hand through the garden, supremely happy, supremely young. Sometimes she perched on the top of a stone wall while he recited love chants to her. It was easy to invent poems while she was with him. His very soul seemed to be singing in ecstasy when she was in the garden. There was a time when he wrote a tiny book for her eyes alone called, "Garden Love Songs." It pleased her enormously, especially the closing verse.
"Good-night, Good-night,
The Lantern Moon
Is sinking over China.
My little book of songs
At last is done.
Vastly will I be repaid
If Moon-Girl
Retains within her heart
A single one."
Life in that garden for Hung Long Tom was almost too perfect. Perfect happiness angers the gods. They fear that their estate is being usurped by man. He had reached the
highest pinnacle of happiness for a few mo-
