THEN, EXTENDING HIS HANDS, ENTREATED.THEN, EXTENDING HIS HANDS, ENTREATED.
"No, Clarence, no," entreated Helen. "That might be the worst thing. I am sure he means no harm. Let us wait and see if he attempts to follow us away from here. Then we might inquire into his conduct."
"I feel sorry for him," said Dorothy. "I can't help it, though he may mean no good. He looked so pitiful when he was being dragged away to the magistrate. He was frightened too, but he didn't have the appearance of one who contemplated wrong-doing."
"I feel in that way myself," said Helen. "I——"
But ere she finished the sentence, they were attracted by the noise of a step behind them. Turning, they saw the one whom they were discussing. With a hasty movement he prostrated himself before them; then extending his hands, entreated: "O friends, hear the story of poor Choi-So!"
S
uch a pathetic story as it was for the most part! One that caused the young people to listen to it with the deepest interest.
Choi-So's mother had died when he was very young, too young to remember her. The woman who raised him had cruelly treated him. She had not only half-starved him, but she had often severely beaten him. Choi-So had not said it in so many words, but he gave his young hearers the impression that this treatment had so dazed him that his head was not altogether right. Sometimes he was like one in a mist, as he expressed it.
His father was a very religious man. He was a dreamer too, a bad combination, since when one is constantly wandering away in thought, many of the plainest duties that are allied to a religious profession are apt to be neglected. He was a worker in straw. He made shoes and ropes and mats, the latter beautifully woven. He received a fair price for his work, and there was no reason why his child should have been starved except that the money that ought to have gone to his nourishment was appropriated to her own use by an unscrupulous woman while the father wove his mats and dreamed.
Mr. Ang-su, Choi-So's father, had spent many years of his life in Japan. There he had married Choi-So's mother. There too, he had acquired his deep religious convictions. He was a devout Buddhist. As he sat and dreamed his young son entered into many of these dreams, was, in truth, the chief figure therein. Far better would it have been could he have occupied even for half the length of time his father's practical thought. Thus it came about that at eighteen Choi-So was sent to one of the Buddhist monasteries in the mountains, there to be prepared for the priesthood. Five years were spent in the dreary, monotonous routine that made up his life there. So many times during each period of twenty-four hours, from midnight till midnight again, he must hasten to the temple at sound of drum or bell, there to prostrate himself on the stone floor before the bow-kneed, brass-faced god, repeating, "Namu Amit abul!Namu Amit abul!" (I put my trust in Buddha! I put my trust in Buddha!) One hundred and eight times he did this without stopping, to an accompaniment of bells, sometimes sounding soft and silvery, or again ringing out with harsh, loud clangor.
He was also taught to take no life, not even that of a mosquito. If one troubled him more than he could endure, the venerable abbot instructed him that he was simply to get up and "shoo" it gently out of the room. His fare was hard and unsatisfying, consisting all the year round of rice and pressed seaweed, for no one who lived to the glory of Buddha must touch meat. Sad to say, this life was just the one that appealed to the melancholy boy. He had inherited much of his father's religious concentration and dreaminess of manner. Instead of having the desire to run away from this hard life, he daily applied himself the more earnestly to the task of learning to please Buddha, of so living that he might attainNirvana! That was his highest desire.
One day, just at the close of his five years, he came upon Mr. Kit-ze stranded upon the river bank, bruised and broken. He had had a desperate struggle for life in the rapids. Three ribs were broken and an arm badly injured. He had lost his cargo, and had very nearly lost his sampan; but, injured though he was, he had managed to cling to the latter and to get it safely to shore. However, it would need much in the way of repairs ere it could be used again. Choi-So, in deep pity for the wounded boatman, went for help, and had him assisted to the monastery. Mr. Kit-ze was conducted through the great arched gateway and into the reception hall. There the venerable abbot had come to him, and uttered the words of welcome, "Peace be unto you," and had then bidden that he be led away and his wounds treated.
For two weeks Mr. Kit-ze had remained at the monastery. He had ingratiated himself into the favor of the priests. Especially had he won the trust and goodwill of Choi-So. The young man was his devoted attendant. The boatman was given many privileges. He was even permitted to look through a small sliding panel upon the priests at their devotions. This room, to which the monks were called so many times each day to their prayers, began to hold a deep fascination for Mr. Kit-ze. Its rich carvings, its many images, above all, the great bronze statue of the Buddha with the various smaller ones grouped about it, so chained his attention that for moments at a time he would continue to gaze as though spellbound.
Choi-So had explained to him the mission of these smaller images. They were to teach man the various stages through which he was to pass ere Nirvana could be attained. Thus they were helps in the progress of life. Any one of them could bring to mind what man hoped, what he inherited through the strength and the faithfulness of Buddha. Much of this was unintelligible to Mr. Kit-ze. He knew nothing of Buddha, nor cared to know. But the images represented something that did appeal to him. This much he understood, or at least thought he understood. Any one of them brought good fortune to its possessor. That is the way he had read Choi-So's explanation.
Mr. Kit-ze's mind was ripe for a suggestion of this kind. Among the losses he had sustained through the catastrophe in the rapids was one he felt more keenly than the others. Deeply superstitious, as is the greater part of his race, Mr. Kit-ze believed devoutly in the efficacy of certain charms. A grotesque figure he had carried on his person for years had again and again helped him to elude the demons that waited for him in the rapids. But for this his sampan would never have had the many safe journeys through the dangerous parts of the river, and but for the loss of this image during the earlier part of his late struggle in the rapids, calamity would never have befallen. He must replace this charm, this wonderful image of protection and helpfulness. What better could be found than what was here represented in this chamber, sacred to the great god before whom the priests prostrated themselves, and of whose power they made such astonishing recitals? Had he not been informed of the marvelous things that could be accomplished through the possession of even one of the images, of the part each bore in the fortune of man? He could not enter the chamber himself. He must work through Choi-So.
HE WAS PERMITTED TO LOOK ... UPON THE PRIESTS AT THEIR DEVOTIONS.HE WAS PERMITTED TO LOOK ... UPON THE PRIESTS AT THEIR DEVOTIONS.
Poor Choi-So was in a sore state of mind at that time. Again and again he had felt, as he had described himself, like one walking in a mist. His father had recently died. For weeks now he had remained unburied, a custom very prevalent in Korea until such a funeral as the mourners desire can be given. His savings had been squandered by the wife who had so ill-treated Choi-So. There was nothing with which to lay the corpse away as the dutiful son felt would be fitting. So he waited and waited, praying and hoping and longing for the means to do honor to his father, or else become a wretched, miserable son, despised of all who knew him. It was then that Mr. Kit-ze tempted him, repeating the temptation until poor Choi-So had finally yielded. The image was stolen, but, to Mr. Kit-ze's shame, only a part of the price agreed upon had been paid. When Choi-So had followed him, beseeching the remainder, it was but to be cast off roughly. Another time he was threatened with the magistrate, and with exposure. This last threat drove Choi-So back to the monastery. But the theft had been discovered and traced to him. A companion priest informed him in time for Choi-So to make his escape ere the terrible punishment in store overtook him.
Since then he had been a wanderer. He knew that his brother priests had sent one of their number in pursuit of him. His one object now was to recover the image, return it, and suffer the consequences. He could never be happy again until he had done it. He could never attainNirvanauntil reparation had been made and the image placed once more in the mystic circle about the Buddha. For three years now he had wandered in search of Mr. Kit-ze, but as the boatman had moved away from his old quarters at Seoul, poor Choi-So, for all his search, had never laid eyes upon him until that day on the river bank at Han-Kang.
This story had been told in a broken way, and as Choi-So had but a small knowledge of English and his youthful listeners far from a full one of Korean, it was only by putting it together piece by piece, one supplying a link here and another one there, that they finally understood him.
"Oh, friends," he entreated, holding out his hands pathetically to his hearers, at the conclusion of his story, "pity the sorrows of poor Choi-So. Help him to recover that which is the only thing that can bring peace to him again!"
"The redmiriok!" exclaimed Clarence, and looked at Helen significantly.
"Yes," said Helen, "the redmiriok. I had already felt that it had something to do with this poor man's following us."
Then she told them of her impressions on the river bank as she had first noted Choi-So and the manner in which his gaze had been riveted upon Mr. Kit-ze and the redmiriok. "Poor thing," she continued, her eyes fixed pityingly upon Choi-So, "it is all very serious to him, and we can see how he has suffered through it."
"But how can we help him?" asked Dorothy. Her sympathies too were deeply aroused. "Mr. Kit-ze will never give up the image, I fear," she continued.
"We might make him do it," said Clarence quickly, "or pay him to do it."
"No," said Helen emphatically; "we cannot. Neither will do."
"What then?" asked Clarence.
"We might win him to the better way," said Helen softly. "We might coax him to give up this wretched little image for the sweeter things we could help him to attain."
"What! Mr. Kit-ze?" cried Clarence incredulously. "Never! He is too hardened."
"Clarence, how wrong to say that! Has not God's love shown its power to reach even those more hardened than Mr. Kit-ze?"
"But what can we do for this poor fellow here?" repeated Dorothy.
Helen turned her eyes upon Choi-So. As she noted the lean and pallid face, the deep-set eyes in which the light of fanaticism burned steadily, courage, hope, both left her. "Oh, I am sure I don't know!" she cried in despair.
Just at that moment Mallard was seen hastening down the path toward them. From the manner in which he came they felt sure he was the bearer of a message of some kind. "I have bad news," he said as he approached.
"Oh, what is it?" cried Helen, thinking instantly of her father.
"Do not be alarmed, cousin," he hastened to assure her. "It is nothing so dreadful. There has been an accident. Mr. Chefoo slipped at a steep place on the river bank, fell, and has broken his arm."
Y
es, Mr. Chefoo had broken his arm. It was too bad! for aside from the pain and discomfort that it gave him, how were they to get on with the sampan without him? It is true, it was not a very severe fracture, only one of the smaller bones having been broken; but it would be at least two weeks ere he could use it again. In the meantime, what was to be done? Mr. Kit-ze could not manage the sampan alone. Some one must help him pole as well as keep the boat within the proper channel. It would be a very one-sided and unsatisfactory progress if the sampan were propelled from only one end.
Mr. Ko thought of a half-dozen men who were at hand, but none were reliable. It would be better without them than with them, especially as there were rapids to be passed. Mr. Ko was very much disturbed over the accident to Mr. Chefoo, because of its having occurred at his place. He was sure a demon had caused it. It was the demon in the well, he finally decided, since Mr. Chefoo had been at the well ere proceeding down the path where the accident occurred. The demon must be appeased, he declared, and forthwith proceeded to throw rice into the well. Now Mr. Chefoo's arm would rapidly mend, he asserted.
Monday morning had come, and still there seemed no prospect of resuming the journey to Yo Ju.
"We must get on," said Mr. Reid, "our time is limited. We must make some arrangement for an assistant for Mr. Kit-ze."
Mr. Chefoo had now a high fever and was unable to sit up. It had been decided to leave him with Mr. Ko until their return, which would be in about three days, as they were not going much beyond Yo Ju.
In the midst of their perplexity Mr. Ko came to them with a beaming face. He knew the very thing! Why had he not thought of it before? They could take Mr. Choi-So. Now that his honorable guests were about to depart, he, Mr. Ko, would not need his cook. Mr. Choi-So himself was anxious to go along with them. He had approached Mr. Ko on the subject. He was an excellent poleman, quick and careful. He had several times assisted in carrying sampans up and down the river, twice for Mr. Ko himself. Besides, he bore an excellent character. Mr. Ko knew him. He had known his father too.
"I see no reason why we shouldn't take him," said Mr. Reid.
HE FORTHWITH ... PROCEEDED TO THROW RICE INTO THE WELL.HE FORTHWITH ... PROCEEDED TO THROW RICE INTO THE WELL.
But Mr. Wilburn opposed this. He had not liked the man's concealment of himself in the sampan, neither had he been favorably impressed by his appearance on that occasion. His sullen, hang-dog look had betokened anything but innocence. He could have been after no good. Mr. Wilburn's suspicions had been strengthened by the presence of Choi-So at Mr. Ko's.
Neither Mr. Reid nor Mr. Wilburn had learned the story of the redmiriok, or image of Buddha, as it ought more properly to be designated. The young people, after consulting among themselves, had decided to tell no one, at least not until they could agree on some plan. Mr. Choi-So had given them his confidence. He evidently trusted them and believed that they could help him. If he wanted the others to know too, then he would tell them. He showed plainly that he feared Mr. Wilburn and was not at ease with Mr. Reid. Helen and Clarence both felt that they wanted their father to know, but they respected Mr. Choi-So's feelings. Perhaps he would himself tell the missionary.
Things were in this unsatisfactory state when Mr. Choi-So's offer to attend them as poleman was made known. The young people were pleased. It was the very thing, they thought. It would give them more time to decide upon some action, for the desire was now keen with each one to secure themiriokfrom Mr. Kit-ze and return it to Mr. Choi-So.
"The poor fellow will go demented if we do not," declared Clarence. "He is half crazy on the subject, anyhow. We can at least try to give him peace of mind."
"I wish we could give him something else," added Helen wistfully.
"But we can't," asserted Clarence; "at least not now. His mind is too upset about themiriok. Besides, Mr. Kit-ze has really treated him dishonestly. He ought to be made to give the image back to him. The poor fellow has pinched and saved until he has the amount Mr. Kit-ze paid, so he told us."
"Oh," said Helen, "if only I could talk to this poor Choi-So so that it would go to his mind and then to his heart, how happy I should be! If only I could show him that this image for which he is willing to sacrifice life itself is only a wretched little piece of metal!"
"But he ought to carry it back," said Clarence.
"And run the chance of being thrown into a dungeon, fed on bread and water, and kept there perhaps for years without ever hearing of a single one of the sweet and precious things Jesus wants to do for him? Oh, it is dreadful! He had better lose themiriok."
"And lose his mind with it? No, my sister, believe me that is not the right way for poor Choi-So. Let us get themiriokfor him—that is, if we can—and perhaps afterward we may induce him to return it by messenger and listen to us."
Mr. Wilburn was finally induced, through Mr. Reid's clear and forceful way of presenting the matter to him, to withdraw his opposition to Choi-So's accompanying them as poleman; but not so Mr. Kit-ze. He had been the last one to discover Choi-So's presence at Mr. Ko's, and this had been only a short time before the stowaway's offer to take Mr. Chefoo's place. The old boatman made quick and stormy objections. He would not, he declared, permit such an idiot to handle a pole of his sampan, for he was one who had no sense for moving his hands two ways at once. If ever he had had any sense it was under his arm, for it certainly had never been put into his head for the lack of room there.
But after a time Mr. Kit-ze grew cooler and seemed, to some extent, to be ashamed of his outburst, especially as Helen had now drawn near to him and taking his hand, was gazing at him reproachfully.
"Don't say that, Mr. Kit-ze," she said. "You don't really know that he can't help you with the sampan, do you?" regarding him steadily. "Only try him, won't you? Think what it means to us to be delayed here. Oh, we must go on, and you must help us, Mr. Kit-ze, by your consent. Perhaps it will only be to Yo Ju, as we may find another poleman there to suit us."
Thus Helen pleaded, and little by little Mr. Kit-ze's heart relented, his opposition relaxed, till he at length agreed to Choi-So's accompanying them as far as Yo Ju. But the stipulations were that he was not to move from his end of the sampan, and at night he was to leave them.
"Mr. Kit-ze is afraid of him," commented Mr. Wilburn. "He can read the rascal in him as plainly as I can."
"I hope it will be proved ere we part from our poleman, that both you and Mr. Kit-ze are mistaken," said Mr. Reid earnestly. "I can't believe that there is anything vicious in the man. He hasn't at all that appearance to me. To my eye it is more an anxiety to get up the river than anything else I can detect."
Mr. Ko was pleased that they had finally decided to take Mr. Choi-So. "You won't regret it," he asserted. "He'll take you over the rapids better than any one I know; and," he concluded, looking at Mr. Reid a little peculiarly, "it's my opinion you won't dismiss him at Yo Ju. At any rate, I'll have you a good poleman by the time you come back."
By ten o'clock they were ready to be off, having bidden good-bye to poor Mr. Chefoo after having spoken all the consoling words to him they could.
In honor of their departure, Mr. Ko had donned a spotless suit of white. He had also sought to enhance his appearance by adding an immense pair of spectacles, which he had purchased at considerable outlay, from an old scholar. It mattered not that one lens was entirely lacking and the other was so badly cracked that it was a question as to whether Mr. Ko could use the vision of that eye with any satisfactory effect. All the same, he stood upon the bank waving his fan majestically, his little black eye gleaming from out the great round space where the lens ought to have been, and all the time shouting out to them in Korean, "Come back again to-morrow!" That meant, "Return as soon as you can."
Mr. Choi-So soon proved his right to all the good things Mr. Ko had spoken of him. He was an excellent poleman, both alert and careful. He helped engineer the boat safely through the rapids in a manner that called forth grunts of approval from even Mr. Kit-ze.
About four o'clock in the afternoon they came in sight of Yo Ju. Besides being a city of considerable size, it was noted as the birthplace of the queen, and the king had caused two or three public structures to be erected in her honor.
There were many sampans, junks, and other rude craft at anchor in front of the city, and they had much difficulty in making their way through them. But at length they reached the shore safely. They had not more than tied up when an immense crowd began to gather about the sampan, even wading out into the water. The crowd was not only curious, but annoying. They handled the clothes and hair of our friends, and even tried to run their hands over their faces. But to this not only protest but resistance was offered.
Soon after reaching the bank, Mallard had climbed out on an end of the sampan and steadied his camera for a snap of the city. He thought it a splendid opportunity, as the sun was falling full upon the great gateway and the queer looking buildings grouped near to it. He at once attracted the attention of the crowd. Great curiosity was aroused as to his intention, and soon men, women, and children were rushing toward him. They clambered up the side of the sampan. They pressed about him until there wasn't space to hold another foot. They poked fingers into eyes and ears and nose; they shouted in glee as they caught the flash of the lens in the instrument, and tried to pull it out. In consternation Mallard endeavored first to protect himself, then his camera, and was finally pushed into the water, saving the latter from both a smashing and a wetting by the narrowest margin.
The same curiosity followed them as they went up into a gate tower for a view of the city. The crowd pressed about them so they could barely enter. Even after they began to ascend the stairs the curious throng crowded about them so that the entire space was filled. When they attempted to come down again, to their consternation they found they could not. They had finally to make their way back from the outside, a rough and somewhat dangerous undertaking. Fortunately neither was Joyce nor were the two girls with them.
"This will never do," said Mr. Reid. "We must get away from this terribly curious crowd, for the annoyance they give us will become more than a burden after a while. Mr. Kit-ze, is there no place, not so far away, where we can tie up without the prospect of having such curiosity as this to endure?"
"Yes, honorable teacher, not so far away is the temple of the great Dragon. There are overhanging trees, a quiet river bed, and not many people who will come to gaze."
"Then let us go there by all means. To-morrow morning we'll find our chance to enter the city."
They made their way out through the forest of river craft and up the stream again. The great temple stood directly on the banks of the Han, some little distance from the city. It was a beautiful spot, picturesquely so, for in addition to the brick and stone pagodas that gleamed through the trees, there was a number of small islands clustered about, covered with low-growing verdure and spangled with the blossoms of the pink and white azalea.
The temple in itself had much with which they could occupy their time. Among other things was a quaint bell, in a perfect network of dragons, said to be more than five hundred years old. But as the sun was near to its setting as they came to anchor in a quiet spot along the banks, they decided to do no exploring for that afternoon.
Mr. Kit-ze had spoken truly, "there were not many who came to gaze." Though it was a kind of outlying village and had several hundred inhabitants, yet only a few of them appeared on the arrival of the sampan. Most seemed closely occupied with their pursuits. However, a little group of women and children pressed near to the sampan, but no one proved offensive except a mutang (sorceress), who, in the end, gave them considerable trouble. She contended that she must be given twoyenso as to decide for them whether or not the Dragon would be pleased at their stay in the front of the temple. She finally fell to oneyen, then to six hundred "cash," but still our travelers paid no attention to her.
She had an evil eye, Dorothy asserted, and further declared that she knew she could not sleep that night for thinking of her.
Mr. Kit-ze showed even more impatience with her than the others. They didn't need her divinations, he told her, for they had that with them that could overcome any evil from the dragon. Then he injudiciously gave her a view of the redmiriok. How her keen little black eyes glowed as she caught sight of it! and the sudden look she cast upon Mr. Kit-ze made Helen, who was closely watching the scene, feel uneasy despite herself.
Helen had been earnestly regarding Mr. Kit-ze through a large part of that afternoon. There was that in his manner that at times disturbed her, but again it seemed as though hope were creeping into her heart. He had been absent-minded and dejected for much of the way, but now and then he had aroused himself. At such times he had turned with keen glances in the direction of Choi-So, studying every lineament of the young man's face, it seemed to Helen. Always these searching looks were bestowed upon Choi-So when he was not in turn regarding Mr. Kit-ze. Helen was sure that better feelings were stirring at the heart of Mr. Kit-ze on these occasions, for she could see how his eyes softened and his lips moved nervously as he continued to gaze.
According to agreement Choi-So had been dismissed as night approached; but Helen, who had been very observant, was sure he was not far away. Indeed, while walking on the bank for exercise, she had caught sight of his face from a small clump of bushes only a few steps from where she was. She decided at once that she would not call attention to him. Her heart was tender for him. She did not believe that he would do harm. Soon silence settled down around the sampan, for its inmates had retired to rest. Several hours of the night passed away. All were supposed to be asleep except Mr. Kit-ze, whose watch it was. But, after a while, Mr. Kit-ze too yielded to slumber.
Suddenly Helen awoke. It was with a strange, restless feeling. It seemed to her that there had been an uneasy consciousness even in the midst of her slumber. She tried to go sleep again, but could not.
"I think the air in here must be a little too close," Helen thought after a few moments. She raised herself and leaned toward the heavy curtain of straw. Then she rolled it partly upward, secured it to the fastenings, and looked out. She was sleeping at the side of the sampan next to the shore. All was quiet. She could see no one. Then she let her eyes glance toward the bow of the boat. Mr. Kit-ze was huddled down in his little boxlike apartment sound asleep.
"Oh," said Helen, "this will never do! I must call my father to awaken him."
But even as she started to move toward her father's apartment, she stopped again, almost transfixed. A hand had cautiously made its way up the side of the sampan, and was now directing itself toward Mr. Kit-ze's breast.
T
he hand moved nearer and nearer Mr. Kit-ze's breast; a moment more and it had buried itself in the folds of his robe. Even as Helen continued to gaze like one transfixed, ere yet she had the power to recover herself, a face appeared above the hand. But it was not the face she had expected to see—that of Mr. Choi-So. Instead, the moonlight showed her clearly the repulsive countenance of the oldmutang.
There are moments when sudden excitement leads us into a line of action our cooler moments would by no means approve, when quick emotions bring impulses that are followed without a pause for reasoning. Such a time had now come to Helen. Mr. Kit-ze was being robbed. She could see that plainly. The thief was the oldmutang, and the object of her theft, it almost instantly flashed into Helen's mind, was the redmiriok. In truth, even as the intuition came to her, she saw the hideous little image in the woman's hand.
All Helen's energies were now bent toward a frustration of the old woman's design of carrying away themiriok. She, Helen, must recover it ere themutanggot off with it. For if themiriokdisappeared, how could she ever carry out her good intentions for either Mr. Kit-ze or Choi-So? All would be frustrated. For would not Mr. Kit-ze be violently angry? and would he not at once charge the theft to Choi-So? And what might not happen? As to poor Choi-So, he would surely grow demented when he found that the image had gone beyond his reach—oh, she felt that he would!
In her sudden excitement, Helen never stopped for reasoning. Hence it did not occur to her that her testimony would exonerate Choi-So with Mr. Kit-ze, nor that, so far as the part relating to Choi-So was concerned the oldmutangmight be located and the stolen image recovered.
All that Helen then thought of was the recovery of themiriok. She must get it and at once. Even now the woman was slipping away with it. If she waited to arouse the others the old woman would be gone, for at the first sounds of alarm, she would speed away like a hunted animal up the bank. Helen knew the magic influence of money, especially of shiningyen. Had not the old woman shown her greed for them during the afternoon? If themiriokcould be recovered, it would surely be through the agency of theyen.
Both girls had lain down in the loose wrappers they wore for comfort during a part of the day. In the pocket of hers Helen had her purse. Besides a few smaller silver pieces there were in it threeyen.
She leaned quickly over Dorothy; she placed her arm under her neck and gently shook her, all the while whispering: "Get up quickly, dear, and come with me. Don't speak out, don't question; only come and be quick! quick!"
Fortunately, Dorothy was not hard to arouse when once she had been touched. Like some even heavy sleepers whom a vigorous call cannot awaken, the touch was like magic. In a second or so she was fully awake, and gazing at Helen in deep wonder but alert.
"It is the redmiriok!" said Helen to Dorothy again in a whisper. "The oldmutanghas come and stolen it from Mr. Kit-ze. He does not know it, and there is no time to arouse him and the others. We must recover it. If we are quick we can overtake her before she gets away. Then this will accomplish the rest," she added, confidently holding up the purse.
Themutanghad now sprung down from the side of the sampan into which she had crept, and was moving rapidly up the slight incline when Helen and Dorothy in turn reached the bank. She saw them almost instantly and, with a muffled cry, very much like the growl of an animal, increased her speed.
"Stop!" said Helen in low tones, and as persuasively as she could. "Stop! We only want to talk to you. We mean no harm."
But the old woman either did not understand them or she would not stop. It was evidently the latter, for as much as she could, she quickened her pace. But swift as she was, Helen and Dorothy were even swifter. They were only a pace or two behind her as the top of the bank was reached.
It was not far from daylight. The signs of the approaching dawn had already begun to appear along the eastern sky. At the brow of the bluff and stretching away from the temple, was the village of rude mud huts, with now and then a more pretentious one showing in their midst. There was one principal street which ran along between the rows of huts. Themutangmade for this with Helen and Dorothy close behind her.
"Stop!" entreated Helen again, and louder than before. "Oh, do stop! We mean no harm. We only want to talk to you." But the more earnestly she entreated, the more determined the old woman seemed to be to resist her, to escape from her.
Helen had now drawn near enough to lay hold of the old woman's clothing, but her grasp was violently shaken off, as themutangsprang away again with renewed energy.
The two girls, intensely excited, stuck to the chase. All their thoughts were concentrated upon it; their one desire to overtake the old woman and to induce her, by offeringyenin exchange, to return themiriok. Absorbed in these thoughts, this desire, they lost sight of all else, especially of how every moment that they were getting nearer and nearer to the woman they were going farther and farther away from the sampan.
'STOP!' ENTREATED HELEN!'STOP!' ENTREATED HELEN!
"Oh," said Helen breathlessly, "we must overtake her! We must get her to give us themiriok. We can't let her escape with it in this manner, for what then could we do about poor Choi-So and Mr. Kit-ze?"
"Yes," replied Dorothy, "we must get it back. I am like you, Helen, I can't bear to see the old woman get off with it. Oh, every time I think of that poor man Choi-So and his melancholy, pleading eyes, I feel that we must keep on, that we must overtake her and secure the image by some means!"
"Why," said Helen suddenly, "I have forgotten to tell her about theyenI have for her." Then she began to call, holding up her purse: "See! I haveyenfor you. Stop and let me tell you about it."
At last she had used the magic words. At sound of them, twice repeated, themutangslackened her pace. Then she turned her head. Encouraged by these signs, Helen renewed her efforts.
They were now some distance into the village, and a half-mile or more from the sampan. The red glow of the coming morning had fully dyed the east. Already there were signs of stirring life in the huts about them. Then too, the noise of running feet and of Helen's loudly spoken words had attracted attention. One by one forms began to appear on the street. Soon there was quite a group in the neighborhood of the pursued and pursuers. By the time Helen had succeeded in gaining the oldmutang'sinterest, there were many curious spectators surrounding them.
"What is all this commotion about?" asked one man as he approached. Then as he noted themutanghe stopped respectfully. The old woman had now paused in her running, and had turned toward Helen. "What were the words? Say them again."
Helen repeated them.
"Why are you running after me in this way? Why do you offer meyen?" she now asked angrily.
Helen told her as simply and as plainly as she could.
At this the old woman's eyes blazed more than ever. But she seemed to take a second thought, and asked cautiously, "How manyyen?"
"Two," replied Helen, closely watching her face.
The old woman shook her head vigorously, then began to stamp. "Too little! too little!" she said. "Your head is under your arm to think I'd be such an idiot!"
Then she set off again.
"Three!" called Helen desperately, for she knew this was the limit of her resources so far asyenwere concerned.
"No! no!" shouted the old woman. "Too little! too little! Five or none."
As the last sentence was uttered, she turned to see its effect on Helen, but as there was not the response she expected, she renewed her efforts to get beyond their reach.
"Oh, if I only had my purse too!" said Dorothy. "But I gave it to my brother yesterday just before we left Mr. Ko's."
In her despair Helen called after the old woman again and again to stop, to turn back with them to the sampan, promising her theyenshe desired if only she would do so, and further assuring her that no harm should come to her, for Helen knew Mallard would gladly supply the amount ofyenshe lacked. She would tell him about themiriok. She had been intending to do it the first favorable opportunity.
There was now quite a hubbub in the street, for in addition to Helen's calls and Dorothy's added entreaties, there were the shrill cries of defiance of the oldmutangherself. People had come running from all directions, and their loudly voiced questions and exclamations added to the noise. Among others there came five runners, the court officers of a near-byyangban(gentleman), who was serving as magistrate.
When they saw the two girls they began to cry out something against the hated foreigners, and three of them at once took Helen and Dorothy into custody, while the other two hastened away to capture themutang. They were too hardened to mind the old sorceress and her wiles. Moreover, the court was no respecter of persons.
Helen and Dorothy were now much frightened and, for the first time, began to realize what they had done in setting off on this mad chase after the oldmutang.
Helen was the first to recover herself. "I guess," she said, "it won't be so dreadful. They won't dare hurt us. And soon our dear ones in the sampan will come to the rescue, for surely we can get them word. Anyhow, it won't be long ere they miss us, and they'll search the town over till they find us."
A young man, whom Helen declared looked more honest than any of the others, was soon engaged, in consideration of the offer of two of Helen's smaller silver pieces, to carry the news of their predicament to the sampan. But alas for Helen's confidence! After securing the silver he had taken only about a dozen steps toward the river when, overcome by curiosity to see the thing out, he turned back.
Themutanghad now been captured, but not until she had made such vigorous resistance that not only the clothing of the runners had been torn, but their faces also scratched.
In close company with the oldmutang, and with the runners encircling them so that there could be no chance of escape, and a leering, hooting mob following them, the two girls were conducted along the street to the house of theyangban.
"Oh, Dorothy," said Helen, "this is dreadful!" and, in her pain and mortification, she sought to conceal as much of her face as she could with her hands.
"Yes," said Dorothy, on the verge of tears. "Oh, Helen, it would have been better, many times, to have let themiriokgo."
"No," said Helen, "no!"
It was now sunrise, but far too early for the magistrate. They were informed that they must wait an hour or more.
Dorothy and Helen were finally permitted to enter the women's apartments. They afterward learned that it was through the overwhelming curiosity of theyangban'schief wife. At the entrance they were laid hold of by the serving-women and fairly dragged into the apartment. There they had a trying experience which lasted nearly an hour. To them it seemed five times that length. Their clothing, their faces, and their hair in turn were inspected, and by each wife. They were bidden to take off their shoes, their wrappers, and other wearing apparel, and each wife in turn must try on each article. But the bulk of the curiosity was directed toward Helen's hair. It seemed that the women would never tire of handling it. They even wanted to cut it off, and but for Helen's heroic efforts, aided by Dorothy's quick ingenuity, would have succeeded.
At length they were summoned before theyangban, the wives, unable to restrain their curiosity, following them to the room, where they sat behind a screen.
Theyangban, who was quite a young man, was lounging on his platform and smoking an immense cigar. He was dressed in a pea-green silk robe confined by a red girdle, and on each hand was a very showy paste-diamond ring.
He had ordered the outer door to be thrown open, and had allowed as many of the curious crowd to enter as could be accommodated within a certain space. Near him stood his interpreter, for he had early been informed that two of the accused were foreigners. After smoking awhile in silence, he commanded the offenders to be brought before him for the usual form of questions. He began with Helen. As she stepped a little apart from the others, and nearer to the magistrate, in her earnestness to tell him her story, she happened to raise her eyes for a moment and let them rest upon the crowd gathered at her left. As she did so a little muffled cry escaped her. There, standing almost in the front line, and with his dark eyes fixed mournfully upon her, was Choi-So. How had he come there? Afterward she learned that he had not been far away from the sampan, and, sleeping very lightly because of the thoughts that disturbed him, had been attracted by the sound of running feet and by Helen's calls to the old woman. He had overtaken them just as they had been arrested and started to theyangban's. He had heard Helen try to tell one of the runners the cause of the trouble. He had gleaned just enough to set him on fire with interest and excitement. For an instant Choi-So's presence at the magistrate's court so disconcerted Helen that she could not remember the words she had been on the point of uttering. But soon more confidence returned, and she began bravely to tell her story.
The magistrate listened patiently, but he was evidently full of curiosity and deeply excited over the appearance of the two young girls. Though he had seen the white foreigners on the streets of Seoul, yet he had never before been brought in such contact with them. The fearless, earnest manner of both girls impressed him and had much to do with his decision.
Themutangshould return the image, he declared. He had not asked to see it yet, and so was in no wise impressed by it. Helen and Dorothy had proved to be of such tremendous interest that all minor objects had been for the time obscured.
Yes, themutangshould return the image, and theyenthat Helen had offered should go to himself.
This decision was barely rendered when there came a communication from his chief wife. He appeared to frown over it for a few moments, all the while smoking hard. Then he further announced, and in the most laconic manner, that Helen was to sacrifice her hair ere receiving the image.
A cry of dismay escaped Helen, while Dorothy, hot with indignation, began to pour out her protests, first to the magistrate, then to Helen.
"It can't be done! You can't think of such a thing! Don't!Don't!"
"Oh, yes," said Helen, who had now grown strangely quiet and calm. "It isn't such a dreadful sacrifice, dear. There are many far worse. I can endure it. My hair will grow out again. Oh, surely it is worth this when we remember what it means to get back themiriok!"
All the while she was speaking, though she was looking at Dorothy, yet Helen saw those mournful eyes that she knew were fixed upon her from the other side of the room.
"Take the scissors, Dorothy," she entreated. "I had forgotten until now that I had my folding ones here in the little case in my pocket. Oh, it will be so much better for you to do it, dear, for I couldn't bear any of those rude hands to touch me."
Dorothy took the scissors, but still making vigorous protest.
"Do, Dorothy,do, my dear," pleaded Helen.
With trembling hand Dorothy grasped the rich, shining braid. The scissors were raised; but ere the two gleaming blades could close on the glossy strand, a voice cried out authoritatively:
"Stop! Stop!"
Helen and Dorothy raised their eyes simultaneously. It was Mr. Kit-ze. He had pressed to the extreme limit of the line of spectators, and with his hat gone, his clothing in wild disorder, his eyes gleaming like two globes of fire, was gesticulating frantically to the magistrate.