the sky. The odor of pine drifted to him and in the far distance he could hear the tinkle of temple bells. At such times abundant peace crept into his soul and he was rich.
But the God of Scented Pine Trees was not happy. Though he was almost barren of worshippers he wished to be kowtowed to in splendor. Therefore he determined to make Fo Wen, his last suppliant, a very wealthy man. One deep dark middle of the night, he caused a magnificent garden to appear around the small hut of Fo Wen, surrounded by a house of many rooms. The furnishings of these rooms which opened onto the garden were of fine lacquer, teakwood and ivory. The soft handwoven rugs of rich, lush colors, might have put flowers to shame. In one room was a collection of jewels—diamonds, pearls, jades and nephrites, wrought gold and carved silver, turquoise, amber, jasper and carnelian. On the walls were written pictures and landscapes dating back to the Tang dynasty. Every conceivable luxury was in that palace, besides four slender concubines, versed in the arts of music, dance and song.
Then the god touched Fo Wen gently on the shoulder until he awakened. "Blest are you among mortals," he intoned, "for I, the sole God of Scented Pine Trees, have decided to make you rich."
Fo Wen opened his eyes. He appeared slightly incredulous as he gazed about sleepily.
"Rich," he repeated, "rich, what need have I for more riches?"
"As a coolie, certainly your position was not lofty," observed the god, somewhat irritated.
"I was content."
"Is contentment enough? Gaze about you, this magnificent house and garden is all yours. And there are diamonds beyond price."
"What are diamonds?" asked the coolie.
"Next to jade, the most precious thing on earth."
"The most precious thing on earth is a good wife," said Fo Wen.
"Wives, faugh!" said the god. "What do they amount to? Millions of women in China. All chatter like monkeys. Even the worthy ones fade, shrivel and are gone. But diamonds live forever."
"Only a fool thinks a diamond lives!"
"They sparkle as though alive."
"But have they four souls?"
"No."
"Do they breathe?"
"Who said they did?"
"Can you use them for food when you are starving?"
"Our coolie is becoming a philosopher!"
"If toil makes a philosopher, then I am one."
"You read many books?" asked the god, who somehow felt slightly deflated. Why should not this miserable coolie be abject before him, at the power of his majesty?
