a jade-cutter's wheel, a
cobbler's rattle, or the clanging music of a forge. Yet everywhere the
slow movements, the faded, tranquil colors,--dull blue garments, dusky
red tiles, deep bronze-green foliage overhanging a vista of subdued
white and gray,--consorted with the spindling shadows and low-streaming
vesper light. Keepers of humble shops lounged in the open air with their
gossips, smoking bright pipes of the Yunnan white copper, nodding and
blinking gravely. Above them, no less courteous and placid, little
doorway shrines besought the Earth-God to lead the Giver of Wealth
within. Sometimes, where a narrow lane gaped opposite a door, small
stone lions sat grinning upon pillars, to scare away the Secret Arrow of
misfortune. But these rarely: the village seemed a happy place, favored
of the Influences. In the grateful coolness men came and went, buying,
joking, offering neighborly advice to chance-met people.

A plump woman, who carried two tiny silver fish in an immense flat
basket, grinned at Miss Drake, and pointed roguishly.

"See the two boats going by!" she called. "Her feet are bigger than my
Golden Lilies!" And laughing, she wriggled her own dusty toes, strong,
free, and perfect in modeling.

An old, withered barber looked up from shaving a blue forehead, under a
tree.

"Their women," he growled, "are shameless, and walk everywhere!"

But a stern man, bearing a palm-leaf fan and a lark in a cage, frowned
him down.

"She brought my son safe out of the Three Sicknesses," he declared.
"Mind your trade, Catcher of Lively Ones!" Then bending over the cage,
with solicitude, he began gently to fan the lark. As Heywood and the
girl paused beside him, he glanced up, and smiled gravely. "I give my
pet his airing," he said; and then, quickly but quietly, "When you reach
the town, do not pass through the West Quarter. It is full of
evil-minded persons. Their placards are posted."

A shrill trio of naked boys came racing and squabbling, to offer
grasshoppers for sale.

"We have seen no placards," replied Heywood.

"You will to-morrow," said the owner of the lark, calmly; and squatting,
became engrossed in poking a grasshopper between the brown, varnished
splints of the cage. "Maker of Music, here is your evening rice."

The two companions passed on, with Flounce timidly at heel.

"You see," Heywood broke out. "Warnings everywhere. Now please, won't
you listen to my advice? No telling when the next ship _will_