elf. By this method he is spared the trouble, and while
he theoretically knows nothing about it, the Imperial servants
take this delicate means of making the honour known, receiving a
substantial tip for their thoughtfulness.

But the I.G., whose modesty was entirely genuine instead of
counterfeit, was shocked at seeing himself lauded in three-inch black
characters on a flaring red ground, and driven in desperation to
explain that while his gratitude was unbounded, he did not want
an admiring crowd collected on his threshold. So, much to the
disappointment of his servants, who in China feel that their master's
glory reflects upon themselves, the announcement was taken down.

Whoever says "No man can be a hero to his own valet" is wrong, for
the I.G. was undoubtedly a hero to his whole household--modesty
notwithstanding. Most of his servants remained with him for thirty
years, and at the end one and all gave him an excellent "character."
"We have found you a very satisfactory master," said they--which
sounds strange to us, but is the Chinese way of doing things. No
wonder they said so. He had such a horror of asking too much from
those he employed that he was far too lenient with them. His ear
was too attentive to their stories, his purse too open to their
borrowings. When their relatives died--and in China each man has an
army of them, including duplicate mothers and grandmothers--boys,
cooks, coolies and bandsmen rushed to "borrow" from him. I cannot
remember hearing that one ever came to repay.

At last this fact struck even the I.G., long-suffering though he
was. "Why do you not ask me to give you this amount?" he mildly
expostulated to the next man who came pleading for the funeral
expenses of his brother's son's wife.

"Oh," replied the fellow, pained and grieved at his master's want
of understanding, "I couldn't do that. If I did I should lose
'face'"--that is, prestige and standing in the community. On such a
slender thread hangs self-respect in the Far East.

The old butler, a Cantonese with the manner of a courtier, was even
more privileged than the rest--and for the best of reasons. He
had been with his master for almost half a century. His memory was
wonderful, and sometimes on winter nights when he had helped to
serve the I.G.'s solitary and frugal dinner, he would presume on his
position, linger behind the other servants, and call up again to the
I.G.'s mind the night in 1863--just such a bitter night