Even as he spoke, the awkward beast waddled through the door. The upper end of the monument struck against the wall, toppled off, and fell with a great crash to the floor. Bamboo shivered with fear. Would his father come and find out what had happened?

“Don’t be afraid, my boy. No one will come at this hour of the night to spy on us.”

Bamboo quickly locked the gates, ran back to the house, and hung the key on its peg. He took a long look at his sleeping parents, and then returned to his friend. After all, he would not be gone long and his father would surely forgive him.

Soon the comrades were walking down the broad road, very slowly, for the tortoise is not swift of foot and Bamboo’s legs were none too long.
“Where are you going?” said the boy at last, after he had begun to feel more at home with the turtle.

“Going? Where should you think I would want to go after my century in prison? Why, back to the first home of my father, back to the very spot where the great god, P’anku, and his three helpers hewed out the world.”
“And is it far?” faltered the boy, beginning to feel just the least bit tired.

“At this rate, yes, but, bless my life, you didn’t think we could travel all the way at this snail’s pace, I hope. Jump on my back, and I’ll show you how to go. Before morning we shall be at the end of the world, or rather, the beginning.”

“Where is the beginning of the world?” asked Bamboo. “I have never studied geography.”

“We must cross China, then Tibet, and at last in the mountains just beyond we shall reach the spot which P’anku made the centre of his labour.”
At that moment Bamboo felt himself being lifted from the ground. At first he thought he would slip off the turtle’s rounded shell, and he cried out in fright.

“Never fear,” said his friend. “Only sit quietly, and there will be no danger.”