“Ask him for yourself, my father,” replied the young man.
“Well, but one lad must be on the land,” said Wang Lung suddenly in argument and his voice was very loud.
“But why, my father?” urged the young man. “You are a man who need not have any sons like serfs. It is not fitting. People will say you have a mean heart. ‘There is a man who makes his son into a hind while he lives like a prince.’ So people will say.”
Now the young man spoke cleverly for he knew that his father cared mightily what people said of him, and he went on,
“We could call a tutor and teach him and we could send him to a southern school and he could learn and since there is I in your house to help you and my second brother in his good trade, let the lad choose what he will.”
Then Wang Lung said at last,
“Send him here to me.”
After a while the third son came and stood before his father and Wang Lung looked at him to see what he was. And he saw a tall and slender lad, who was neither his father nor his mother, except that he had his mother’s gravity and silence. But there was more beauty in him than there had been in his mother, and for beauty alone he had more of it than any of Wang Lung’s children except the second girl who had gone to her husband’s family and belonged no more to the house of Wang. But across the lad’s forehead and almost a mar to his beauty were his two black brows, too heavy and black for his young, pale face, and when he frowned, and he frowned easily, these black brows met, heavy and straight, across his brow.
And Wang Lung stared at his son and after he had seen him well, he said,
“Your eldest brother says you wish to learn to read.”
And the boy said, scarcely stirring his lips,
“Aye.”
Wang Lung shook the ash from his pipe and pushed the fresh tobacco in slowly with his thumb.
“Well, and I suppose that means you do not want to work on the land and I shall not have a son on my own land, and I with sons and to spare.”
This he said with bitterness, but the boy said nothing. He stood there straight and still in his long white robe of summer linen, and at last Wang Lung was angry at his silence and he shouted at him,
“Why do you not speak? Is it true you do not want to be on the land?”
And again the boy answered only the one word,
“Aye.”
And Wang Lung looking at him said to himself at last that these sons of his were too much for him in his old age and they were a care and burden to him and he did not know what to do with them, and he shouted again, feeling himself ill-used by these sons of his,
“What is it to me what you do? Get away from me!”
Then the boy went away swiftly and Wang Lung sat alone and he said to himself that his two girls were better after all than his sons, one, poor fool that she was, never wanted anything more than a bit of any food and her length of cloth to play with, and the other one married and away from his house. And the twilight came down over the court and shut him into it alone.
Nevertheless, as Wang Lung always did when his anger passed, he let his sons have their way, and he called his elder son and he said,
“Engage a tutor for the third one if he wills it, and let him do as he likes, only I am not to be troubled about it”
And he called his second son and said,
“Since I am not to have a son on the land it is your duty to see to the rents and to the silver that comes in from the land at each harvest. You can weigh and measure and you shall be my steward.”
The second son was pleased enough for this meant the money would pass through his hands at least, and he would know what came in and he could complain to his father if more than enough was spent in the house.
Now this second son of his seemed more strange to Wang than any of his sons, for even at the wedding day, which came on, he was careful of the money spent on meats and on wines and he divided the tables carefully, keeping the best meats for his friends in the town who knew the cost of the dishes, and for the tenants and the country people who must be invited he spread tables in the courts, and to these he gave only the second best in meat and wine, since they daily ate coarse fare, and a little better was very good to them.
And the second son watched the money and the gifts that came in, and he gave to the slaves and servants the least that could be given them, so that Cuckoo sneered when into he hand he put a paltry two pieces of silver and she said in the hearing of many,
“Now a truly great family is not so careful of its silver an one can see that this family does not rightly belong in these courts.”
The eldest son heard this, and he was ashamed and he was afraid of her tongue and he gave her more silver secretly and he was angry with his second brother. Thus there was trouble between them even on the very wedding day when the guests sat about the tables and when the bride’s chair was entering the courts.
And of his own friends the eldest son asked but a few of the least considered to the feast, because he was ashamed of his brother’s parsimony and because the bride was but a village maid. He stood aside scornfully, and he said,
“Well, and my brother has chosen an earthen pot when he might, from my father’s position, have had a cup of jade.”
And he was scornful and nodded stiffly when the pair came and bowed before him and his wife as their elder brother and sister. And the wife of the eldest son was correct and haughty and bowed only the least that could be considered proper for her position.
Now of all of them who lived in these courts it seemed there was none wholly at peace and comfortable there except the small grandson who had been born to Wang Lung. Even Wang Lung himself, waking within the shadows of the great carved bed where he slept in his own room that was next to the court where Lotus lived, even he woke to dream sometimes that he was back in the simple, dark, earth-walled house where a man could throw his cold tea down where he would not splatter a piece of carven wood, and where a step took him into his own fields.
As for Wang Lung’s sons, there was continual unrest, the eldest son lest not enough be spent and they be belittled in the eyes of men and lest the villagers come walking through the great gate when a man from the town was there to call, and so make them ashamed before him; and the second son lest there was waste and money gone; and the youngest son striving to make repair the years he had lost as a farmer’s son.
But there was one who ran staggering hither and yon and content with his life and it was the son of the eldest son. This small one never thought of any other place than this great house and to him it was neither great nor small but only his house, and here was his mother and here his father and grandfather and all those who lived but to serve him. And from this one did Wang Lung secure peace, and he could never have enough of watching him and laughing at him and picking him up when he fell. He remembered also what his own father had done, and he delighted to take a girdle and put it about the child and walk, holding him thus from falling, and they went from court to court, and the child pointed at the darting fish in the pools and jabbered this and that and snatched the head of a flower and was at ease in the midst of everything, and only thus did Wang Lung find peace.
Nor was there only this one. The wife of the eldest son was faithful and she conceived and bore and conceived and bore regularly and faithfully, and each child as it was born had its slave. Thus Wang Lung each year saw more children in the courts and more slaves, so that when one said to him, “There is to be another mouth again in the eldest son’s court,” he only laughed and said,
“Eh—eh—well, there is rice and enough for all since we have the good land.”
And he was pleased when his second son’s wife bore also in her season, and she gave birth to a girl first as was fitting and it was seemly out of respect to her sister-in-law. Wang Lung, then, in the space of five years had four grandsons and three grand-daughters and the courts were filled with their laughter and their weeping.