Part 15 (2/2)

Ying-lo listened in wonder to Iron Staff's little poem, and when he had finished, the boy's face was glowing with the love of which the fairy had spoken. ”My poor, poor father and mother!” he cried; ”they knew nothing of these beautiful things you are telling me. They were brought up in poverty. As they were knocked about in childhood by those around them, so they learned to beat others who begged them for help. Is it strange that they did not have hearts full of pity for you when you looked like a beggar?”

”But what about you, my boy? You were not deaf when I asked you. Have you not been whipped and punished all your life? How then did you learn to look with love at those in tears?”

The child could not answer these questions, but only looked sorrowfully at Iron Staff. ”Oh, can you not, good fairy, will you not restore my parents and brothers, and give them another chance to be good and useful people?”

”Listen, Ying-lo; it is impossible--unless you do two things first,” he answered, stroking his beard gravely and leaning heavily upon his staff.

”What are they? What must I do to save my family? Anything you ask of me will not be too much to pay for your kindness.”

”First you must tell me of some good deed done by these people for whose lives you are asking. Name only one, for that will be enough; but it is against our rules to help those who have done nothing.”

Ying-lo was silent, and for a moment his face was clouded. ”Yes, I know,” he said finally, brightening. ”They burned incense once at the temple. That was certainly a deed of virtue.”

”But when was it, little one, that they did this?”

”When my big brother was sick, and they were praying for him to get well. The doctors could not save him with boiled turnip juice or with any other of the medicines they used, so my parents begged the G.o.ds.”

”Selfish, selfis.h.!.+” muttered Iron Staff. ”If their eldest son had not been dying they would have spent no money at the temple. They tried in this way to buy back his health, for they were expecting him to support them in their old age.”

Ying-lo's face fell. ”You are right,” he answered.

”Can you think of nothing else?”

”Yes, oh, yes, last year when the foreigner rode through our village and fell sick in front of our house, they took him in and cared for him.”

”How long?” asked the other sharply.

”Until he died the next week.”

”And what did they do with the mule he was riding, his bed, and the money in his bag? Did they try to restore them to his people?”

”No, they said they'd keep them to pay for the trouble.” Ying-lo's face turned scarlet.

”But try again, dear boy! Is there not one little deed of goodness that was not selfish? Think once more.”

For a long time Ying-lo did not reply. At length he spoke in a low voice; ”I think of one, but I fear it amounts to nothing.”

”No good, my child, is too small to be counted when the G.o.ds are weighing a man's heart.”

”Last spring the birds were eating in my father's garden. My mother wanted to buy poison from the shop to destroy them, but my father said no, that the little things must live, and he for one was not in favour of killing them.”

”At last, Ying-lo, you have named a real deed of mercy, and as he spared the tiny birds from poison, so shall his life and the lives of your mother and brothers be restored from the deadly plague.

”But remember there is one other thing that depends on you.”

Ying-lo's eyes glistened gratefully. ”Then if it rests with me, and I can do it, you have my promise. No sacrifice should be too great for a son to make for his loved ones even though his life itself is asked in payment.”

”Very well, Ying-lo. What I require is that you carry out to the letter my instructions. Now it is time for me to keep my promise to you.”

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