Page:Frank Owen - The Wind That Tramps the World (1929).djvu/125

 she bowed down before the wishes of her husband and master. With her acquiescence it was not long before Lao Tzu was ready to set out on his wanderings. His veins were on fire with excitement. He was about to go off in quest of romance not realizing that no romance he could find could surpass the romance he was leaving behind in his garden.

For days the grief of Shun Hua was inconsolable. She remained alone in the little house, counting the hours, longing for the day to come that would bring him back to her. The sunlight seemed less bright when Lao Tzu had gone. The flowers bloomed less gloriously. For the poetry of his voice was missing from the garden.

In an effort to forget her loneliness Shun Hua commenced work upon a lovely rug. She would weave a rug for her husband Lao Tzu and it would be ready for him when he returned. It would be pleasant to have so lovely a gift for him. Great would be his appreciation.

So day after day she sat before her loom weaving the silken rug, a rug made up of the most wondrous colors of the spectrum. And into the warp and the woof of her rug she wove all the great love which she had for Lao Tzu. From dawn till late into the night she toiled, day after day, seldom stopping to eat or sleep. It absorbed her entire life. Nothing else caught her attention. And it so happened that in the intensity of her weaving the real love which she had for Lao Tzu was