Page:Frank Owen - The Wind That Tramps the World (1929).djvu/122



The house of Lao Tzu stood in the center of a verdant oasis in the vast mystery which is China. Each day he crouched beneath a great gingko tree before his house and gazed before him into purpling distances. The yellow sun streamed down upon his shiny bronzed head but he heeded it not. For years he had written graceful verse about love, and pearls and mountain-mist which had passed unnoticed. Now he wrote nothing. His brush had been cast aside and he was rated as a great philosopher.

Countless were the quaint tales recounted about the venerable Lao Tzu. It was said that wherever he walked a white cloud followed him. It hung far up in the sky. It moved along as he moved. When he went to the mountains, it followed. When he remained in his garden the cloud hung still above him. Many were the theories regarding this cloud. Some said it was a chest of silver laden down with earth-treasures for Lao Tzu, others that it foreboded evil, that it was a cloud constantly hanging over his life. To those versed in Oriental literature, it was quite easy to trace the source of the story to a poem by Li Tai-Po who lived and flourished under the T'ang Dynasty more than twelve