Page:Leaves from my Chinese Scrapbook - Balfour, 1887.djvu/201

 THE STORY. over the top of the wall. Then a hand was thrust rudely forward, and grasped a beautiful rose of peculiar delicacy. The old gentleman hemmed two or three times, and cast glances of indignation at the intruder; but that personage was the son of an official of some small rank, and disdained to notice the anger of so obscure an individual as Tsiu Hsien. At last, however, the old man could contain himself no longer.

"This humble place is mine, Sir," he said, with as much politeness as he could command; "it is not worth the attention of your worship. I beg you will not demean yourself by entering; you can see the flowers equally well from rather a greater distance."

"You old fool," was the young mandarin's reply, "haven't you lived near me long enough to know my name? What do you mean by not wanting to let me see your flowers?"

Then he began to pick flowers right and left; and the unfortunate owner stood by in a grievous state of indignation, yet did not dare to remonstrate. His unwelcome visitor showed no signs of moving; on the contrary, he jumped down into the garden, and then bawled to his servants on the other side to go home and bring some wine. This increased the distress of poor old Tsiu, and emboldened him to enter another protest against the outrage.

"Indeed, Sir," he said, trembling with agitation, "there is no room in my snail-shell of a house fit for your worship to sit in; let me beg you, when you have seen enough, to return to your own mansion and drink there."

"No room?" retorted Chang, pointing to a cosy nook; "that place will suit me very well."