Chinese Literature

helping us in some very important matter... ” put in another, in an attempt to placate the old man.

“So you people connive with him to make me suffer! The chicken knows nothing of the troubles of the duck; do you people understand our affairs? You... .”

“Yes, Uncle, but he is back now, and tomorrow he’ll help you in ~

the fields.”

“Work in the fields!’ lLi-chiu said indignantly. “We'll work ourselves into the grave, but we won’t even get a square meal for it, while those parasites get everything ready-made. Just you wait and see. We work our fingers to the bone, but will we get anything out of it? I made up my mind long ago.”

“Who’s going to rob you of it, you swine?”

“There are plenty of people who'll rob us. Our bit of grain won't even be enough to go round. We can go on working like this for some eight or ten years, and still we won’t have anything to show for it.”

“You swine, you’re just lazy, and can only talk rubbish. Since you don’t want to work for a living, do you think food will drop from heaven for you to eat? You dare to argue with me!”

Once again Uncle Yun- -pu swung his stick, ready to smash the head of his unfilial son.

“Now, now, Li-chiu, you mustn’t argue any more,” put in one of the men. “Old Uncle, why don’t you go and get some rest? But it’s true, the world is no longer what it used to be. The peasants simply can’t hold up their heads. All their lives they work the year round, but whatever they reap is sent off to others picul after picul. Taxes, levies, payment for this and payment for that—what is left for themselves? To make matters worse, the market price of grain has been dropping steadily. Unless we wnt of a way out, we'll be up against it again. That’s why we... .”

“Nonsense! All my life, ’ve thought of only one thing—work. Ail I know is, we must work. Otherwise there will be nothing to eat... .”

“Yes ... Li-chiu, you pay attention to what your Dad says. We'll see you again.”

After the young people had gone, Li-chiu went to sleep with his clothes on. But Uncle Yun-pu’s mind was uneasy, as if an entirely new and strange burden were weighing on it.

The day after Li-chiu’s return, the grain was carried back from the fields picul after picul. Fat and yellow, it really resembled gold.

There was not a single person in the village who did not rejoice. This year’s harvest was at least three times better than that of ordinary years. No wonder people smiled and laughed. After all, this rich harvest was the result of struggling on empty stomachs, of toiling day and night under great stress and worry over a series of calamities.

When people met one another, they smiled and nodded. They com-

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