sessed of eight sons so that it was quite likely that the house in the garden would be well taken care of. Hung Long Tom further directed that the window at which his mother used to paint was always to be kept open when the days were fair so that the music from the garden might float throughout the rooms. But Hung Long Tom had never returned to Canton. He hated the thought of going back. Hung Long Tom, the poet, was dead. The poet had died even as the light had died in the lovely eyes of Lotus Blossom. To go back would only make his grief more poignant.
As the years went on Hung Long Tom became much of a mystic, a philosopher. He viewed life through half closed eyes as if in fear lest he behold a shocking spectacle. He thought a great deal about life, trying to decide whether it had any meaning at all. In his loneliness he studied all religions and found most of them basically the same. Parables in the Bible have parallels in the teachings of Mohammed, of Confucius, of Buddha. The
same stories are told by different authors and
