horse to overtake him and fetch back his head."
When Han Hsin beheld the soldiers approaching at top speed, there was no doubt in his mind as to what harsh errand brought them. He knew they intended to have his head. But Han, having lived so long with his head, had become fond of it, and preferred to keep it on his shoulders. But how? How could it be saved? There was no escape by running. There was no place to hide. The boy must use his wits.
Hastily tying a cord to his bamboo staff, he threw the staff into a tiny, shallow puddle of water that lay beside the road. The soldiers galloped up to find him seated on the bank—fishing—and weeping. "And what ails you, simpleton?" a soldier asked. "Have you lost your nurse?" Between sobs Han answered, "I am hungry and I can't catch my fish." "What a booby," said another soldier. "He fished in a puddle no larger than a copper cash." "Look," said yet another, "he throws in the pole, and holds the hook in his hand. What a chieh kuo; as foolish as Nu Wa, who
