Chinese Literature

of rice could be sold, so that they could get a few suits of clothes made. The children were hardly clothed like human beings. They would have a jolly, cheerful mid-autumn festival, pay back all their debts, and save the remainder for the New Year. Of course preparations must be made for the few winter months next year, and then the new...

He must arrange to have both Li-chiu and Shao-pu betrothed. Indeed, Li-chiu showed every sign of being in need of a wife. Let it be the latter part of next year then. He would get both of them married. The year atter that there would be grandsons. He’d be a grandfather!

Hverything was all right except that Ying-ying was missing. Uncle Yun-pu’s heart ached with sorrow. If he had known that the harvest this year was going to be so good, he would not have sold Ying-ying for anything. Of all his children, Ying-ying was his favourite, the one who was always so filial and obedient. Now, he himself had sold dear little Ying-ying to that old man, Hsia, whose face was all covered with beard. She was taken away in a little boat, but where to, Uncle Yun-pu had not yet been able to find out.

Ying-ying’s fate was indeed pitiful, poor little thing! They had heard nothing about her since she left. The better the year, the more food they had, the more sorrowfully would Yun-pu think of Ying-ying. It was all because Ying-ying had been destined by fate never to have even one decent meal at home. If Ying-ying had suddenly appeared in front of Uncle Yun-pu, he would have taken the poor child to his breast and wept away his sorrow. But it was no longer possible to find Ying-ying and bring her back. She could never be found again. Only her tiny thin image would remain in Uncle Yun-pu’s heart, a scar which would never heal.

Except for this one thing, there was nothing but happiness and joy for Uncle Yun-pu. Eyerything was fine. He told his sons repeatedly that they must not mention Ying-ying’s name. They must not prick his heart and reopen the old wound.

There was no more rice in the house, but Uncle Yun-pu was not worried in the least, because he already had a way out. In a couple of days they would be able to really eat. With what he had to show in the field, he was not afraid that people would refuse to lend him a little

_ grain.

Mr. Ho tried desperately to get people to borrow his grain. He was ready to send eight or ten piculs to anyone and not at such a high price either—only six dollars per picul. Mr. Li also had grain for loan at six dollars per picul and without interest. It was pretty good grain, too.

The people in the village had to eat. They had to try to tide over the next fortnight or so somehow. But no one wanted to borrow grain _ from Mr. Ho or Mr. Li. It would be a great pity to do so, because one

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