g Pak used to practise almost daily. He often, too, invited other
boys to enjoy the sport with him.

At regular times every year public contests in arrow-shooting were held,
and costly prizes were offered to the winners by the king. The prizes
were highly valued by those who secured them, and Yung Pak looked
forward with eager anticipation to the day when he should be old enough
and skilful enough to take part in these contests.

While Yung Pak was listening to the conversation between his father and
tutor on this evening, a knock was heard.

On opening the door there was seen standing at the entrance a man rather
poorly clad in the white garments worn by nearly all the people of
Korea. But upon his head, instead of the ordinary cone-shaped hat worn
by the men of the country, was a very peculiar structure. It was made of
straw and was about four feet in circumference. Its rim nearly concealed
the man's face, which was further hidden by a piece of coarse white
linen cloth stretched upon two sticks and made fast just below the eyes.

This method of concealing the face, together with the wearing of the
immense hat, was a symbol of mourning. Such a sight was not uncommon in
the streets of Seoul, and Yung Pak knew well its meaning.

With great courtesy and hospitality Ki Pak invited the stranger within
the house.

"I thank you for your kindness," said the visitor. "I am a stranger in
your city, a monk from a monastery in Kong-chiu. Your peculiar law not
allowing men upon the street after nightfall compels me to seek
shelter."

"To that you are entirely welcome, my friend," said Ki Pak, whose
hospitable nature would have granted the monk's request, even if
sympathy for sorrow and reverence for religion had not also been motives
for his action.

"Let me get the man something to eat," said Yung Pak as the monk seated
himself upon a mat.

"Certainly, my son; it is always proper to offer food to a guest who
takes refuge under our roof."

Quickly the boy sought his mother in the women's apartments, and very
soon returned with a steaming bowl of rice, which he placed before the
visitor.

This gift of rice was especially pleasing to the traveller, as no dish
is held in higher honour in Korea. It is the chief cereal, and the
inhabitants say it originated in Ha-ram, China, nearly five thousand
years ago. Yung Pak called it Syang-nong-si, which means Marvellous
Agriculture. He had learned from Wang Ken that it was first b