“To this person,” replied Kai Lung, with a deep-seated look, “existence can never again be ordinary.  Admittedly it may be short.”

As they conversed together in this inoffensive manner she whom Li-loe had called the Golden Mouse held in her delicately-formed hands a priceless bowl filled with ripe fruit of the rarer kinds which she had gathered.  These from time to time she threw up to the opening, rightly deciding that one in Kai Lung’s position would stand in need of sustenance, and he no less dexterously held and retained them.  When the bowl was empty she continued for a space to regard it silently, as though exploring the many-sided recesses of her mind.

“You have claimed to be a story-teller and have indeed made a boast that there is no arising emergency for which you are unprepared,” she said at length.  “It now befalls that you may be put to a speedy test.  Is the nature of this imagined scene”—­thus she indicated the embellishment of the bowl—­“familiar to your eyes?”

“It is that known as ‘The Willow,’” replied Kai Lung.  “There is a story—­”

“There is a story!” exclaimed the maiden, loosening from her brow the overhanging look of care.  “Thus and thus.  Frequently have I importuned him before whom you will appear to explain to me the meaning of the scene.  When you are called upon to plead your cause, see to it well that your knowledge of such a tale is clearly shown.  He before whom you kneel, craftily plied meanwhile by my unceasing petulance, will then desire to hear it from your lips . . .  At the striking of the fourth gong the day is done.  What lies between rests with your discriminating wit.”

“You are deep in the subtler kinds of wisdom, such as the weak possess,” confessed Kai Lung.  “Yet how will this avail to any length?”

“That which is put off from to-day is put off from to-morrow,” was the confident reply.  “For the rest—­at a corresponding gong-stroke of each day it is this person’s custom to gather fruit.  Farewell, minstrel.”

When Li-loe returned a little later Kai Lung threw his two remaining strings of cash about that rapacious person’s neck and embraced him as he exclaimed: 

“Chieftain among doorkeepers, when I go to the Capital to receive the all-coveted title ‘Leaf-crowned’ and to chant ceremonial odes before the Court, thou shalt accompany me as forerunner, and an agile tribe of selected goats shall sport about thy path.”

“Alas, manlet,” replied the other, weeping readily, “greatly do I fear that the next journey thou wilt take will be in an upward or a downward rather than a sideway direction.  This much have I learned, and to this end, at some cost admittedly, I enticed into loquacity one who knows another whose brother holds the key of Ming-shu’s confidence:  that to-morrow the Mandarin will begin to distribute justice here, and out of the depths of Ming-shu’s malignity the name of Kai Lung is the first set down.”