tion which was the domain of Loo Siang. The trees refused to remain any longer in the garden of the Mandarin after their beloved gardener had gone. And as they strode along, in their branch arms they carried the flowers—orchids, roses, chrysanthemums and peonies—which were too fragile to make the journey afoot.
In the morning when Loo Siang and Lari Kim awakened, they were awed by the spectacle that met their vision. During the night their slumbers had been undisturbed because the wind blew all noise away from them. The wind guarded their sleep.
Loo Siang walked along the flower paths. He recognized every tree, every flower that nodded to him as he approached. He knew that all these flowers and trees had come from the garden of the Mandarin, nor was he surprised, for to him every flower, every tree was a vital, living, breathing friend.
And he took Lari Kim in his arms and said, "The gods have been good to us."
But in the palace of the Mandarin utter consternation reigned. All night he had lain in terror, surrounded by his women, pleading to unknown forces that his life might be spared. But now it was morning and he was still unharmed. His cringing courage returned to him. He stalked into the garden.
It was a frightful sight. Not a tree, not a bush, not a flower remained. He could not believe his eyes. He summoned every one of his thousand women. Not till each of them had corroborated the fact that the garden was empty was he willing to give credence to it. But where had the trees gone?
Then from one of his spies came word that all the trees now flourished in the desert garden of Loo Siang. The Mandarin did not stop to consider how they had gotten there. He was engulfed by fury. His face was purple. He summoned his carriers and climbed into his sedan chair.
When he reached the garden of Loo Siang, the gardner met him, bowing profusely. His face bore a bland expression.
"Where are my trees?" cried Zok Tsung.
Loo Siang extended his arms. The trees were all in the same relative positions that they had held in the Mandarin's garden. When the march of the trees had ended, each tree had dug its feet once more into the soil for a long, long period of rest.
"I shall have your life for this!" cried the Mandarin. "In this land my power is absolute. You shall be destroyed."
Loo Siang gazed at the choleric Mandarin and smiled. The gods were on his side. His friends were the trees, the flowers, the sun, the soil and the wind. With these as allies in the approaching fight, what had he to fear? All the Mandarin had was pomp, the power of position, men and money. It would be an unequal battle.
And Loo Siang said slowly, "For twenty years I was your slave, taking your orders, a victim of your treachery and trickery. Now things are slightly changed. Here, I am the master. It is now my turn to give orders. Get out of my garden!"
The Mandarin was speechless. He was fat and flabby. He was not a match for Loo Siang in personal combat. He regretted that he had left his four carriers outside on the road.
"Remember," he thundered, "though I go now, I shall return."
It was a vain boast for even as he left the garden, a tree fell upon him and he was killed.
Throughout Soochow there was little sorrowing for the Mandarin, Zok Tsung. And among all his thousand slave girls, not one wept.
