There was no likelihood that the boy--lacking, as he was, in cultural background--would exhibit any sensitive responsiveness to the exquisite brush-work of the fine old painter or to his consciously subjective attitude toward his art. But there is a way in which the simple Western mind that is not preoccupied with fixed concepts of art may be led into enjoyment of such a landscape scroll; this is to exhibit it as do the Chinese themselves, unrolling it, very slowly, a little at a time, deliberately absorbing the detail and the finely suggested atmosphere, until a sensation is experienced not unlike that of making a journey through a strange and delightful country. Doane employed this method--it was surely what that old painter intended--and led the boy slowly from a pastoral home, so small beneath its towering overhanging mountain crags, that lost themselves finally in soft cloud-masses, as to appear insignificant, out along a river where lines of reeds swayed in the winds and boats moved patiently, across a lake that was dotted with pavilions and pleasure craft--on and on, through varied scenes that yet were blended with amazing craftsmanship into a continuous, harmonious whole. The time crept by and by. When Doane finally explained the seal characters at the end and retied the old silk cords with their hanging rectangles of unclouded green jade, the sun was low over the western hills. Rocky's face was flushed, his eyes nervously bright. “I don't get it all, of course,” he said; “but it makes you feel somehow as if you'd been reading _The Pilgrim's Progress!_” Doane gravely nodded. “Shall we look at another?” said Rocky. “No. That is enough. The Chinese knew better than to crowd the mind with confused impressions of many paintings. A good picture is an experience to be lived through, not a trophy to be glanced at.” “I wonder,” said the boy, “if that's why I used to hate it so when my tutor dragged me through the Metropolitan Museum?” “Doubtless.” “And this picture has a great value, I suppose?” “It is virtually priceless--in East as well as West,” replied Doane as he replaced it among its fellows in the box. Thus began, late but perhaps not too late, what may be regarded as the education of young Rockingham Kane. CHAPTER XII--AT THE HOUR OF THE TIGER