In the quaint commentary accompanying the text of that holy book of Lao-tseu called Kan-ing-p’ien may be found a little story so old that the name of the one who first told it has been forgotten for a thousand years, yet so beautiful that it lives still in the memory of four hundred millions of people, like a prayer that, once learned, is forever remembered.  The Chinese writer makes no mention of any city nor of any province, although even in the relation of the most ancient traditions such an omission is rare; we are only told that the name of the hero of the legend was Tong-yong, and that he lived in the years of the great dynasty of Han, some twenty centuries ago.

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Tong-Yong’s mother had died while he was yet an infant; and when he became a youth of nineteen years his father also passed away, leaving him utterly alone in the world, and without resources of any sort; for, being a very poor man, Tong’s father had put himself to great straits to educate the lad, and had not been able to lay by even one copper coin of his earnings.  And Tong lamented greatly to find himself so destitute that he could not honor the memory of that good father by having the customary rites of burial performed, and a carven tomb erected upon a propitious site.  The poor only are friends of the poor; and among all those whom Tong knew; there was no one able to assist him in defraying the expenses of the funeral.  In one way only could the youth obtain money,—­by selling himself as a slave to some rich cultivator; and this he at last decided to do.  In vain his friends did their utmost to dissuade him; and to no purpose did they attempt to delay the accomplishment of his sacrifice by beguiling promises of future aid.  Tong only replied that he would sell his freedom a hundred times, if it were possible, rather than suffer his father’s memory to remain unhonored even for a brief season.  And furthermore, confiding in his youth and strength, he determined to put a high price upon his servitude,—­a price which would enable him to build a handsome tomb, but which it would be well-nigh impossible for him ever to repay.

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Accordingly he repaired to the broad public place where slaves and debtors were exposed for sale, and seated himself upon a bench of stone, having affixed to his shoulders a placard inscribed with the terms of his servitude and the list of his qualifications as a laborer.  Many who read the characters upon the placard smiled disdainfully at the price asked, and passed on without a word; others lingered only to question him out of simple curiosity; some commended him with hollow praise; some openly mocked his unselfishness, and laughed at his childish piety.  Thus many hours wearily passed, and Tong had almost despaired of finding a master, when there rode up a high official of the province,—­a grave and handsome man, lord of a thousand slaves, and owner of vast estates.  Reining in his Tartar horse, the official halted to read the placard and to consider the value of the slave.  He did not smile, or advise, or ask any questions; but having observed the price asked, and the fine strong limbs of the youth, purchased him without further ado, merely ordering his attendant to pay the sum and to see that the necessary papers were made out.