ion. He wondered, though, for what merit of his the former
water-carrier happened to be re-born into so wealthy a family. So he
kept the matter in mind, and from time to time inquired as to the
child's well-being.

Seven more years went by, and the boy gradually grew up. He did not
show much taste for learning, but he loved to keep birds. Old Wang was
still strong and healthy. And though he was by this time more than
eighty years old, his love for his chrysanthemums had only increased
with age.

One day Ma once more rose early, and stood leaning against his window.
And he saw old Wang come out upon his terrace and begin to water his
chrysanthemums. Little Li sat in the upper story of his house flying
his pigeons. Suddenly some of the pigeons flew down on the railing of
the flower-garden. The boy was afraid they might fly off and called
them, but the pigeons did not move. The boy did not know what to do:
he picked up stones and threw them at the birds. By mistake one of
them struck old Wang. The old man started, slipped, and fell down over
the terrace. Time passed and he did not rise. He lay there with his
feet outstretched. The boy was very much frightened. Without uttering
a sound he softly closed his window and went away. The sun gradually
rose higher, and the old man's sons and grandsons all came out to look
for him. They found him and said: "He slipped and fell to his death!"
And they buried him as was the custom.

Note: This little tale, from the "Sin Tsi Hia," is a
literary masterpiece because of the exactness with which
the punishment follows upon the act, long after the
latter has been forgiven, and all chance of mishap
seemed to have passed.

LIII

THE GHOST WHO WAS FOILED

There are ghosts of many kinds, but the ghosts of those who have hung
themselves are the worst. Such ghosts are always coaxing other living
people to hang themselves from the beams of the roof. If they succeed
in persuading some one to hang himself, then the road to the Nether
World is open to them, and they can once more enter into the wheel of
transformation. The following story of such a ghost is told by persons
worthy of belief.

Once upon a time there lived a man in Tsing Tschoufu who had passed
his military examination, and had been ordered to Tsinanfu to report
for duty. It was at the season of rains. So it happened that evening
came on before he could reach the town-inn where he had expected to