pile of torn
clothing spattered with blood. The woodman's axe was lying by the side
of the path, also his carrying pole and some rope. There could be no
mistake: after making a brave fight, the poor youth had been carried off
by a tiger.

Gathering up the torn garments, the man went sadly down the hill. He
dreaded seeing the poor mother and telling her that her only boy was
indeed gone for ever. At the foot of the mountain he found her still
lying on the ground. When she looked up and saw what he was carrying,
with a cry of despair she fainted away. She did not need to be told what
had happened.

Friends bore her into the little house and gave her food, but they could
not comfort her. "Alas!" she cried, "of what use is it to live? He was
my only boy. Who will take care of me in my old age? Why have the gods
treated me in this cruel way?"

She wept, tore her hair, and beat her chest, until people said she had
gone mad. The longer she mourned, the more violent she became.

The next day, however, much to the surprise of her neighbours, she set
out for the city, making her way along slowly by means of her crutch. It
was a pitiful sight to see her, so old, so feeble, and so lonely. Every
one was sorry for her and pointed her out, saying, "See! the poor old
soul has no one to help her!"

In the city she asked her way to the public hall. When she found the
place she knelt at the front gate, calling out loudly and telling of her
ill-fortune. Just at this moment the mandarin, or city judge, walked
into the court room to try any cases which might be brought before him.
He heard the old woman weeping and wailing outside, and bade one of the
servants let her enter and tell him of her wrongs.

Now this was just what the Widow T'ang had come for. Calming herself,
she hobbled into the great hall of trial.

"What is the matter, old woman? Why do you raise such an uproar in front
of my yamen? Speak up quickly and tell me of your trouble."

"I am old and feeble," she began; "lame and almost blind. I have no
money and no way of earning money. I have not one relative now in all
the empire. I depended on my only son for a living. Every day he climbed
the mountain, for he was a woodcutter, and every evening he came back
home, bringing enough money for our food. But yesterday he went and did
not return. A mountain tiger carried him off and ate him, and now, alas!
there seems to be no help for it--I must die of hunger. My bleeding
he