afraid, for he felt that somehow, in spite of all his
reading, in spite of all the advice he had received from well-wishers,
there was something lacking in the mixture of the boiling metals that
would soon be poured into the giant mould. In short, Kwan-yu was about
to discover an important truth that this great world has been thousands
of years in learning--namely, that mere reading and advice cannot
produce skill, that true skill can come only from years of experience
and practice. On the brink of despair, he sent a servant with money to
the temple, to pray to the gods for success in his venture. Truly,
despair and prayer rhyme in every language.

Ko-ai, his daughter, was also afraid when she saw the cloud on her
father's brow, for she it was, you remember, who had tried to prevent
him from undertaking the Emperor's commission. She also went to the
temple, in company with a faithful old servant, and prayed to heaven.

The great day dawned. The Emperor and his courtiers were assembled, the
former sitting on a platform built for the occasion. Three attendants
waved beautiful hand-painted fans about his imperial brow, for the room
was very warm, and a huge block of ice lay melting in a bowl of carved
brass, cooling the hot air before it should blow upon the head of the
Son of Heaven.

Kwan-yu's wife and daughter stood in a corner at the back of the room,
peering anxiously towards the cauldron of molten liquid, for well they
knew that Kwan-yu's future rank and power depended on the success of
this enterprise. Around the walls stood Kwan-yu's friends, and at the
windows groups of excited servants strained their necks, trying to catch
a glimpse of royalty, and for once afraid to chatter. Kwan-yu himself
was hurrying hither and thither, now giving a final order, now gazing
anxiously at the empty mould, and again glancing towards the throne to
see if his imperial master was showing signs of impatience.

At last all was ready; everyone was waiting breathlessly for the sign
from Yung-lo which should start the flowing of the metal. A slight bow
of the head, a lifting of the finger! The glowing liquid, hissing with
delight at being freed even for a moment from its prison, ran forward
faster and faster along the channel that led into the great earthen bed.

The bell-maker covered his eyes with his fan, afraid to look at the
swiftly-flowing stream. Were all his hopes to be suddenly dashed by the
failure of the metals to mix and