the monastery on the hillside to
consult with the old abbot, who is most full of wisdom. Thine
Honourable Mother told him of the illness which had assailed her son,
and begged him to tell her if it were the illness of the Pagoda. He
meditated long and seriously, then he said, "My daughter, the Gods
are no respecter of persons; they wish the service of your son."
"But," thine Honourable Mother objected, "he is no workman. He
cannot labour upon the Pagoda." The abbot said, "There are more
ways of giving service than the labour of the hands. The Gods will
allow him to contribute of his wealth and buy the toil of other men, and
thus he may cancel his obligation." The August One satisfied the
greedy heart of the priest, and then he told her to go and make her
beisance to the God of Light, the great Buddha, and see what
message he had for her.

She took the hollow bamboo filled with the numbered slices of wood
and, prostrating herself three times before the Great One, shook it
slowly until one detached itself from its brothers and fell to the floor.
The abbot then handed her a slip of paper which read:

"Wisdom sits by the Western Gate
And gives health and happiness to those who wait."

These words meant nothing to thine Honourable Mother; and after
giving the abbot more silver, he said, "Beside the Western Gate sits
the owl of wisdom, the great doctor Chow-fong. His father and his
father's father were wise; their study was mankind, and to him has
come all their stores of knowledge. He has books of wonderful age,
that tell him the secret of the world. Go to him; he will give you the
plan of healing."

We started for the Western Gate, and I, in my wicked heart, spoke
thoughts that should have been closely locked within my breast. I
said, "Perhaps the doctor and the priest have formed a combination
most profitable to the two. If we had gone to the doctor first, we might
have been sent to the abbot." It was a great mistake to mention such
a dreadful thing, and I realised it instantly; as thou knowest, the Elder
One has a tongue of eloquence, and I was indeed glad that her
bearers carried her at least ten paces from my bearers-- and the way
was long.

Even thine Honourable Mother was awed at the solemn looks of this
great man of medicine who, in his dim room with dried bats hanging
from the ceiling beams and a dragon's egg close by his hand, glared
at her through his great goggles like a wise old owl. She apologised
for