it not, sir?"

The visitor nodded gravely. He appeared to be a man of few words, if
any. Mr. Beeson continued:

"According to the Chinese faith, a man is like a kite: he cannot go
to heaven without a tail. Well, to shorten this tedious story--
which, however, I thought it my duty to relate--on that night, while
I was here alone and thinking of anything but him, that Chinaman came
back for his pigtail.

"He did not get it."

At this point Mr. Beeson relapsed into blank silence. Perhaps he was
fatigued by the unwonted exercise of speaking; perhaps he had
conjured up a memory that demanded his undivided attention. The wind
was now fairly abroad, and the pines along the mountainside sang with
singular distinctness. The narrator continued:

"You say you do not see much in that, and I must confess I do not
myself.

"But he keeps coming!"

There was another long silence, during which both stared into the
fire without the movement of a limb. Then Mr. Beeson broke out,
almost fiercely, fixing his eyes on what he could see of the
impassive face of his auditor:

"Give it him? Sir, in this matter I have no intention of troubling