“Being a stranger in the neighbourhood, it was for a few days easy for me to push people off the tow-path, and we did a good trade, but soon people became careful and suspicious and would not walk singly near the river-side. My partner was a man of hasty temper, and his manner became more and more disagreeable towards me as trade became worse. It became daily more and more difficult to earn a living, and one night, my partner having made some disparaging remarks about the zeal with which I carried out my part of our agreement, I determined to make a desperate effort the next day to supply him with subjects on which to practise his professional skill. Warily I trudged near the tow-path, but only the most indigent dared to use it. I went further afield, but could meet no one who was unaccompanied. At last, desperate and hungry, late in the afternoon, I struck away from the river bank towards the foothills. Some mile and a half from the river I found a woodcutter. He fled from me, but I rushed on and pounced upon him. A sharp struggle ensued, no one was by to help him, and his cries passed unheeded. My strength soon overpowered him, and I carried him screaming and shouting to the deserted river bank, and with a supreme effort hurled him into the muddy current. Then, thoroughly exhausted, I wearily made my way back to the ferry. On arriving there I found my partner in the most evil temper I had ever seen him in; in fact, he was in such a towering rage with me that he could scarcely speak. He had saved the man, but it appeared he was an indigent second cousin of my partner, and so far from being able to reward he had signified his intention of remaining with and living on his rescuer, arguing that the person who had prolonged such an unhappy life as his had incurred the responsibility of keeping that life going, and that henceforth, if he died of starvation, then his death would lie at the door of his rescuer. I think some unreasonably offensive remarks were hurled at me on this occasion, both by the rescuer and the rescued, so I left their company and that night slept unfed and uncovered in the fields.” “But what’s all that got to do with your never laughing?” says Jack. “And I don’t believe that story,” adds Dorothy. “You wouldn’t drown the puppies the other day, so I’m certain you never pushed people into a river.” It was true. Hong, as a Buddhist, had scruples about the taking of life, and had recently failed to do away with certain blind puppies that were considered superfluous in the Consular household. If it were possible for a Chinaman to look disconcerted, then Hong would have looked it at that moment, with the eyes of both children fixed on him. His love for talking to them and engaging their attention had led him into spinning an endless yarn, but now he was brought up suddenly with a round turn.