and ran
in, fearing that there was disaster. Soon the room was filled with
women, all talking at the same time. But the master of it roughly bade
them be silent:

"I do not allow any spying upon my private affairs."

The neighbors retired in discomfort, and the mother threw herself upon
her daughter's body, whose ends were already cold. She sobbed:

"You would not have died if I had come to you. O murderer, you have
let her die of set purpose. You did not want to give her the four or
five thousand ounces which her grandfather left her."

He went out, panting like a boar with anger. The mother did not cease
to lament her loss: her daughter had been so gentle and so clever. At
length the time came to shut down the coffin, and Chou angrily said to
his wife:

"You pretend that I let her die so as not to lose four thousand
ounces? I order you to put all her jewels in the tomb with her. That
is more than five thousand ounces, one would think."

They brought in the wu-tso, the Inspector of Corpses, and also his
assistant, to verify the death and to help in hearsing her. The keeper
of the family graveyard and his brother, the two Chang, were also
there to assist in the mournful work.

The time came for the funeral, and the procession went forth from the
town. The coffin was placed in a brick tomb, and the first shovels of
earth were thrown upon it. Then all returned home. Three feet of cold
insensitive earth covered the body of this young beauty, and it had
been full of love.

Now the Inspector of Corpses had a worthless fellow named Feng for his
assistant. This miserable boy, on coming back from the cemetery in
the evening, said to his mother: "An excellent day's work! Tomorrow we
shall be rich."

"And what successful stroke of business have you concluded?"

"Today we buried the daughter of Chou, and all her jewels were put
in the coffin with her. Instead of leaving them to enrich the earth,
would it not be better to take them?"

"Think before you do such a terrible thing!" his mother begged. "This
is no matter of a mere whipping. Your father wanted to do the same
thing twenty years ago. He opened a coffin, and the corpse began to
smile at him. Your father died of that in four or five days. My son,
do not do it. It is no easy matter."

"Mother," he answered simply, "my mind is made up. Do not waste your
breath on me, for that is useless."

He bent over his bed, and took out of it a heavy iron tool.

"O mothe