The owner of the house had two sons.  One of them, aged about thirteen, had something to do with the temple services, and wore a kind of tunic made of white silk.  The second was Chun Wa.  It was when the sentry went on guard that we first made the acquaintance of Chun Wa.  His cheeks were round and fat, and his face seemed to bulge out towards the base.  His little eyes were soft and brown and twinkled like onyxes.  His tiny little hands were most beautifully shaped, and this child moved about the farmyard with the dignity of an Emperor and the serenity of a great Pontiff.  Gravely and without a smile he watched the Cossacks unharnessing their horses, lighting a fire and arranging the officers’ kit.

He walked up to the sentry who was standing near the treasure chest, a big, grey-eyed Cossack with a great tuft of fair hair, and the expression of a faithful retriever, and in a tone of indescribable contempt, Chun Wa said “Ping!” “Ping” in Chinese means soldier-man, and if you wish to express your contempt for a man there is no word in the whole of the Chinese language which expresses it so fully and so emphatically as the word “Ping.”

The Cossack smiled on Chun Wa and called him by a long list of endearing diminutives, but Chun Wa took no notice, and retired into the inner part of the house as if he had determined to pay no more attention to the barbarous intruders.  The next day, however, curiosity got the better of him, and he could not resist inspecting the yard, and observing the doings of the foreign devils.  And one of the Cossacks—­his name was Lieskov and he looked after my mule—­made friends with Chun Wa.  He made friends with him by playing with the dog.  The dog, like most Chinese dogs, was dirty, distrustful, and not used to being played with; he slunk away if you called him, and if you took any notice of him he evidently expected to be beaten, kicked, or to have stones thrown at him.  He was too thin to be eaten.  But Lieskov tamed the dog and taught him how to play, and the big Cossack used to roll on the ground while the dog pretended to bite him, until Chun Wa forgot his dignity, his contempt, and his superior culture, and smiled.  I remember coming home that very afternoon from a short stroll with one of the officers, and we found Lieskov lying fast asleep in the farmyard right across the steps of the door through which we wanted to go, and Chun Wa and the dog were sitting beside him.  We woke him up and the officer asked him why he had gone to sleep.

“I was playing with the dog, your honour,” he said, “and I played so hard that I was exhausted and fell asleep.”

After that Chun Wa made friends with everybody, officers and men, and he ruled the battery like an autocrat.  He ruled by charm and a thousand winning ways.  But his special friend was Lieskov, who carried the child about on his back, performed many droll antics to amuse him, and taught him words of pidgin Russian.  Among other things he made him a kite—­a large and beautiful kite—­out of an old piece of yellow silk, shaped like a butterfly.  And Chun Wa’s brother flew this kite with wonderful skill, so that it looked like a glittering golden bird hovering in the air.