One day as the ugly one was ironing in his shop in the basement of 263 1/2 Main street, he looked up and saw a crowd of childish faces pressed against the window.  Most Chinamen make friends with children; this one hated them and tried to drive them away.  But as soon as he returned to his work they were back at the window again, mischievously smiling down upon him.

The naughty mandarin uttered horrid words in the Manchu language and made fierce gestures; but this did no good at all.  The children stayed as long as they pleased, and they came again the very next day as soon as school was over, and likewise the next day, and the next.  For they saw their presence at the window bothered the Chinaman and were delighted accordingly.

The following day being Sunday the children did not appear, but as the mandarin, being a heathen, worked in his little shop a big butterfly flew in at the open door and fluttered about the room.

The mandarin closed the door and chased the butterfly until he caught it, when he pinned it against the wall by sticking two pins through its beautiful wings.  This did not hurt the butterfly, there being no feeling in its wings; but it made him a safe prisoner.

This butterfly was of large size and its wings were exquisitely marked by gorgeous colors laid out in regular designs like the stained glass windows of a cathedral.

The mandarin now opened his wooden chest and drew forth the Great Book of Magic he had stolen from Haot-sai.  Turning the pages slowly he came to a passage describing “How to understand the language of butterflies.”  This he read carefully and then mixed a magic formula in a tin cup and drank it down with a wry face.  Immediately thereafter he spoke to the butterfly in its own language, saying: 

“Why did you enter this room?”

“I smelled bees-wax,” answered the butterfly; “therefore I thought I might find honey here.”

“But you are my prisoner,” said the mandarin.  “If I please I can kill you, or leave you on the wall to starve to death.”

“I expect that,” replied the butterfly, with a sigh.  “But my race is shortlived, anyway; it doesn’t matter whether death comes sooner or later.”

“Yet you like to live, do you not?” asked the mandarin.

“Yet; life is pleasant and the world is beautiful.  I do not seek death.”

“Then,” said the mandarin, “I will give you life—­a long and pleasant life—­if you will promise to obey me for a time and carry out my instructions.”

“How can a butterfly serve a man?” asked the creature, in surprise.

“Usually they cannot,” was the reply.  “But I have a book of magic which teaches me strange things.  Do you promise?”

“Oh, yes; I promise,” answered the butterfly; “for even as your slave I will get some enjoyment out of life, while should you kill me—­that is the end of everything!”

“Truly,” said the mandarin, “butterflies have no souls, and therefore cannot live again.”