Noon found him asleep in the fields of kaoliang, that giant millet growing twelve feet high which is so dense that one may become lost in its golden tangle. Utterly worn out, he had crept into this safe hiding-place, and amidst the drone of the countless insects he had dropped on his back, and lost consciousness—a small, unobserved creature on the face of a troubled earth.

Yet in spite of his fatigue his sleep was disturbed. Uneasy dreams made him thrash around and babble confused talk. He again lived through all his experiences of the night before and found no comfort in the success which had crowned his efforts. To escape from the great city in the manner he had done was a feat which should have brought him peace. Nevertheless as he slept he constantly heard his master's voice chiding him for not showing more haste. The voice was so clear that he understood perfectly everything that was said; and—strangest of all—the three mysterious words which every one had spoken at the last fateful interview, when he had been committed to this enterprise, sounded unendingly in his ears in a great undertone.

Perhaps it was the harsh grinding of the cicadas which brought back the message so insistently as he lay semi-conscious; for the cicadas were singing with all the might which is theirs in the summer months. Well—he had travelled far and braved many risks—was that not enough? No—for now his master stood immediately over him, a huge figure full of awe. His red beard bristled as he spoke with the force of his superior judgment; and as the boy watched thunderstruck, the red beard came nearer and nearer in a menacing way until at length he could feel the bristles sticking into his face....

With a startled cry he awoke and threw off some millet stalks which had fallen across him. Now he yawned and shook himself like a dog. He was fully awake but still a little frightened. The vividness of the apparition slowly disappeared like clouds driven along the skies by a high wind. As he sat up and tightened his belt he was suddenly overwhelmed by the great emptiness which oppressed his stomach.

"I haven't eaten for a whole day,—that is apart from the melon," he grumbled, looking down at his thin body, and scratching his arms and hands morosely. "It is possible to die of starvation even with food growing around you."

Now he jumped up, and went rustling through the grain. In a land of poverty—where the struggle for existence is bitter and keen—not to eat is a confession of failure.

There were acres and acres of the same field; and as he threaded his way forward he cursed the owners for their greed in tilling so much land. But at length the great field ceased; and he came out suddenly on to a rutted roadway and saw in the distance a tumble-down little red building. It was a country shrine. He studied it critically for a long while, and then remembered, from the manner in which three trees grew beside it, having seen it before. It was about twenty li—seven miles counted in English—to the southeast of the capital. He had come twenty li since he had left the last city gate.

Reassured, he went up to the closed doors without further hesitation.

"Lao-ho-shang (old harmonious and esteemed one)," he loudly called, hammering with his fists on the rotting woodwork, "a foodless man is at your gateway. Distribute your goodness. Lao-ho-shang, lao-ho-shang, come to your door!"

He repeated his call more and more vigorously; and presently there was the sound of slow footsteps and the gate was cautiously unbarred. But it was only opened an inch or so by a priest who was neither old nor young, and who was clad in a garment of faded saffron edged with black.

The priest eyed him suspiciously for a long time and at last commenced this interrogatory:

"How far have you journeyed?"

"Many miles from the South, many miles indeed."

"And what is your purpose in journeying when all is unsettled?"

"I seek my relatives because my father is dead."

"Where are your relatives?"

"In the city—"

"And what is your name?"

The boy without hesitation continued to lie calmly in the way all his countrymen readily do—that is when they are pressed.

"I am called Liu—I am the second in the family—Liu Erh—I have walked a hundred miles to find my relatives. Food is what I need to soothe my hunger. A little hot food."

"Um,"—said the priest, "I, too, am short of food. For a fortnight I have received no alms, not one copper coin has been vouchsafed me. With trouble abroad how dare I venture out? And should I give away from my small store when I may shortly be in need myself?"

Wang the Ninth, because of his hunger, was becoming angry at this long discussion. Already he had measured his man: he knew him to be a coward and covetous as well. With a swift movement he thrust his foot in between the gate-post and the door so that the priest could not possibly close it again,—that is unless he threw him back and broke his foot. Now very roughly he used what was instantly effective—intimidation, based on a half-truth.

"Look here," he said, "I have waited patiently and answered all your questions and am very hungry. I have just passed soldiers. If you do not give me freely I shall go and find them and declare that you have silver buried in the Temple."

There was brief hesitation which may have lasted two seconds, but no more. Then the door swung wide open.

"Come in," said the priest sullenly. Asia is like that. By audacity a child may work his will over old and young alike. That is one of the unappreciated morals of the Bible.

Wang the Ninth, again victorious, loafed in with an expression of suppressed amusement on his face which would have done credit to an actor. Behind him the priest shut the door securely; then turned round and looked at him; muttered something under his breath; and finally led him to a room where his store of food was secreted under a broken bench. Together, in this companionship, neither speaking much, they prepared a meal of boiled millet, a little salted vegetable, a cup of tea.

Presently having eaten his fill, the marauder became loquacious.

"Your stock of food is indeed low," he remarked, examining everything and looking into the grain-bin several times. "When you first spoke about shortage I doubted your story. If you wait a little I will fetch you something as repayment and prepare a bite for myself for later on."

Without further ado, he marched out through the gateway and down the roadway to where his sharp eyes half an hour before had noticed a patch of Indian corn. Calmly, as if it were his own property, he pulled off a great mass of corn cobs, only taking of the best. Then he stripped off his short cotton coat, loaded it up with the loot, and marched back with this fat bundle to the keeper of Buddha's shrine.

"Here," he said, "I have taken from an abundance that is neglected. If there is suspicion or accusation I bear the blame. Now I prepare my share."

With deft fingers he stripped off the husk from a dozen cobs, threw them into a pot of water, and boiled them over the small charcoal fire until beads of perspiration stood on his forehead. When he had satisfied himself that they were well-cooked, he heaved a sigh of relief and desisted. He had a couple of days' supply of food to the good, no matter what happened; for Indian corn is a good and strength-giving food.

"I can journey in peace," he remarked, "when the sun is a little lower and there is coolness in the air. Not soon will I commit the fault of journeying with no provision belt. A hundred miles is far to travel for the poor."

The priest talked a little but without much gusto. He was irritated by everything that had occurred since he had unbarred his doors; and after the manner of his race he was absorbed thinking about the way he could redress the balance in his favour. With his arms behind his back, master of the situation, Wang the Ninth began sauntering round the narrow courtyard of the little Temple, and lifting the heavy reed curtain over the doorway of the shrine he peered in.

"Who is your honourable Saint?" he inquired politely, looking at the square, clumsy, gilt figure. Then almost before he had finished asking the question he burst into a short laugh. His quick eyes had noticed something. "Lao-ho-shang, have you noticed that an ear has dropped off?" He pointed to the left ear of Buddha's disciple which was indeed missing.

The priest became more nettled than ever.

"What would you?" he said. "This locality is poor—and very miserly as well. Only on harvest-days do I receive alms in sufficiency for my welfare. As for renovation where shall I find funds? All the shrines for many miles lack repair, and some are even deserted by their keepers."

The devil in the boy leaped to the surface. With a rapid gesture his hand travelled to his belt, and with a flash he threw a bright silver coin on the matted floor as an offering.

"There," he said, "I have contributed."

The priest stood staring.

"Silver!" he exclaimed as if that had been the name of his God. "You carry silver!" Now he bent down and picked up the coin which he examined carefully.

"Yes, silver," assented Wang the Ninth, "an undoubted piece of silver."

"How is it that you who lack food have money?" said the priest. His manner was full of suspicion.

The boy laughed easily.

"It is this way. Many in our locality were employed in the city before the trouble commenced and they have all fled back. They had money in their belts, and two who had known my father gave me small contributions to help me on my way. Had it not been for this friendly help I would indeed have fared badly."

"Um," said the priest, "and how many such coins have you with you?"

Wang the Ninth took several steps backwards so that if needs be he could run for it. There was a note in the priest's voice that he did not like. He was quite capable of trying to rob him. Already he regretted his indiscretion.

"How many coins? Ho—ho, I am a bad hand at calculating." He took a few more steps backward. "Are you discontented with my generosity?—well, I cannot help it." With a swift movement he bent down and picked up the bundle of corn which he had made. "The day is waning, I cannot waste more time. Lao-hoshang, I am about to leave you." And with this lightly and quickly he sprang away and then through the narrow door on to the roadway.

The priest followed him. On his face there was a sharp struggle. Had he been able to do so, he would have rushed at him. But the chances of success were poor having in view his feebleness and the boy's agility. So sullenly he watched Wang the Ninth walk away looking over his shoulder as he went, and beginning the song, "Every priest is only a thief with a shaven pate," which is known to every urchin in the land.