Once there was a Chinese merchant who sold flowers and fish. In the winter time the flowers and fish each had a separate house to live in, but one very cold winter the merchant said to his servants, “I think we must put the lily bulbs in the house with the fish. It is warmer there.” [96]

And a thousand and a thousand narcissus bulbs which were growing for the great feast of the New Year were moved into the house with the fish.

This made the fish angry and that night they scolded the narcissus.

“Friends,” said the fishes, “this is not your place and we will not have you here.

“We do not like your odor. You will spoil our people. When men pass by our door they will see only you.

“They will never see our family. You can not help or do any good here; so you must go.

“Every day a hundred and a hundred merchants and students come to visit us. If you stand by our door they will surely think the fish are all gone and there is nothing but flowers left.

“We do not want our place to smell so strongly of flowers. We do not like it. It is very bad and makes us sick.”

The narcissus answered, “Strange, but we were thinking of that same thing.

“Some people say that fishes have a bad odor, but I never heard it said of our flowers. I think I will say no more about it. Let others decide.”

Then another flower spoke and said to the one who had been talking, “Hush, sister, this is not our house. [97]We will go to-morrow. Let the fishes say what they will about us, and do not quarrel with them. All people know we are not bad and that our fragrance is sweet.”

When the morning sunshine came, the doors were opened, and a thousand and a thousand flowers had blossomed in the night, and the people said, “Oh, how sweet! Even a fish house can be made pleasant. We wish it could be like this all the time.”

And one visitor said, “How sweet this place is! Do fishes or flowers live here?” And when he saw, he said, “It is too bad to put delicate flowers in evil smelling places.”

Then three students came to buy flowers. The servants brought three pots from the fish house, and the students said, “We do not want pots from the fish house. Give us others. These have a disagreeable smell, like the fishes.”

The fishes heard all and were even more angry at the flowers. But the flowers heard and were happy, and they said, “How foolish to quarrel and try to put evil on others.”

---

Ee-Sze (Meaning): The good need no defense. Their best defense lies within themselves. [98]

Once a farmer’s boy caught three young wood larks. He took them home and gave them his best and largest cage to live in. Soon they were happy and sang almost all day long.

Every one liked the birds very much, excepting the cat and the hen. [99]

One day the sun shone very hot and the birds tried to get out of the cage. They wanted to fly in the trees and bushes.

The farmer’s boy knew what they wanted and hung their cage in the tree.

He said to himself, “I think my birds will like this. They can get acquainted with other birds. I know birds should go with birds. That is their happiness.”

Then the wood larks sang loud and long, for they were glad to be in the trees.

An old hen was sitting on some eggs near by, and her little ones were just beginning to come out of the shells. The singing of the birds made her angry and she said to them, “Will you stop that noise for a time so that I may hear my little ones call? I can not hear a word my children say. That is not a pretty song, anyway. When other birds sing, their songs are sweet; but your noise hurts my ears. Why do you sing all the time? No one likes to hear you.

“That foolish boy did not know much about birds, or he would not have caught you. There are plenty of other birds in the mountain. The thrush and the kind-birds are good, with fine voices and clean and beautiful feathers.

“Why could not that foolish boy catch them? They are the birds I like. They are kind to chickens and like [100]to live with us, but you wood larks are our enemies, and our children fear to come near you.”

The birds made no reply to the hen’s scolding. They sang and were happy and did not seem to notice her.

This only made the hen more angry, and when the cat passed by her door, she said, “Good morning, Mrs. Cat. Do you know we have much trouble since our enemies, the wood larks, came here to live? They are always trying to get out of the cage. I think they want to hurt my children—or yours,” she added slyly.

“Do you hear their harsh ugly voices all the day? I can not sleep, I can not find any comfort here since those birds have come.”

“Our master’s son brought them,” said the cat, “and we can not help ourselves. What would you do about it?”

“I told you,” said the hen, “that I do not like those birds. They should be killed or driven away.”

“I do not like them very well either,” replied the cat. “Cats and birds do not go well together. Cats like birds to eat you know, but then men like chickens. If you do not want them here, we can do this. At midday, when the master’s son lets the birds out for a bath, they sit a while in the sun to dry their feathers. When you see them come out, call ‘Cluck, cluck,’ and I will come and catch them or drive them away.” [101]

When the time came for the birds to take their bath, the cat was asleep. The hen called loudly. The cat heard her and crept quietly to the place where the birds were bathing.

But one of the birds saw the cat and said to her, “Mrs. Cat, what are you trying to do? We know what the hen said to you about us last night. I heard her advise you to kill us or drive us away. Is this not true?

“The old hen does not wish us to live here; but then the rats and mice do not like you to live here either. I warn you not to put your paws on us. If you kill us, the master’s boy will kill you, and he will kill and cook the hen. Do you know how much he loves us?

“Every morning before the sun shines, he is up; and do you know where he goes? He goes to the river to catch the baby swims (little fish) for us. He goes to the mountain and catches grasshoppers for us, and from the fields he brings us seeds and rice.

“He works hard for us. Sometimes he brings other boys here just to hear our songs. He spent much money for our cage and our gem-stone water dishes.

“Every day the master asks his son, ‘How are your birds, my son?’

“One day our brother would not eat food and the boy said to his father, ‘What ails my bird, father? All the foods are here, but he will not eat.’ [102]

“The father answered, ‘I will call a doctor.’

“And the doctor came and said, ‘The bird has fever. Give him some Da-Wong-Sai and Tseng-Chu-Mi and he will be well soon.’ The boy paid the doctor for this; so you see how well he loves us.

“When we do not like to stay in the house he hangs us out in the trees so that we can talk with other birds.

“Now, Mrs. Cat, do you see how well we are cared for? Go back and tell the old hen not to talk about us. Do not notice what she says against us, for if you kill us, as the hen wishes you to do, you will surely have no life left in the world.

“You see how cunning the hen is. She will not do the thing herself, but wants you to do it. That proves that she is your enemy as well as ours.

“Oh, Mrs. Cat, do not be foolish. You have three little ones to care for. If you lose your life by taking ours, who will care for your children? Will the hen do it? I think not.”

When the cat heard such wisdom from a little bird she said, “Well! Well! Well! I think you are right,” and went away.

---

Ee-Sze (Meaning): True friends will not ask you to do things they would not do themselves. [103]

Tsing-Ching (Pure Gold) was four years old when his parents sent him to a “baby school”1 for the first [104]time and told him that the teacher could tell him everything he would like to know.

When he saw a queer bird flying around he asked his teacher, “What kind of thing is that in the air?” His teacher told him, “A bird,” and that to be a bird meant to fly around and sing in every place and make music for the people.

The boy said, “Can I not do it?” His teacher said, “Yes, you can sing music for the people, but you can not fly unless you get wings.”

Tsing-Ching replied, “Yes, I can do that, too. My grandmother told me about a spirit with wings.”

His teacher said, “If your grandmother told you that, you can try and see. You may be a man with wings sometime.”2 [105]

Just then the servant girl, that his mother had sent, came to fetch him home from school.

When they reached the park by his home, Tsing-Ching said, “Lau-Mai, I want that long ladder and a long stick.” The nurse-girl did not know what he would do with them, but she finally had to give him both to keep him from crying. She was afraid his mother would hear him cry and that she would come out and scold her for not taking better care of the child.

As he took the long ladder he said, “Now I am going to be a bird.” His nurse said, “You can not be a bird, Tsing-Ching. Birds fly. You can not fly. Why are you trying to climb up the ladder? That is not the way to be a bird.”

Lau-Mai helped him up two or three steps, when his mother called her to come in and she left him there for a little time.

He climbed up, up, nine steps by himself—and fell down. But he was not hurt, nor did he cry; he had no fear—he thought of but one thing—he was going to be a bird.

Suddenly his mother came and saw him again trying [106]to climb up the ladder and asked, “What are you doing, Tsing-Ching?”

He answered, “I want to be a bird; wait, I will try again. I know that birds fly in the air, not on the ground. I can not fly on earth. If I get up high in the air, then I know I can fly.”

His mother thought he wanted to climb up and get a bird; she looked all around and said, “There is no bird up there now.”

“But, Ah-Ma,3 I want to be a bird.”

The servant Lau-Mai came just then and explained to his mother. His mother said he was a foolish boy, and gave him food and sent him to school again.

In two hours the teacher sent all the boys out to play. They ran to the pond where the gold-fish were, for they liked to watch them swim in the water.

After exercise, they all went into the schoolroom and Tsing-Ching told his teacher, “I saw many goldfish swimming in the pond. Did you know that, teacher? A man fed them rice and they all came out for him. They seemed so happy, they shook their tails and waved their fins and swam up and down and all around in the cool water. Oh, I should like to be a fish.”

His teacher said, “Learn lessons now.” But Tsing-Ching could not study; he could only think, think [107]about the fish. Soon he asked that he might go out to drink. Then he went to the pond and took off his clothes, but the gardener saw him and asked, “What are you doing, boy? This is school-time.”

“I want to be a fish,” said Tsing-Ching.

The gardener thought he wanted to catch the fish and said, “The fish are for your eyes and not for your hands. Do not disturb them.”

Tsing-Ching sat down and waited until the gardener went away. Then he stepped into the water and talked to the fish.

“I am going to be one of you now,” he said. “Come to me and show me how to swim with you.” But they all hurried away.

For half an hour he splashed in the shallow water, trying to swim, until the teacher thought, “Where is Tsing-Ching?” and sent a boy to see. He found him in the pond and asked him to come into the schoolroom, saying the teacher would punish him if he did not.

“No,” said Tsing-Ching, “I shall be a fish; I told the teacher I was going to be a fish.” And so the boy went back and told the teacher, who hardly knew what to think.

Finally he went out with a stick and asked, “Tsing-Ching, what are you doing here? Do you know this is school-time? Do you know that you were allowed only [108]to go out for a drink and not to stay here and play? You have done wrong.”

“Why, teacher, I told you that I wanted to be a fish,” said Tsing-Ching. “I do not want books or exercises. I am going to be a fish and I will not go to school. Mother said you teach everything; now teach me to be a fish.”

His teacher said, “How foolish you are, Tsing-Ching; you are a boy, a man. You can learn many things better than to be a fish. Come with me now.”

That night when Tsing-Ching was walking with his mother and nurse out by the water, he saw the summer moon shining in the lake.

“How strange, Ah-Ma, the moon is under the lake! See, it raises the lake and shakes it all the time. I want it. What kind of a white ball is it?”

Then his mother told him that the moon was in the sky, not in the lake, and she explained and showed him. And when he saw the moon in the sky, he said, “I know that it is not the moon in the lake, for it shakes. It is not quiet like that one in the sky. It is a silver ball, I know.”

He asked so many questions that his mother grew tired of answering and let him ask unnoticed. Then he wandered away a little distance and threw stones in the water. And the waters waved and the white ball [109]danced so prettily that he wanted it very much. He waded into the lake, deeper, deeper, until he fell down. He screamed and swallowed the water, and it took a long time to make him alive again, after his mother took him out of the lake.

When the neighbors heard about it, they said, “Foolish boy; not satisfied to do the things he can—he is always wanting things he can not have.”

Many people in this world are like Tsing-Ching. [110]

This is the true story of a boy who obeyed perfectly all his life the law of Confucius concerning honor to parents.

Few have been able to do this. Among a people of [111]many millions who have kept record over four thousand years, only twenty-four men have been found worthy of the great honor of being called Hsao-Tsze.

Twelve hundred years ago, in Chê-Kiong Province, there lived a poor widow and her son, Wong-Ziang. The father had died when Wong-Ziang was a baby, and the time came when they had only their little home left and not even one piece of silver to buy food with.

So the mother went to many places daily and asked food for herself and child. For seven long years, every day in the cold rain or in the sunshine, this poor widow begged food and kept herself and child from starving.

She was a good woman and never complained even to the heavens, and in her heart she said many times, “No mother should be sorrowful when she has a good son. My boy is true without being taught. Many mothers have sons, but they are not as this one.”

When Wong-Ziang was fourteen years old, he said to his mother, “Ah Ma, I will seek work and we will have food. You must rest now.”

In the morning early he went to the market place and asked work of many people. At midday, when the laborers left the market place, they said, “You are too young to work here.”

As he was hungry, he went to a merchant’s house and [112]asked food; and because he was a gentle boy and pleaded so earnestly, the merchant told his cook to give him food. Wong-Ziang would not eat the food, but took it home to his mother.

Ninety times Wong-Ziang left home at sunrise. He sought work all day, and every night he took food home to his mother and comforted her with, “I soon will find work, Ah Ma. One man says he will want me soon; or, a man told me of yet another place to seek work,” and in many other ways he comforted his mother.

When he gave her the food he brought, she would say, “You eat, too.” But he would always answer, “I have had mine; you eat first.” And when she had finished eating, he would eat of what was left.

One time Wong-Ziang’s mother fell sick. He said, “I will go for the doctor.” But his mother said, “I have no silver. Wait and you will soon have work. I think I shall be well then.”

But Wong-Ziang ran to the city of Nim-Chu and asked the doctor to come to his mother. He said to him as they went to his mother’s house:

“My mother did not get up at sunrise. She is weak and sick and can not eat food. She does not want a doctor, as we have no silver, but I believe you will wait and, when I get work, I will pay you.” The doctor [113]said, “I always help the poor when I can, and will not charge you this time.”

When they reached the widow’s home, the doctor made the examination of the tongue, the eyes, and the pulse. He then said, “She is very weak. I will leave medicine, but it is better that she eat good food that she likes. Twice in five days, she should have a carp fish boiled in rice wine. But it is winter and the river is frozen. I know not how you will get that fish,” and then he went away.

Wong-Ziang gave his mother the medicine, and she asked, “What did the doctor say about me?”

“He said you needed a carp fish cooked in rice wine so that you may be strong,” answered Wong-Ziang. “It is very easy for me to find one. I am going now to the river.”

But the mother said, “Not now, my son. Wait until spring. The river is covered with ice.”

“I will see,” said Wong-Ziang; and he put on his fishing clothes.2

His mother said, “I fear you will die, if you go into the water.”

“I will see first if there are any fish,” said he. [114]

When Wong-Ziang reached the river, he saw it was covered with ice. He made a great hole in the ice and went in, and after swimming and diving for some time, he caught a fish for his mother.

But his breath almost left him in the cold water, and when he came out, he could not stand on the ice.

He fell down, and his clothes froze to the ice with the net and the fish he had caught.

“He is gone a long time,” thought his mother. She called a servant girl who was passing, and said, “Ah Moi, will you go down to the River Ching-Ki, and see if my boy is there?”

Ah Moi went and saw the boy and the fish in the net lying frozen on the ice together.

She called, “Wong-Ziang,” but when no answer came back to her, she thought, “He is dead,” and ran in fear. But she met a farmer who was riding a cow and she told him, “Wong-Ziang is dead on the ice.” The farmer left his cow and went with her to see.

The farmer took off his own coat and wrapped it around the boy. He carried him in his arms and said to the servant, “I think he is not dead. Take the fish and net at once to Wong-Ziang’s mother.”

In an hour Wong-Ziang came to life again. He arose [115]and cooked the fish for his mother. And in fifteen days she was well.

*   *   *

Soon after this, Wong-Ziang was given work in the next village as cook for a rich professor who had many pupils.

One day he went to the wilderness to cut wood. His mother knew that her boy worked hard, and so she went with him to help and they worked until sunset.

Suddenly a small tiger came out of the forest towards the mother, and from fear she became as one dead. Wong-Ziang screamed and made a great noise. He threw his clothes at the beast and it ran away. Then he carried his mother home, and the neighbors who had watched him all his life said, “Wong-Ziang will become a Hsao-Tsze if he is always like this.”

Wong-Ziang had seen twenty-one years when his mother died, and he had never left her for one day in all his life. He was liked by his teachers, schoolmates, and neighbors, for they said, “We can learn a great lesson from Wong-Ziang who has loved and honored his mother perfectly.”

While his mother was living, Wong-Ziang worked for her and spent little time or money in study; but after she died, he studied hard. When his work in [116]the professor’s kitchen was done each day, he always sat outside the schoolroom door where he heard the teacher giving lessons to his pupils.3

For seven years he studied in this way before the teacher, Liao-Tsai, knew; but one day he found out what Wong-Ziang had been doing. In time he came to love him as his own son and he asked him, “Would you like to be my Chi-tsze (son by adoption)?”

And Wong-Ziang said, “I would, but I am poor and unlearned, and you are rich and honored. It could not be.”

But his teacher said, “I want you in my school. I have had many pupils, but none that have worked and learned as you have. I have known many sons, but none of them served and honored his parents so faithfully. Think about this two or three days and then give me your answer.”

After three days Wong-Ziang decided: and he came to Liao-Tsai, his teacher, and, kneeling down before him, he bowed his head low. And after this time he was as the professor’s own son.

In sixteen years, Wong-Ziang graduated from the great University with highest honors. He had studied [117]all the books of the Chinese schools and was now a Han-Ling (Ph.D.).

He served his nation and emperor wisely and had a high state position for more than twenty years. The people called him Zien-Zan before the emperor. But when he came home to his native province where people had known his deeds all his life, they bowed their heads low in affection, and called him, “Hsao-Tsze.”

[118]

Yung-Moi was one of the very wise men of China. He had lived in the mountains and studied the books of Confucius for twenty years, and afterwards he taught others. [119]

He taught school for ten years, and because of his wisdom had many pupils—over two thousand in all. He was now sixty years old and greatly respected by many people.

One day he thought he would give a party for his scholars. So he sent them all word and asked that each one repeat a story at the party.

After he had invited his guests, he thought, “I, too, must have a story ready for to-morrow night. What shall it be?” And he walked down to the river, thinking.

There he saw two creatures in the edge of the river fighting. One was the great bivalve;1 the other was a snipe that had been hunting for fish in the river.

They fought long and hard, until a hunter with a gun and net passed by and saw them. He made no noise and came close, close, but they were so busy trying to kill each other that they could not see him. So he caught them both and took them home in his net.

Yung-Moi, the wise teacher, thought deeply and said to himself, “There is meaning in all this,” and he walked slowly back to his schoolroom. [120]

He sat down at his desk and thought, and he stirred the ink in his ink-dish, not knowing what he did.

Then he wrote this story and said: “In my mind this is a strange thing. The snipe is a fine creature in the air. He has two wings and has great power to do for himself.

“Small fishes swim in the water and the snipe can take any one he wants, but he can not live in the home of the bivalve, or try to take life away from him without perishing himself.

“If he had power to go under the water and live, there would be no small fishes in the river, and if he were big, like the eagle or bear, there would soon be no fishes in the world. I am glad the Creator made him a small creature and not too powerful.

“The bivalve—he has great power to live under the water. Small swimming things can not escape if they pass by his door, but if he could move about like other fishes with his great power and his appetite for many fish, I think the mother of all fishes could not make enough for his greedy mouth, for now he opens his doors all day long and takes in the creatures that swim by.

“I had fish from the river last night for my evening meal, but I think they never passed the bivalve’s house or he would have had them for his supper.

“When the bivalve and snipe fought together, each [121]one thought, ‘I have great power; I want what you have, and I will kill you and get it for myself.’

“The snipe saw the bivalve’s door open and he thought, ‘What nice white meat; I will have it,’ and he picked at it. The bivalve shut his doors tight and held the snipe so that he could not get away.

“And they fought; each one trying to kill the other, until the hunter came and caught them both. Then the hunter took the snipe and the bivalve home and said to his wife, ‘We will have a good supper to-night.’ And his wife looked and was very glad to have two such savory things at one time. The hunter said, ‘Cook the bivalve well done, and we will put some Tung-Ku2 and Cho-Chen-Cho3 with it. Save the shells and put them away carefully to dry, and I will sell them to the man who makes furniture, for inlaying his tables.

“ ‘The pearls that were in this bivalve will bring me much silver from the jeweler. I will ask my mother to come here for supper. The bivalve is enough for us all, and my mother will be glad. She has never before eaten of a bivalve.

“ ‘The snipe, I will not kill. I will keep him to show to my son and nephew. Give him rice to eat and some [122]water to drink, and keep him in the cage. To-morrow I will give him some fish and in a few days I will take him to the school teacher. Then, when I train him to sing, I will take him to the market place and sell him for much silver.’ ”

---

At the party on the evening of the next day, all the pupils told stories. At last the teacher repeated the story of the fight between the swimming and flying creatures.

“Now, I will ask you a question,” he said to the pupils. “If the snipe flies in the air, can man catch him? And if the bivalve stays under the cave in the river, can man injure him?”

And the pupils all said, “No, teacher.”

“Well, it was sad that the snipe and the bivalve were caught yesterday. Can you tell me why?”

“We do not know,” said the scholars.

And the teacher said, “They are happy and powerful creatures when they do no harm to each other. The snipe flies in the air, the bivalve swims in his home, the sea, and each has happiness according to his kind.

“Now you see these two creatures fought together, the snipe and the bivalve, and they did not succeed by fighting. The hunter is the only one that succeeded.

“It is so with the three nations now at war. They [123]are like the hunter, the snipe, and the bivalve. They ought to live in peace. They are lost when they fight among themselves.”

Then Yung-Moi drew a picture of the warring countries for his pupils.

“One and Three represent two nations at war with each other. One asks Two’s permission to pass an army through his country that he may fight Three. While the army of One is away from home, the people get in a fight among themselves and civil war follows. Number Two takes advantage of the situation and in the absence of Number One’s army (who is trying to overpower Three), conquers Number One easily. Number Two then owns the nations One and Two, and with this added strength goes to the land of Number Three and conquers him, so that all three countries now belong to Number Two.” [124]

One night the lion was very hungry, but as the creatures of the wilderness knew and feared him even from afar, he could not find food. So he went to visit the young mule that lived near the farmer’s house, and when [125]he saw her he smiled blandly and asked, “What do you eat, fair Lii, to make you so sleek and fat? What makes your hair so smooth and beautiful? I think your master gives you tender fresh grass and fat young pig to eat.”

The mule answered, “No, I am fat because I am gentle. My hair is beautiful because I do not fight with other creatures. But why do you come here, Sii? Are you hungry? I believe you are seeking for food.”

The lion said, “Oh, no, I am not hungry. I only walk around to get the cool, fresh air. And then the night is very beautiful. The moon hangs up in the clear sky with the stars and makes a soft light, and so I came to visit you. Would you not like to take a walk with me? I will take you to visit my friend, the pig. I never go to his house alone; I always take a friend with me.”

The mule asked, “Shall we go to any other place?”

“Yes,” answered the lion, “I think we will go to visit another friend of mine who lives not far away.”

Then the mule asked his mother, “Will you allow me to go with Sii to see his friend?”

“Who is his friend?” asked the mother.

“The farmer’s pig,” said the mule.

“I think it is no harm if you go only there,” said the mother mule. “But you must not go anywhere else [126]with Sii. The hunter is looking for him, I hear, and you must be careful. Do not trust him fully, for I fear he will tempt you to go to some other place or into some wrong thing. If I allow you to go, you must come home before midnight. The moon will not be gone then and you can see to find your way.”

So the lion and the mule went to visit the pig who lived in a house in the farmer’s yard. But as soon as the pig saw the lion, he called out in a loud voice to his mother.

The lion said, “He is afraid of me. I will hide and you may go in first.”

When the pig saw that the mule was alone, he thought the lion had gone. He opened his door wide and was very friendly to the mule, saying, “Come in.”

But the lion jumped from his hiding place and caught the pig as he came to the door. The pig called to his mother in great fear. And the mule begged the lion, saying, “Let the poor little creature go free.”

But the lion said, “No, indeed, I have many pigs at my house. It is better for him to go with me.”

Then the lion carried the pig, while the mule followed. Soon they came to where a fine looking dog lay on some hay behind a net. The lion did not seem to see the net, for he dropped the pig and tried to catch the dog who cried loudly for mercy. [127]

But the lion said to the foolish mule, “See how rude the dog is to us. We came to visit him and he makes a loud noise and tries to call the hunter so that he will drive us away. I have never been so insulted. Come here, Lii-Tsze, at once and help me!”

The mule went to the lion and the net fell and caught them both. At sunrise the hunter came and found the mule and the lion in his net. The mule begged earnestly and said, “Hunter, you know me and you know my mother. We are your friends and we do no wrong. Set me free, oh hunter, set me free!”

The hunter said, “No, I will not set you free. You may be good, but you are in bad company and must take what it brings. I will take you and the lion both to the market place and sell you for silver. That is my right. I am a hunter. If you get in my net, that is your business. If I catch you, that is my business.”

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Ee-Sze (Meaning): Bad company is a dangerous thing for man or beast. [128]

Confucius had labored teaching the people righteousness for many forgotten moons. One day he said to himself:

“I have taught many years and I will now rest a [129]while.” He thought for a few days and said, “Where shall I go to find rest?” Then he spoke to Tsze-Lu, Yen-Yuen, and Tsze-Kong, his faithful pupils, saying, “I have been thinking that I would now rest for three moons and visit the Tai-San Mountain, but I do not wish to go alone. I should like you to go with me. Where on the mountain is the best place, do you think?”

“On the southwest side where the sun shines warm and the wind does not blow cold,” answered Tsze-Kong. And Tsze-Lu, Tsze-Kong, and Yen-Yuen went to their own rooms and planned the journey.

After ten days Confucius and his pupils went to the Tai-San Mountain to rest for the three moons; but even there his pupils studied, for they took their books with them.

As Confucius walked on the Tai-San Mountain he said, “How great and beautiful are the things made by the Creator; even the trees, bushes, and flowers are beyond man’s understanding.” Then he went to the temple and saw the images of honored men, and when he looked at the face of Dai-Yee, the Just, he said, “You are very great. We remember and honor you, and other generations yet to come will remember and honor you.”

When he had walked another half-mile, he grew tired [130]and sat down under the Fa-Nien-Ts’ing tree, and soon he slept.

Suddenly he heard a noise. He awoke thinking his pupils had come, but seeing no man he lay down again to sleep. Once more he heard the same noise, and looking upward he saw the Mön-Tien-Sing and the Fa-Nien-Ts’ing trees looking into each other’s faces; but they were not happy. The Mön-Tien-Sing’s face was distorted with anger, and in great wrath she said to the Fa-Nien-Ts’ing, “If I were the Creator, I would not allow you to live. A year and a year passes by and you do not grow. You eat much food and you have more earth than I, and still you do not grow. I never heard that you did any good thing since you were born, and it is said you have lived here five hundred years. Your branches are crooked and your bark is rough.

“You are not even good to look upon. Do you think the children of men care for you? No, for you have neither flowers nor fruit. If people sit under your shade when the wind blows hard, I should think your sharp, ugly leaves would fall on them and stick them.

“It is a strange thing that the woodcutter does not chop you down—useless thing. If I were the Creator, I would not allow the sun to shine on you, nor would I [131]give you rain to drink. I would cause the wind to blow hard until you fell down dead.

“You see I have the sweetest of flowers and the people all like me. One day two women passed by here and one of them said, ‘Mön-Tien-Sing, how I wish that I might take you with me. You are so beautiful, but I fear you do not like me. Three times I have gathered your flowers for my hair, but I was careless and passed by a bush and it did but touch them when their lovely petals all fell to the earth. I wish that I might take you to my garden, and that you would grow there and open your beautiful flowers every third moon forever.’

“My name is Mön-Tien-Sing which means Flowers-every-three-moons. If you do not know another meaning it has, I will tell you.

“When you look in the sky on a summer night do you know how many stars are there? Even man can not count a clear sky filled with shining stars. I am Mön-Tien-Sing. Mön means full; Tien means heaven; and Sing means stars:—‘sky filled with stars’—that is my name. I grow very fast. Every three moons I bear a thousand and a thousand flowers. I do not need servants to care for me, for I grow everywhere. Even the chickens and birds like me. They come to me and eat my seeds and grow fat.

“If I were the Creator, the Mön-Tien-Sing would [132]grow everywhere in all the world, and fill the earth with its sweetness, but oh, I wish I could go away from you. I do not like even to see you, and here I must stand always by your side. Your branches are too strong; for when the wind blows, they come close and hurt me and spoil my beautiful flowers. I will pray the Creator to bring a woodcutter and cut you down to-day—useless, evil thing.”

The Fa-Nien-Ts’ing did not answer, though he bowed his head in shame. He knew well that he was ugly and that his leaves were sharp and his bark rough, but he said to himself, “I know in my heart that some day, some one will like me, too. For the Creator made me and he surely made me for good. I will keep patient and wait.”

In about three moons the cold days came and all things were frozen. The rivers stood still, the flowers were no longer seen, the trees and shrubs threw all their leaves to the ground. But the Fa-Nien-Ts’ing held his head up and smiled bravely, and he kept his leaves and they grew green and green. Then he said to himself, “The cool wind is good for me. The frost does me no harm. I feel better. This is my happy time, for the people like to have green in their houses now. To-day they came to the mountain and they found no other thing that was yet green but my leaves. [133]

“A young man was about to be married. He could find no flowers. So he took some of my leaves and branches to put in his house. The birds come to me for shelter from the cold wind and snow. They say the Fa-Nien-Ts’ing is a good home for them.

“The winter is cold, cold every day, but I grow greener and greener. The woodcutter comes and stands by my side and says that I keep the cold wind away from him. I know the Creator made me for good.”

---

Then Confucius awoke. He looked up, and he looked down, and he looked all about him. There was no living thing near except the Fa-Nien-Ts’ing and the Mön-Tien-Sing, and he said:

“It was a dream, but surely I heard the Mön-Tien-Sing trying to quarrel with the Fa-Nien-Ts’ing. I know that the things of the world have deep meaning, and this is my lesson: I would not be as the Mön-Tien-Sing, but I wish to be like the Fa-Nien-Ts’ing.”

He arose and laid his hand gently on the Fa-Nien-Ts’ing and said, “The time is long that you stand here, patient one. The cold heart of winter does not change your nature more than it does that of birds, beasts, men, or even your enemy, the Mön-Tien-Sing.

“The cold weather makes you better, for you grow [134]green as the springtime, and there is no other tree, bush, or flower which can do this. When the frost of winter comes, where are the flowers, where are the leaves, where are all the growing things of beauty? Where is the grass, where is the green of the field? They are gone. The first cold wintry wind of adversity takes them one by one, but you alone can withstand sorrow and grow even more beautiful.

“Your life is a lesson to me. I am serving the king and serving the people, but there are few who like me now. Three kings have tried to kill me, though my doctrine is to serve the world and help every one.

“But kings will not listen to my teaching, and my brothers try to drive me away, as the Mön-Tien-Sing wished to drive away the Fa-Nien-Ts’ing. For four days I went without food, and many were the enemies around and against me at that time when the king banished me. But I know that it is my duty to live and teach in the world, although it is winter for me and the cold winds of adversity blow and the hearts of my people seem hard and cold like rocks of ice. I hope I will be as the Fa-Nien-Ts’ing, and stand firmly on the mountain of righteousness forever, that I, Confucius, may do good to a wintry world.

“I would not be as the Mön-Tien-Sing. It is covered in the morning with the flowers of beauty which [135]it drops before the evening. It is beautiful, for an hour, but is frail beyond all of its kind. It bears no fruit and its flowers last but a day, while the Fa-Nien-Ts’ing is strong of heart and mind, though a world is against him.”

[136]