uang's
wrath. To increase his indignation, another thing happened. He had
burnt incense at the stone in the middle of the fishing-village, in
order to find out what day would be most lucky to go fishing, and
had found that according to the stone the twenty-second day of the
month would be the most lucky day. He had therefore gone fishing on
the twenty-second, and he had come back sulky, having caught almost
nothing. Then Quang Po's niece had actually laughed at the ill-fortune
of her uncle, and had openly expressed her unbelief in the
village stone! Quang Po had been very angry for many days, but there
came a time when Quang Po's niece induced him to go with her to the
little mission school on the hill-side, and there Quang Po heard
that for which his soul thirsted. He saw the picture of the
Crucified. He understood the story, and he, like his niece, lost
faith in the village stone and in the incense-shelves. Quang Po
yielded his will and his life to Christ, and the Christian religion
seemed strange to him no longer.

So, when this Chinaman handed back the drawing to Jo, Quang Po
smiled and said the kindest thing he could think of, although the
drawing did not accord with his Chinese ideas of art.

"You draw like Melican," said Quang Po, winding his queue about his
head, and preparing to return to work.

Jo felt somewhat ashamed. He wished that he and the other boys had
not cut the sinkers off Quang Po's big net. Perhaps Quang Po did not
know that Jo had taken part in that mischief, but the thought of it
made Jo uncomfortable. So did the remembrance that he and the other
boys had slyly at night cut the line that held the flounders high in
air above the village street. The flounders now were safely
stretched aloft again, but the last time Jo remembered seeing them
they were lying in the dust. Jo was not an ill-natured lad, but he
had not objected to helping do the mischief. And now Quang Po had
spoken kindly of Jo's drawing! Jo winced a little. He was rather
proud of his ability as an artist, himself. He turned his attention,
to the flaming yellow pair of trousers worn by a small Chinese boy
among the numerous Chinese children in the street below. The
brilliant color made the little fellow most conspicuous as he
toddled here and there. In watching him, Jo tried to forget his own
self-reproach.

So far did he succeed in forgetting it that, that evening, when
Louis Rouse, one of the other boys whose parents were stay