the mutton that we so rarely treated ourselves to nowadays. Ah Sui had grown so pitiably thin, she said. The landlady sneered at us and she could not stand other people's sneers. Since Ah Sui ate before we did, there were only the chickens to eat our leftovers. It took me some time to discover all this and to realize that my place in the household was somewhere between the lapdog and the chickens, just as certain observations made it possible for Huxley to fix "Man's Place in Nature."
Later on, after many quarrels and at my insistence, the chickens gradually became part of our meals, and for some ten days both we and Ah Sui enjoyed this long-forgotten treat—though the fowls were lean because their regular diet had been reduced to a few grains of kaoliang each. The gradual disappearance of the chickens resulted in a greater quiet, but Tzu-chun missed them and seemed distracted and lost, to the extent of feeling disinclined to talk. How easy it is for people to change, I thought.
Soon we found it necessary to part with Ah Sui. We had given up hope of receiving any replies to our letters and for a long time Tzu-chun had nothing with which to tempt the little dog to sit up and paw the air. Winter came on with distressing speed and with it the problem of keeping a stove. Ah Sui's food was a burden that we had felt for a long time; now there was nothing to do but to part with the dog.
If we had taken it to the temple fair, we might have gotten a little something for it, but neither of us could or would do such a thing. In the end I blindfolded Ah Sui, took him outside the city wall and left him there. He tried to follow me back and I had to push him down a ditch, which, however, was not too deep.
I returned home feeling that I was rid of another load, but
