Wang the Ninth: The Story of a Chinese Boy

by B. L. Putnam Weale

At last it was so dark that he could no longer see and reluctantly he stopped. Sitting cross-legged he opened his bundle of Indian corn and with a sigh of relief commenced munching the golden grain. He ate half his store before his hunger was appeased; and then he drew out from his tunic two peaches that he had stolen from an orchard on the way. As for drink, an hour before he had taken the precaution to draw water from an irrigating-well in a cabbage patch and he had drunk so deeply that he was no longer troubled by thirst.

Now he sat in the night, feeling satisfied by his frugal repast, and listening to the sounds. Far in the distance village-dogs were barking monotonously after their wont, and he idly tried to calculate how distant they might be. Were they barking at some person or merely baying an evening salute? He could not guess and soon he listened to them no more.

Presently some birds on a tree near by attracted his attention and he turned. They were fluttering uneasily as if something were disturbing them. Without a sound he stole under the tree and listened like a trapper. His keen eyes and his animal knowledge presently told him what had taken place; and he gave a grunt of disdain. It was a very usual occurrence—a bat trying to invade a crows' preserve where there was rotting food stored. With a sudden screech the invader was even now flying away, beaten off by the fear of sharp bills and sharper claws.

Once again he seated himself on the grassy bank. He half-regretted now that he had not ventured into the village where the dogs were barking. It was, however, too late to move—he would have to pass the night where he was—all alone where the fire-devils might trouble him. There were sure to be fire-devils abroad; for although the nearest habitations were a mile away, the square of pine-trees, whose tops he could just make out against the horizon, meant a family burial-ground and the fire-devils would chase backwards and forwards between them and the village.

As he thought of that he hummed to himself quite loudly to keep the spirits off. He would not have minded the solitude so much if it had not been for them; he really detested the fire-devils. There was an old man he knew who was so bothered by them that he dare not walk abroad after dark. It is true that they belonged to a harmless breed and were very different from malignant spirits. They only bothered people by trying to open doors and windows at night so as to bring in fire. Perhaps they would not molest him in the open. Lying down flat on his back mechanically he thrashed around with a stout branch he had picked up to show that he was on the alert. But, presently being tired from his long exertions, the branch moved more and more slowly, and finally slipped to the ground where it lay forgotten. The child-man slept!

Later he awoke with a start. The waning moon had crept into the sky and was already creeping out of it again. With his empirical knowledge of lunar movements he knew that dawn was still far off: yet he sat up uneasily and took a cast at the eastern horizon, picking up the guiding stars like a sailor. Then he looked at the tops of the pine-trees. He could sleep in peace. There was no possibility of light for a long while. As he was in unknown country, it was quite useless starting in the dark; for he might blunder into danger at the first turn.

Now he yawned, and as he lay down he began calculating how far he had travelled. He added and subtracted in his head by a peculiar method until he finally produced a total which he was convinced was correct. He was at least sixty li—twenty miles—from the capital, which was one quarter of the journey, always supposing he must travel the whole distance. One quarter of the distance, that was good. Idly, as he sat up, he struck at a buzzing insect and sniffed the smell of dampness; but he was still tired and soon he sank back again on to the broad earth's hard bosom.

The next time when he awoke it was broad daylight. Full of consternation he jumped up. The sun was well over the horizon line, and hot beams were striking him on the face. Hastily he kicked on his shoes, picked up his bundle and his branch, and started off.

The village of barking dogs grew up on his left, and as he saw a long country-cart draw out of it he was sorely tempted to go into it and buy a cup of tea. But with admirable resolution he resisted the temptation, and trudged steadily on licking his parched lips. At all costs he must not be stopped here—when he had covered just one quarter of the way.

Presently providence willed that he should come to a little stream. He lay on his stomach and drank deep gulps of the refreshing water with thankfulness in his heart. Then, when his thirst was satisfied, he ducked his face in it two or three times, leaving it to dry in the warm air as he walked quickly on.