A Chinese Wonder Book | Page 2

Our cat was so fat she couldn't climb to the roof. Now look
at her. You can hardly see her, she's so thin. No, I'm sorry we can't help
you, friend priest, but you see how it is."
"I didn't come for alms," cried the clean-shaven one, looking at her
kindly, "but only to see what I could do to help you. The gods have
listened long to the prayers of your devoted son. They honour him
because he has not waited till you die to do sacrifice for you. They have
seen how faithfully he has served you ever since his illness, and now,
when he is worn out and unable to work, they are resolved to reward
him for his virtue. You likewise have been a good mother and shall
receive the gift I am now bringing."
"What do you mean?" faltered Mrs. Wang, hardly believing her ears at
hearing a priest speak of bestowing mercies. "Have you come here to
laugh at our misfortunes?"
"By no means. Here in my hand I hold a tiny golden beetle which you
will find has a magic power greater than any you ever dreamed of. I
will leave this precious thing with you, a present from the god of filial
conduct."
"Yes, it will sell for a good sum," murmured the other, looking closely

at the trinket, "and will give us millet for several days. Thanks, good
priest, for your kindness."
"But you must by no means sell this golden beetle, for it has the power
to fill your stomachs as long as you live."
The widow stared in open-mouthed wonder at the priest's surprising
words.
"Yes, you must not doubt me, but listen carefully to what I tell you.
Whenever you wish food, you have only to place this ornament in a
kettle of boiling water, saying over and over again the names of what
you want to eat. In three minutes take off the lid, and there will be your
dinner, smoking hot, and cooked more perfectly than any food you
have ever eaten."
"May I try it now?" she asked eagerly.
"As soon as I am gone."
When the door was shut, the old woman hurriedly kindled a fire, boiled
some water, and then dropped in the golden beetle, repeating these
words again and again:
"Dumplings, dumplings, come to me, I am thin as thin can be.
Dumplings, dumplings, smoking hot, Dumplings, dumplings, fill the
pot."
Would those three minutes never pass? Could the priest have told the
truth? Her old head was nearly wild with excitement as clouds of steam
rose from the kettle. Off came the lid! She could wait no longer.
Wonder of wonders! There before her unbelieving eyes was a pot, full
to the brim of pork dumplings, dancing up and down in the bubbling
water, the best, the most delicious dumplings she had ever tasted. She
ate and ate till there was no room left in her greedy stomach, and then
she feasted the cat and the dog until they were ready to burst.
"Good fortune has come at last," whispered Blackfoot, the dog, to

Whitehead, the cat, as they lay down to sun themselves outside. "I fear
I couldn't have held out another week without running away to look for
food. I don't know just what's happened, but there's no use questioning
the gods."
Mrs. Wang fairly danced for joy at the thought of her son's return and
of how she would feast him.
"Poor boy, how surprised he will be at our fortune--and it's all on
account of his goodness to his old mother."
When Ming-li came, with a dark cloud overhanging his brow, the
widow saw plainly that disappointment was written there.
"Come, come, lad!" she cried cheerily, "clear up your face and smile,
for the gods have been good to us and I shall soon show you how richly
your devotion has been rewarded." So saying, she dropped the golden
beetle into the boiling water and stirred up the fire.
Thinking his mother had gone stark mad for want of food, Ming-li
stared solemnly at her. Anything was preferable to this misery. Should
he sell his last outer garment for a few pennies and buy millet for her?
Blackfoot licked his hand comfortingly, as if to say, "Cheer up, master,
fortune has turned in our favour." Whitehead leaped upon a bench,
purring like a sawmill.
Ming-li did not have long to wait. Almost in the twinkling of an eye he
heard his mother crying out,
"Sit down at the table, son, and eat these dumplings while they are
smoking hot."
Could he have heard correctly? Did his ears deceive him? No, there on
the table was a huge platter full of the delicious pork dumplings he
liked better than anything