Lame as he was, Chueh Chun promptly left the cave and got into his boat. The good wife smiled and screamed, “Don’t row with such vigor.”
Soldiers ran to the bank of the stream and called, “Come back.” And louder they shouted, “Come back.” That was extremely foolish of them. They should have said, “Go on.”
Contrary to the last, Chueh Chun sat the wrong way in his boat and rowed for dear life.
PIES OF THE PRINCESS
Three plump mandarins hid behind a single tiny rose bush. The chancellor crawled under a chair. All courtiers fell upon their chins, and shivering, prayed that soft words might prevail.
For no slight reason did they shiver and hide and pray. King Yang Lang was angry. And he was an old-fashioned monarch, living in the long ago. Nowadays, any greasy kitchen lout may tweak a King’s beard, and go forth to boast of his bravery. But then-a-days, Kings were Kings, and their swords were ever sharp.
King Yang Lang was such a ruler—and more angry than is good to see. His face was purple, and his voice boomed like a battle drum. “Keeper of the Treasury, has all my gold been used to make weights for fishing lines?”