I'm Starting With The Man In

The Mirror

I'm Asking Him To Change

His Ways

And No Message Could Have

Been Any Clearer

If You Wanna Make The World

A Better Place

Take A Look At Yourself, And

Then Make A Change

When song Mino was sent to Korea to live with a distant relative everybody said he was the most disagreeable- looking child ever seen. It was true, too. He had a tanner complexion from the rest (''must be the American sun'', they said) and always had a sour expression on. His father had a decent job at a factory in Boston and had always been busy, his mother had been a great beauty who only cared to go to parties and amuse herself with the white people. She had not wanted a child at all and when Mino was born, he was handed over to the care of a nanny who was made to understand that if she wished to please her employer, she must keep the child out of her sight as much as possible. Minho was given his own way in everything and by the time he was 6, he was as tyrannical and selfish as anyone ever lived. The young governess who came to teach him how to read and write disliked him so much that she gave up her place in 3 months, and the others who came to fill in left in a shorter time.
     Mino liked to look at his parentsfrom a distance but he knew very little of them that he could scarcely have been expected to miss them very much when they were gone.
       "I suppose I might as well tell you
something about where you're going to live,'' Mrs. Choi, a stern looking middle-aged lady said to Mino on their way to the house. ''Do you know anything about your relatives?''
''No.'' said Mino.
Never heard your father and mother talk about them?''
''No.'' said Mino frowning.
''Humph'' muttered Mrs. Choi staring at his unresponsive little face. ''You are going to a strange place."
Mino said nothing at all, and Mrs. Choi
looked rather discomfited by his apparent indifference,
but, after taking a breath, she went on.
"Not but that it's a grand big place in a gloomy
way, and the master is proud of it in his way—and
that's gloomy enough, too. The house is a hundred
years old and it's on the edge of the moorland, and there's
near a hundred rooms in it, though most of them's shut
up and locked. And there's pictures and fine old
furniture and things that's been there for ages, and
there's a big park round it and gardens and trees with
branches trailing to the ground—some of them." She
paused and took another breath. "But there's nothing
else," she ended suddenly.
Mino had begun to listen in spite of herself. It sounded so unlike the house he used to live in back in Boston, and anything new rather attracted him, But he did not intend to look as if he was interested.
''Well, What do you think of it?'' 
''Nothing.'' He answered, ''I know nothing of such places.''
That made Mrs. Choi laugh a short sort of laugh. Then she said ''Don't you care?''
''It doesn't matter,'' said Mino, ''whether I care or not.''
"You are right enough there," said Mrs. Choi.
"It doesn't. He's not going to trouble himself about you, that's sure and certain. He never troubles himself about no
one."
She stopped herself as if she had just
remembered something in time.
"He's got a crooked personality," she said. "That set him
wrong. He was a sour young man and got no good of
all his money and big place till he was married." Mino was fully listening to her by now.Mrs. Choi saw this, and as she was a talkative woman she continued with more interest. This was one way of passing some of the time, at any rate.
"She was a sweet, pretty thing and he'd have
walked the world over to get her a blade o' grass she
wanted. Nobody thought she'd marry him, but she did,
and people said she married him for his money. But she
didn't—she didn't," positively. "When she died—"
Mino gave a little involuntary jump.
"Oh, did she die!" he exclaimed, quite without
meaning to. He had just remembered a French fairy
story she had once read called "Riquet à la Houppe." It
had been about a poor hunchback and a beautiful princess and it had made him suddenly sorry for his so called relative.
"Yes, she died," Mrs. Choi answered. "And it
made him queerer than ever. He cares about nobody.
He won't see people. Most of the time he goes away,
and when he is at the house he shuts himself up in
the West Wing and won't let any one but Seungri see
him. Seungri's an old fellow, but he took care of him
when he was a child and he knows his ways."
It sounded like something in a book and it did
not make Mino feel cheerful. A house with a hundred
rooms, nearly all shut up and with their doors locked—
a house on the edge of a moor—whatsoever a moor
was—sounded dreary. A man with a crooked personality who shut himself up also! He stared out of the window with his lips pinched together, and it seemed quite natural
that the rain should have begun to pour down in gray
slanting lines and splash and stream down the windowpane of the carriage they were riding.

"You needn't expect to see him, because ten to
one you won't," said Mrs. Choi. "And you mustn't
expect that there will be people to talk to you. You'll
have to play about and look after yourself. You'll be
told what rooms you can go into and what rooms
you're to keep out of. There's gardens enough. But
when you're in the house don't go wandering and
poking about. The master won't have it."
"I shall not want to go poking about," said sour
little Mino; and just as suddenly as he had begun to be
rather sorry for his relative he began to
cease to be sorry and to think he was unpleasant
enough to deserve all that had happened to him.

____________________________________

When he opened his eyes in the morning it
was because a young housemaid had come into his new
room to light the fire and was kneeling on the hearthrug
raking out the cinders noisily. Mino lay and
watched her for a few moments and then began to look
about the room. He had never seen a room at all like it
and thought it curious and gloomy. The walls were
covered with tapestry with a forest scene embroidered
on it. There were fantastically dressed people under the
trees and in the distance there was a glimpse of the
turrets of a castle. There were hunters and horses and
dogs and ladies. Mino felt as if he were in the forest
with them. Out of a deep window he could see a great
climbing stretch of land which seemed to have no trees
on it, and to look rather like an endless, dull, purplish
sea.
"What is that?" he said, pointing out of the
window.
Dara, the young housemaid, who had just
risen to her feet, looked and pointed also.
"That there?" she said.
"Yes."
"That's the moor," with a good-natured grin.
"Do you like it?"
"No," answered Mino. "I hate it''
"That's because you're not used to it," Dara
said, going back to her hearth. 
"Do you?" inquired Mino.
"Aye, that I do," answered Dara, cheerfully
polishing away at the grate. "I just love it. It's none
bare. It's covered with growing things as smells sweet. It's
fair lovely in spring and summer. It smells of honey and
there's such a lot of fresh air—and the sky looks so high
and the bees and skylarks makes such a nice noise
humming and singing. I wouldn't live away f