"What do they care for a man when he is sick?" he muttered. "My good
friend Sing is doubtless even now enjoying his afternoon nap, with a
servant standing by to fan him, and a block of ice near his head to cool
the air. What does he care if I die of a raging fever? Doubtless he
expects to inherit all my money. And my servants! That rascal Wang has
been with me these ten years, living on me and growing lazier every
season! What does he care if I pass away? Doubtless he is certain that
Sing's servants will think of something for him to do, and he will have
even less work than he has now. Water, water! I shall die if I don't
soon find a place to soak myself!"

So saying, he arrived at the bank of a little brook that flowed in
through a water gate at one side of the garden and emptied itself into
the big fish-pond. Flinging himself down by a little stream Li bathed
his hands and wrists in the cool water. How delightful! If only it were
deep enough to cover his whole body, how gladly would he cast himself in
and enjoy the bliss of its refreshing embrace!

For a long time he lay on the ground, rejoicing at his escape from the
doctor's clutches. Then, as the fever began to rise again, he sprang up
with a determined cry, "What am I waiting for? I will do it. There's no
one to prevent me, and it will do me a world of good. I will cast myself
head first into the fish-pond. It is not deep enough near the shore to
drown me if I should be too weak to swim, and I am sure it will restore
me to strength and health."

He hastened along the little stream, almost running in his eagerness to
reach the deeper water of the pond. He was like some small Tom Brown who
had escaped from the watchful eye of the master and run out to play in a
forbidden spot.