Now Wang Lung had not known that men so called his house, for as he grew older he went seldom even to the tea shops and no more to the grain markets since there was his second son to do his business there for him, but it pleased him secretly and so he said,

“Well, even great families are from the land and rooted in the land.”

But the young man answered smartly,

“Yes, but they do not stay there. They branch forth and bear flowers and fruits.”

Wang Lung would not have his son answering him too easily and quickly like this, so he said,

“I have said what I have said. Have done with pouring out silver. And roots, if they are to bear fruits, must be kept well in the soil of the land.”

Then since evening came on, he wished his son would go away out of this court and into his own. He wished the young man to go away and leave him in peace in the twilight and alone. But there was no peace for him with this son of his. This son was willing to obey his father now for he was satisfied in the rooms and the courts, at least for the time, and he had done what he would do, but he began again,

“Well, let it be enough, but there is another thing.”

Then Wang Lung flung his pipe down upon the ground and he shouted,

“Am I never to be in peace?”

And the young man went on stubbornly,

“It is not for myself or for my son. It is for my youngest brother who is your own son. It is not fit that he grow up so ignorant. He should be taught something.”

Wang Lung stared at this for it was a new thing. He had long ago settled the life of his youngest son, what it was to be, and he said now,

“There is no need for any more stomachsful of characters in this house. Two is enough, and he is to be on the land when I am dead.”

“Yes, and for this he weeps in the night, and this is why he is so pale and so reedy a lad,” answered the eldest son.

Now Wang Lung had never thought to ask his youngest son what he wished to do with his life, since he had decided one son must be on the land, and this that his eldest son had said struck him between the brows and he was silent. He picked up his pipe from the ground slowly and pondered about his third son. He was a lad not like either of his brothers, a lad as silent as his mother, and because he was silent none paid any attention to him.

“Have you heard him say this?” asked Wang Lung of his eldest son, uncertainly.

“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.