“There are no crocodiles in the picture. Why is it called a crocodile pagoda?” asked Chung.
“Listen, my Jes’mine flower,” replied the mother. She raised her voice, for she wished Choy, her Orchid Flower, also to hear the story.
“Once upon a time, there was a big family of crocodiles that lived in a Rippling River by a beach whose sands were of gold. The young crocodiles had a merry life of it, and their father and mother were very good and kind to them. But one day, the young crocodiles wanted to climb a hill back of the beach of golden sand, and the parents, knowing that their children would perish if allowed to have their way, told them: ‘Nay, nay.’
“The young crocodiles thereupon scooped a large hole in the sand and lay down therein. For half a moon they lived there, without food or drink, and when their parents cried to them to come out and sport as before in the Rippling River, they paid no attention whatever, so sadly sulky their mood.
“One day there came along a number of powerful beings, who, when they saw the golden sands of the Rippling River, exclaimed: ‘How gloriously illuminating is this beach! Let us build a pagoda thereon.’ They saw the hole which the young crocodiles had made, but they could not see the hole-makers at the bottom thereof. So they set to work and filled the hole, and on top thereof they built a great pagoda. That is the pagoda of the picture on the vase.”
“And did the children crocodiles never get out?” asked Chung in a sad little voice.
“No, daughter,” replied the mother. “After the pagoda was on top of them they began to feel very hungry and frightened. It was so dark. They cried to their father and mother to bring them food and find them a way to the light; but the parent crocodiles, upon seeing the pagoda arise, swam far away. They knew that they never more should see their children. And from that day till now, the young crocodiles have remained in darkness under the pagoda, shut off forever from the light of the sun and the Rippling River.”
“Please, honorable mother,” spake a weak little voice, “may I have some tea in my pretty, pink porcelain cup?”