matters or owing to quarrels among themselves. They were obedient. They only commanded their children—never grown men.

"Well, well," he confessed as he ruminated over this new knowledge. "Now my alarm is all gone. If he dares to beat me I shall make a frank statement to every one."

"He will do nothing," replied the girl, "and it is better that you should not speak. Speaking is quite unnecessary."

He nodded his head as if in approval of such sentiments. He was not an apostle of communicativeness except as a last resort. Sitting on the wall in a debonnair way, he took seeds from a little tin box he had hidden in his tunic, and releasing his bird cast them up in the air one by one. The mynah, with the regularity and sureness of long training, caught each one unfailingly—finally coming to rest on the boy's hand. An admiring comment greeted these efforts.

"Oh, this is nothing," he remarked. "Some are trained to such perfection that they not only fly but talk."

"Talk," she echoed incredulously.

"Yes, it is even so," he rejoined, anxious to show his superior knowledge. "There are some persons who have such power that they can understand the talk of even untrained birds."

"That is impossible," the girl objected.

"I can tell you a story that proves it," he declared, and swinging his legs he began a well-known story which he had heard from the story-tellers at the tea-houses again and again.

"There was once an old Taoist priest who used to live by begging in a village. Everybody gave him according to their means, so the priest felt under a great obligation to them all. One day he suddenly warned them that they had better be careful about fire, and the story so alarmed them all that a number of them went and inquired what he meant.

"'Well,' he said, 'I happened to overhear an oriole who was preening himself on a tree remark repeatedly: "Look out, a big fire: rescue will be difficult. It will be very alarming."'

"The country people on hearing this story were not at all impressed. They went away saying that this was indeed a crazy old priest to whom no serious attention should be paid. Yet on the very next day somebody was careless with a candle and a conflagration was started which destroyed half the village. After that every one believed that the priest was endowed with supernatural powers, but when they went to look for him he had gone far away. A number of men, however, went in pursuit and finally overtook him many miles away. Forthwith they dragged him back to the village, every one greeting him as a dealer in magic and reviling him.

"'Who's a magician?' retorted the priest, nowise disconcerted. 'It's only that I understand the language of birds, that's all.'

"Just as he was speaking the chirping of a small bird was heard in a tree, so they all asked the priest:

"'Listen to the bird; what is he saying?'

"'What this bird says,' replied the priest, 'is as follows: "Sixth day of the month give birth, sixth day of the month give birth; fourteenth, fifteenth injure." Now this means that in some family twins were born on the 6th day. Today is the 10th and before five more days have passed both will die. If you don't believe this what objection is there to your going and inquiring?'

"So the people went and inquired. And it was found that twins had actually been born in the village on the 6th day and both died within five days.

"Now the fame of this prediction passed round the district and eventually reached the ears of the sub-prefect. When the sub-prefect heard that there was a man who could understand the language of birds, it struck him as being a great novelty, so he sent an official messenger to invite the old priest to his residence. Whilst he was sitting there in the library it happened that a flock of ducks passed by outside quacking loudly and freely. The sub-prefect asked at once what the ducks were saying.

"'There is a quarrel going on in Your Honour's house,' replied the priest. 'And the ducks say pa, pa! that will do, that will do; he favours her, he favours her.'

"Now when the sub-prefect heard this he was overcome with astonishment and thoroughly believed in the priest's powers. This sub-prefect had two wives, a senior long wedded to him, and a young concubine. The elder had a slight tendency towards jealousy, and though she did not let it be shown, she used to discipline the young one every day. The young woman, having gained great favour in the eyes of her master, did not submit tamely to the control of the older one, so the result was that there were constant bickerings and quarrels. Invariably the sub-prefect took the side of his favourite, with the consequence that the older woman got angrier every day. It is not known what had offended the senior wife that day, but in any case the two women were involved in a dispute which it was difficult to settle, and so the old priest having hit the nail on the head accurately pleased the sub-prefect immensely, so much so that he kept the priest in his yamen and treated him very well. Whenever he asked what the birds were saying, the priest would give an explanation and he was always correct in every particular. There was one objectionable point, however. The priest was a bit rough in his talk and no matter what the subject might be, whenever he opened his mouth to say anything there was no reserve whatever about his remarks.

"This sub-prefect was a man of a very covetous disposition and in all matters connected with the supplies of his yamen he forced the people to commute their obligations into cash payments.

"One day when the sub-prefect was sitting chatting with the priest, they again saw the flock of ducks coming waddling and quacking along. 'What do they say this time?' asked the sub-prefect. 'This time,' replied the priest, 'their remarks are very different from those on the previous occasion. This time they are chatting about Your Honour's miscellaneous accounts.'

"'What miscellaneous account of mine?' asked the sub-prefect. 'What they are calling is "Commute it, commute it, candle-money a hundred and eight, vermilion-money eight tiao eight,"' replied the priest. The sub-prefect was so ashamed that his face got red all over, and he suspected the priest of intentionally jesting. But he took no notice of his remark and the matter passed over. On the next day the priest wanted to go, but the sub-prefect persisted in keeping him and would not let him leave. After a few more days had passed the sub-prefect had a party in the summer-house in his garden, and they suddenly heard a small bird that was perched upon a tree begin to chirp. One of the guests at the table said, 'Do you hear this bird? What does he say?' 'This bird,' said the priest, 'is saying something not very nice. He says "lose office go."'

"When the guests who were present heard these words of the priest there was not one of them that was not startled, but the sub-prefect got into a great rage and ordered his underlings to drive the crazy priest out of the yamen. Not many days afterwards, however, the sub-prefect was dismissed from office for corruption and bribery and on his record was it written that he was never to be employed again. Thus was the priest vindicated and his powers fully proved."

Wang the Ninth ended his story earnestly and seriously, believing that it was true.

"You are a fine story-teller," commented the girl, nodding her head repeatedly. "What a pity it is that you do not adopt it is a profession when you are fully-grown."

He shook his head.

"I have no kind of learning, only a ready memory for names and things. It is possible that in the account I gave you of the Taoist priest I made mistakes which would have brought laughter from those who are skilled in the telling of tales. The slightest deviation is counted a fault."

Later, he swung lightly off the wall with a farewell nod and was lost to view. He was not many days older when he overheard a neighbour casually saying that the reason the old steward showed such caution regarding his grand-child was because his master did not know how from his profits he had not only purchased this adjacent house but several others near by for the purpose of selling to new foreigners as they came. To the boy's surprise, the neighbour called the girl sha-ta-ku-niang,—Miss Simpleton. She was a simpleton and he had never guessed it—in spite of her hiding behind the great jar of water-lilies.

That obtuseness on his part deeply humiliated him.