in the bubbling water, the best, the most delicious dumplings she had ever tasted. She ate and ate until there was no room left in her greedy stomach, and then she feasted the cat and the dog until they were ready to burst.
“Good fortune has come at last,” whispered Blackfoot, the dog, to Whitehead, the cat, as they lay down to sun themselves outside. “I fear I couldn’t have held out another week without running away to look for food. I don’t know just what’s happened, but there’s no use questioning the gods.”
Mrs. wang fairly danced for joy at the thought of her son’s return and of how she would feast him.
“Poor boy, how surprised he will be at our fortune—and it’s all on account of his goodness to his old mother.”
When Mingli came, with a dark cloud overhanging his brow, the widow saw plainly that disappointment was written there.
“Come, come, lad!” she cried cheerily, “clear up your face and smile, for the gods have been good to us and I shall soon show you how richly your devotion has been rewarded.” So saying, she dropped the golden beetle into the boiling water and stirred up the fire.
Thinking his mother had gone stark mad for want of food, Mingli stared solemnly at her. Anything was preferable to this misery. Should he sell his last outer garment for a few pennies and buy millet for her? Blackfoot licked his hand comfortingly, as if to say, “Cheer up, master, fortune has turned in our favor.” Whitehead leaped upon a bench, purring like a sawmill.
Mingli did not have long to wait. Almost in the twinkling of an eye he heard his mother crying out,
“Sit down at the table, son, and eat these dumplings while they are smoking hot.”
Could he have heard correctly? Did his ears deceive him? No, there on the table was a huge platter full of the delicious pork dumplings he liked better than anything else in all the world, except, of course, his mother.
“Eat and ask no questions,” counseled the Widow Wang. “When you are satisfied I will tell you everything.”
Wise advice! Very soon the young man’s chopsticks were twinkling like a little star in the verses. He ate long and happily, while his good mother watched him, her heart overflowing with joy at seeing him at last able to satisfy his hunger. But still the old woman could hardly wait for him to finish, she was so anxious to tell him her wonderful secret.
“Here, son!” she cried at last, as he began to pause between mouthfuls, “look at my treasure!” And she held out to him the golden beetle.
“First tell me what good fairy of a rich man has been filling our hands with silver?”
“That’s just what I am trying to tell you,” she laughed, “for there was a fairy here this afternoon sure enough, only he was dressed like a bald priest. That golden beetle is all he gave me, but with it comes a secret worth thousands of cash to us.”
The youth fingered the trinket idly, still doubting his senses, and waiting impatiently for the secret of his delicious dinner. “But, mother, what has this brass bauble to do with the dumplings, these wonderful pork dumplings, the finest I ever ate?”
“Baubles indeed! Brass! Fie, fie, my boy! You little know what you are saying. Only listen and you shall hear a tale that will open your eyes.”
She then told him what had happened, and ended by setting all of the left-over dumplings upon the floor for Blackfoot and Whitehead, a thing her son had never seen her do before, for they had been miserably poor and had had to save every scrap for the next meal.
Now began a long period of perfect happiness. Mother, son, dog and cat—all enjoyed themselves to their hearts’ content. All manner of new foods such as they had never tasted were called forth from the pot by the wonderful little beetle. Bird-nest soup, shark’s fins, and a hundred other delicacies were theirs for the asking, and soon Mingli regained all his strength, but, I fear, at the same time grew somewhat lazy, for it was no longer necessary for him to work. As for the two animals, they became fat and sleek and their hair grew long and glossy.
But alas! according to a Chinese proverb, pride invites sorrow. The little family became so proud of their good fortune that they began to ask friends and relatives to dinner that they might show off their good meals. One day a Mr. and Mrs. Zhu came from a distant village. They were much astonished at seeing the high style in which the wangs lived. They had expected a beggar’s meal, but went away with full stomachs.
"It’s the best stuff I ever ate,” said Mr. Zhu, as they entered their own tumbledown house. "Yes, and I know where it came from,” exclaimed his wife. “I saw Widow Wang take a little gold ornament out of the pot and hide it in a cupboard. It must be some sort of charm, for I heard her mumbling to herself about pork and dumplings just as she was stirring up the fire.”
“A charm, eh? Why is it that other people have all the luck? It looks as if we were doomed forever to be poor.”
"Why not borrow Mrs. wang’s charm for a few days until we can pick up a little flesh to keep our bones from clattering? Turn about’s fair play. Of course, we’ll return it sooner or later.”
“Doubtless they keep very close watch over it. When would you find them away from home, now that they don’t have to work anymore? As their house only contains one room, and that no bigger than ours, it would be difficult to borrow this golden trinket. It is harder, for more reasons than one, to steal from a beggar than from a king.”
“Luck is surely with us,” cried Mrs. Zhu, clapping her hands. “They are going this very day to the Temple fair. I overheard Mrs. wang tell her son that he must not forget he was to take her about the middle of the afternoon. I will slip back then and borrow the little charm from the box in which she hid it.”
“Aren’t you afraid of Blackfoot?”
“Pooh! he’s so fat he can do nothing but roll. If the widow comes back suddenly, I’ll tell her I came to look for my big hair-pin, that I lost it while I was at dinner.”
“All right, go ahead, only of course we must remember we’re borrowing the thing, not stealing it, for the wangs have always been good friends to us, and then, too, we have just dined with them.”
So skilfully did this crafty woman carry out her plans that within an hour she was back in her own house, gleefully showing the priest’s charm to her husband. Not a soul had seen her enter the wang house. The dog had made no noise, and the cat had only blinked her surprise at seeing a stranger and had gone to sleep again on the floor.
Great was the clamor and weeping when, on returning from the fair in expectation of a hot supper, the widow found her treasure missing. It was long before she could grasp the truth. She went back to the little box in the cupboard ten times before she could believe it was empty, and the room looked as if a cyclone had struck it, so long and carefully did the two unfortunates hunt for the lost beetle.
Then came days of hunger which were all the harder to bear since the recent period of good food and plenty. Oh, if they had only not got used to such dainties! How hard it was to go back to scraps and scrapings!
But if the widow and her son were sad over the loss of the good meals, the two pets were even more so. They were reduced to beggary and had to go
