“In about nine and forty years, then, O impetuous one, our converging footsteps will doubtless again encounter upon this spot.  In the meanwhile, however, this person’s awaiting father is certainly preparing something against her tardy return which the sign for a crowbar would fittingly represent.”

Then urging the water-buffalo to increased exertion she fled, leaving Lao Ting a prey to emotions of a very distinguished intensity.

In spite of the admittedly rough-edged nature of Hoa-mi’s leave-taking, Lao Ting retraced his steps in an exalted frame of mind.  He had spoken to the maiden and heard her incomparable voice.  He now knew her name and the path leading to her father’s house.  It only remained for him to win a position worthy of her acceptance (if the Empire could offer such a thing), and their future happiness might be regarded as assured.

Thus engaged, Lao Ting walked on, seeing within his head the arrival of the bridal chair, partaking of the well-spread wedding feast, hearing the felicitations of the guests:  “A hundred sons and a thousand grandsons!” Something white fluttering by the wayside recalled him to the realities of the day.  He had reached the buildings of the outer city, and on a wall before him a printed notice was displayed.

It has already been set forth that the few solitary cash which from time to time fell into the student’s sleeve were barely sufficient to feed his thirsty brush with ink.  For the material on which to write and to practise the graceful curves essential to a style he was driven to various unworthy expedients.  It had thus become his habit to lurk in the footsteps of those who affix public proclamations in the ways and spaces of the city, and when they had passed on to remove, as unostentatiously as possible, the more suitable pronouncements and to carry them to his own abode.  For this reason he regarded every notice from a varying angle, being concerned less with what appeared upon it than with what did not appear.  Accordingly he now crossed the way and endeavoured to secure the sheet that had attracted his attention.  In this he was unsuccessful, however, for he could only detach a meagre fragment.

When Lao Ting reached his uninviting room the last pretence of daylight had faded.  He recognized that he had lost many precious moments in Hoa-mi’s engaging society, and although he would willingly have lost many more, there was now a deeper pang in his regret that he could not continue his study further into the night.  As this was impossible, he drew his scanty night coverings around him and composed his mind for sleep, conscious of an increasing rigour in the air; for, as he found when the morning came, one who wished him well, passing in his absence, had written a lucky saying on a stone and cast it through the paper window.