" PASSETH ALL UNDERSTANDING " 271 



jogged after. Tsing Hi bumped until he was fain to 

 lean heavily on his precious swag, trying to discover 

 by sensation an unbruised part of his body on which 

 to jolt. 



"Hi ! hi !" he shouted. "Horsey, him no goo' I 

 You 1 'me walk!" 



Tim whistled and jogged. Tsing Hi jolted and 

 whimpered. The hot miles wriggled slowly past. Dust 

 lay a foot deep on the track. It was a windless day. 

 Tsing Hi, gripping with fearful intensity his swag, 

 could not lift a finger to wipe the stains which stood 

 for many tears and coursed down his cheeks in tiny 

 rivulets, making puddles on his cramped hands. He, 

 the dandy, smothered in dust, weeping, sore in every 

 bone, blistered and scalded, pondered over his petty 

 sins, moaned continuously, and longed for the hard 

 floor of the gaol. 



He, a disciple of Confucius, found no present relief 

 in the tags of the master's philosophy that he could call 

 to mind. Tears made him a grim spectacle. The beau- 

 tiful yellow waistcoat was indistinguishable beneath 

 dirt and dust. His carefully tended queue shook out 

 in disordered loops, and finally dangled, dust-soiled, 

 behind. His trousers worked and wrinkled up to the 

 knees, chafed his unaccustomed skin, and still Tim in 

 a cloud of dust jogged on singing: 



" Until that day, plase God, I'll shtick 

 To the wearin' o' the green." 



It was a poor little prisoner, but his first and his own, 

 and Tim was elated, and when a true Irishman is happy 

 he becomes poetically patriotic. But happy though 

 he undoubtedly was, even Tim was not sorry when the 

 chance came of stretching his legs and incidentally 

 sluicing down the dust. The halfway house looked cool 



