acquainted with them, stands before us in mean apparel, and on all
occasions confessing an unassuming poverty?"

"It is Yan-hi Pung," went from mouth to mouth among the bystanders--
"Yan-hi Pung, who traces on paper the words of chants and historical
tales, and sells them to such as can afford to buy. And although his
motive in exposing the emptiness of Kai Lung's stories may not be
Heaven-sent--inasmuch as Kai Lung provides us with such matter as he
himself purveys, only at a much more moderate price--yet his words are
well considered, and must therefore be regarded."

"O Yan-hi Pung," replied Kai Lung, hearing the name from those who
stood about him, and moving towards the aged person, who stood
meanwhile leaning upon his staff, and looking from side to side with
quickly moving eyelids in a manner very offensive towards the story-
teller, "your just remark shows you to be a person of exceptional
wisdom, even as your well-bowed legs prove you to be one of great
bodily strength; for justice is ever obvious and wisdom hidden, and
they who build structures for endurance discard the straight and
upright and insist upon such an arch as you so symmetrically
exemplify."

Speaking in this conciliatory manner, Kai Lung came up to Yan-hi Pung,
and taking between his fingers a disc of thick polished crystal, which
the aged and short-sighted chant-writer used for the purpose of
magnifying and bringing nearer the letters upon which he was engaged,
and which hung around his neck by an embroidered cord, the story-
teller held it aloft, crying aloud:

"Observe closely, and presently it will be revealed and made clear how