“Dong-Yung, I do not wish you to do this any more.”

Dong-Yung turned, her obeisance half arrested in mid-air.  Foh-Kyung stood in the doorway.

“My lord,” stammered Dong-Yung, “I did not understand your meaning.”

“I know that, little Flower in my House.  The new meaning is hard to understand.  I, too, am but a blind child unused to the touch of the road.  But the kitchen gods matter no more; we pray to a spirit.”

Foh-Kyung, in his long apricot-coloured garment, crossed the threshold of the kitchen, crossed the shadow and sunlight that stripped the bare board floor, and stood before the kitchen gods.  His eyes were on a level with theirs, strange, painted wooden eyes that stared forth inscrutably into the eating centuries.  Dong-Yung stood half bowed, breathless with a quick, cold fear.  The cook, one hand holding a shiny brown dipper, the other a porcelain dish, stood motionless at the wooden table under the window.  From behind the stove peeped the frightened face of one of the fire-tenders.  The whole room was turned to stone, motionless, expectant, awaiting the releasing moment of arousement—­all, that is, but the creeping sunshine, sliding nearer and nearer the crossed feet of the kitchen gods; and the hissing steam fire, warming, coddling the hearts of the gods.  Sun at their feet, fire at their hearts, food before them, and mortals turned to stone!

Foh-Kyung laughed softly, standing there, eye-level with the kitchen gods.  He stretched out his two hands, and caught a god in each.  A shudder ran through the motionless room.

“It is wickedness!” The porcelain dish fell from the hand of the cook, and a thousand rice-kernels, like scattered pearls, ran over the floor.

“A blasphemer,” the fire-tender whispered, peering around the stove with terrified eyes.  “This household will bite off great bitterness.”

Foh-Kyung walked around the corner of the stove.  The fire sparked and hissed.  The sunshine filled the empty niche.  Not since the building of the house and the planting of the tall black cypress-trees around it, a hundred years ago, had the sunlight touched the wall behind the kitchen gods.

Dong-Yung sprang into life.  She caught Foh-Kyung’s sleeve.

“O my Lord and Master, I pray you, do not utterly cast them away into the burning, fiery furnace!  I fear some evil will befall us.”

Foh-Kyung, a green-and-gold god in each hand, stopped and turned.  His eyes smiled at Dong-Yung.  She was so little and so precious and so afraid!  Dong-Yung saw the look of relenting.  She held his sleeve the tighter.

“Light of my Eyes, do good deeds to me.  My faith is but a little faith.  How could it be great unto thy great faith?  Be gentle with my kitchen gods.  Do not utterly destroy them.  I will hide them.”

Foh-Kyung smiled yet more, and gave the plaster gods into her hands as one would give a toy to a child.