"This is an odd thing," he exclaimed aloud. "Who is it that laughed?"
Again there was the same amused noise. Thoroughly puzzled, he forgot his caution. Standing boldly upright, he commenced walking along the top of the high wall, swinging his bird-cage in his hand and studying the courtyard below him closely. His trim little figure stood out against the skyline in such a way that he could be seen at a great distance. So absorbed had he become that he entirely forgot his whereabouts. But suddenly he was aroused by a shout and a voice that he greatly feared.
It was the Buffalo—the steward—who had seen him. That he knew without turning round. For a moment he nearly gave way to an inclination to bolt. Then his inherent pride asserted itself, and without flinching he turned round.
"Little toad," called the steward angrily in his big raw voice as he waddled through the bushes towards him. "Who gave you permission to go up there? How many times have you been warned that if you break orders you would be dismissed?"
"I know," he confessed in apparent humility. "But my bird flew from its cage owing to my carelessness in leaving the door open. After chasing it everywhere it finally took refuge up here and the only way to catch it was to clamber after it. No harm has been done, however, and now my bird is safe."
He swung his cage in the air as if in proof of his assertion.
"Who cares whether your bird flew away or not!" retorted the steward angrily, puffing for breath. "Often have I told you that disobedience entails punishment. Hsia lai(come down) that I may beat you."
Now he flourished a piece of bamboo he had picked up, and stood immediately beneath the wall in a posture of exaggerated rage. To the boy the prospect suddenly became forbidding and his confidence began to desert him.
"It is not easy to come down," he said, temporizing and wondering how he should escape. "If I slip here I shall hurt myself in the fall and besides there is my bird to think of."
He scratched his head in his dilemma, hating to surrender. Of course he could run along the wall until he came to a place where he could drop to the ground far from the old man, and then his swiftness of foot would save him. But breaking-off this parley would mean that he had burnt his boats. No Chinese, young or old, ever closes the door on compromise. That is quite certain.