Chapter III: Part 3

Gum Ching’s eyes filled with tears, for she had never before known the sweetness of a loving woman’s voice. She was led into the room, not even caring now if she was punished, for it was well worth it. Her sparkling oblique eyes almost danced out of her head at all this beauty. Everywhere were sparkles--sparkles--and they fairly dazzled her. It must be a dream, she thought. She looked before her, and--what was that great green tree towering toward the ceiling? It was--it must be--the Christmas tree! And did all those pretty things really grow on the tree? she could not understand it.

Her brother could not believe his eyes when he saw her there. She?--nothing but a girl?--what right had she to enjoy herself? But she was there, for all that, and her small brown and timid hand was held in a warm and loving clasp by one of the kind teachers, and she was made to feel that, after all, in the big lonely world there was some one who cared, and her little heart was full to overflowing, and she had to blink very hard to keep back the tears--tears of pure joy.

She was given many things from that beautiful tree, and, best of all, the teacher took her home; and _ho chun_ was good to her, and did not punish her at all, but promised--just think of it! promised--that she could go to the tree again next year.

_HO CHIN’S FOURTH OF JULY_

Ho Chin was ten years old, and had never had a Fourth of July. Just think of it! Ho Chin was the son of the Chinese Consul, and his rank placed him so far above the ordinary Chinese boys that he was very much looked up to, and respected by them. Ho Chin did not live in one of the small, dark, opium-scented rooms in which the rest of the Chinese children lived, but in the elegant Consulate with its large rooms and marble stairway; but, after all, he was just a boy, and liked the things that boys liked. He attended a very select American school, and dressed in American style. In fact, nothing was too good for Ho Chin--the eldest son of a Consul. But you know, sometimes he almost wished he was a common boy, and could run and play, and have the perfect freedom of the street boy.

Now at school he had of late heard of nothing but the Fourth of July. “What is the Fourth of July?” he finally ventured to ask.

And Johnny Moore replied, only too glad to be the first one to divulge all its wonders, “Why, it’s--it’s--fire-crackers, you know, and flags and soldiers, and popcorn and peanuts, and--and--everything. It’s the best time of the year; say, it’s just bully! Didn’t you ever see one?”

“No,” gasped the delighted Ho Chin. “Oh, do you think my papa would let me?” And from that time on he could hardly study, his mind was so taken up with this new subject, and he acted so strangely at home that his mama, who was a beautiful Chinese lady and loved her handsome boy, was very much worried over the change in him. He would leave his tea and rice untasted, and rush from the table most unexpectedly. Why? Because he had heard a faint whistle outside, from some of his American boy friends, and he was eager to get out to them, to talk about the wonderful event which was coming so near.

The more he thought of it, the more he decided in his mind that he had better not tell his father about it, because if he told him and should be refused--if-- Oh, he could not bear the thought. He knew that his father had never allowed him alone on the Chinese streets, for wise fathers always accompany their children. For who could tell when the child of a wealthy and noted man might be kidnapped? And the timid little Chinese mother was never really happy when he was out of her sight.

So the time flew by. The Consul was called to a distant part of the state on official business, and when Ho Chin awoke in the gray dawn of the early morning his first thought was: “Well, I can’t tell papa when he is not here, and I know if I told mama she would not let me go. What will I do? I can’t miss it.

The boys will think I am a coward if I don’t go, and--I have some money of my own.”

So saying, he crept out of bed, and astonished the servants by his early demand for breakfast. He knew his dainty mama would not leave her apartments for some time, for it took so long for the maids to dress her hair, and manicure her finger-nails, and array her in her rich silks; so, avoiding the eyes of the servants, he crept stealthily down the long marble stairway, jingling the money in his pocket as he went, and out through the narrow streets, whistling merrily, in the perfect delight of freedom. He knew he was not doing right, but here he was, at the gate of Johnny’s house, and there was Johnny himself, just running out at the door, cap in hand. His face wore a look of delight as he saw the Chinese boy, and he yelled: “How’d you get here?”

“Oh, I just came; nobody knows it--and say! Let’s begin! I’ve got some money; let’s go to old Sing Chew, he’s got a whole store full of fire-crackers.”

Johnny’s mama, looking out of the window, remarked to her husband, “So they allowed him to come, after all. Well, I’m glad of that, for he seems such a dear little fellow.”

Ho Chin was as happy as it is possible for a boy to be, when he found himself in the wonderful store. Old Sing Chew was awfully busy, but not so busy that he could not see the son of the Consul, and hastened to attend to his wants.

“How is it that you come alone? I neveh see you come unless your _ho chun_ bling you,” he said.

The boy replied, “Oh, I am a big boy now, and I like to have a good time on the Fourth of July. This is my friend!--he goes with me.” And the old man believed him, and admired the beautiful command the boy had of the English language.

It seemed a wonderful thing to Johnny that any one boy could have so much money to spend. It seemed great wealth to him, because he had only twenty-five cents for his fire-crackers, but the young Ho was as generous as could be, and they left the store with all they could carry.

What a pleasure to be a boy on the streets, where all was noise and confusion and incessant popping of fire-crackers. One boy threw a bunch under a horse’s feet, and he ran away and frightened a lot of people. There were crowds of boys--boys everywhere, and a good many Chinese boys, but only those of the lower class. What would his papa think if he should meet him now, his hands and face all black with powder, and a wild and reckless air about him, which did not seem at all like the quiet little fellow his papa knew.

Finally the great parade approached. He had only seen Chinese parades, with the great green dragon, and it had always frightened him; but there was no dragon in this parade. There were soldiers,--oh, so many hundreds of them!--with their bright uniforms glittering in the sun, and their spirited horses prancing and keeping time to the music of the many bands. Many of the horses became scared at the noise, and Ho Chin, being a boy, thought it great fun to see them stand on their hind legs and prance, and act as if they would run over everybody. He did not feel afraid, and he liked to hear the big drums; they sounded beautiful to him, almost as beautiful as the Chinese “tom-toms.” There were so many fine things about that parade that little Ho did not realize until after it had passed that he was hungry. He mentioned the fact to Johnny, and, strange to say, Johnny was hungry too. They were a long distance from home; what should they do?

“If I had any money left we could go into a restaurant and have our dinner,” said the wary Johnny.

“Oh, could we?” said Ho. “Well, we will go then, for I have plenty of money.”

Johnny did not need any urging, you may be sure, and many people in the restaurant were amused to see the two little friends seated at the table with their fire-crackers on a chair beside them. Still more amused was the waiter, who brought them such a mixture as he had never before served for lunch. It was dreadful! but it did not seem so to the two hungry boys, who, with mouths full, were so interested in talking that they did not even see the waiter. Little Ho Chin paid the bill with a kingly air, and they strutted out to pop their crackers for the rest of the day. They were having a fine time,--but what of the little Chinese mother?

When her toilet was completed she inquired for her boy, as she knew he was to have a holiday to-day, and was told that he had breakfasted earlier than he had ever done before, and they had not seen him since. They supposed he had gone to her apartments. She had the whole house searched, and was frightened almost to death. She burned her incense before the god, and murmured: “Oh, good joss! protect my boy, and bring him to me.”

At that moment her boy had just blown off his coat-tail with a bunch of fire-crackers, and it was lucky that he had not been blown to pieces. The mother could only wait till the day wore on, as her husband was not there to advise her, and Chinese women are so helpless.

After this day of delight the dark night fell, and not until then was the little Ho reminded that his mother would be worried, and he must go home. His fire-crackers were all gone, he was tired, and so covered with powder and dirt that one would never have recognized him as the elegantly dressed little boy who had left home in the early morning. “But,” he reflected, “I have had the finest time of my life; I will never forget it.”

It must be admitted, though, that his conscience hurt him very badly as he wended his way home. He wondered if his father could have come home unexpectedly. There was no way out of it; he must go and face it. He almost felt as if he would like to run away to some place where there were no fathers and mothers, and where it was always the Fourth of July all the year round.

He entered the great iron door, and had reached the top of the marble stairway, his heart beating with fear. He almost wished now he had not gone. The silence was so intense that he could almost hear his heart beat--he feared the worst. But now he heard a rustle of silken garments, and there came through the portieres--his mother!

With wide-open black eyes he gazed at her. Oh, what would she do? what would she say?--he stood trembling and speechless; and she?--Why, she was just a mother, after all, and with one great sob she took him in her arms and showered kisses on his handsome but very dirty face. He could feel her tender heart beating through the silken blouse, and she clasped him closer as she murmured: “The good joss has brought him back to me--my brave and beautiful little Ho.”

And he whispered, “Mother--forgive me! but it was all so lovely, and--I just _love_ the Fourth of July!”

And she, being a mother, forgave him.

_THE LITTLE FISHER-MAIDEN_

Lo Luen was the little daughter of a poor Chinese fisherman, and lived in the Chinatown of Monterey, California. She was born in this beautiful country, and did not know anything about China, except what she had heard her parents say. But this country was good enough for her, she thought, with its endless skies of blue overhead, and the big noisy ocean dashing its white spray up on the silver sands right in front of the little hut she called home.

It was a very poor place, and they were very poor people, but Lo Luen did not know this, because it was all she had ever known, so it did not disturb her simple celestial mind in the least. Then she could not get lonely, for there was her small brother, Lo Duck, who was the cunningest, chubbiest little boy that she had ever seen.

_Mo chun_ was very busy always, in the little hut, as she was a cigarette-maker, and worked at this all the time she was not doing the cooking, and making the simple garments for the family.

The father dearly loved his children, and often called Lo Luen his little fisher-maiden. This was because she was such a help to him in his fishing. She and little Lo Duck would sit out on the ground in front of their home for hours at a time, putting bait on the hooks; and this was a great help, for it saved so much time.

He would cut up a great deal of fish into small bits, and put it in a box by the children, and they would fasten it on to the hundreds of hooks on the lines, and then the big round baskets would be all ready for _ho chun_ to cast the lines into the ocean, and draw out the beautiful fish. Lo Luen was very proud when she saw the fine fish in the boat every day, for she almost felt as if she herself had caught them, since she had put the bait on the hooks. One day she had been working so hard that her father looked at her, as she sat there in the sun with her sleeves rolled up, working away as if her life depended upon it, and he said to her: “Lo Luen, how you likee go out in big boat with _ho chun_?”

“Oh!” she shouted, as she clapped her little brown hands, “I likee velly much; I likee catch big fish to bling _mo chun_.”

“All light,” said her father. “We no takee _hai tong_ (baby); he stay with _mo chun_, he too little.”

Lo Duck objected to this; he wanted to go too, but he would only be in the way, and then his mother would be worried if he went, so he was taken into the house, screaming vigorously. The timid mother felt rather afraid to trust her little daughter out on the great noisy ocean, whose waves came dashing upon the rocks with a boom like thunder; but the father said she was a big girl now, and it was time she learned something of the sea. So, while he fitted up the boat and got the nets into it, _mo chun_ was dressing the little girl in her warmest blouse, all heavily padded, and then got out a very thick silk hood, fastening it securely on her head, and last of all, she took from the padded _mumboo_ (tea-pot holder) a pot of boiling tea, and gave it to Lo Luen.

“_Maskee-maskee_, my _samen jai_” (never mind, my little boy), she said to the baby brother, “maybe you go next time.”

_Mo chun_ and the baby boy went with them as far as the boat, and Lo Luen jumped in gaily, and they were off. The water was smooth to-day, and everything would surely be well, thought the mother. She went in and placed a little bowl of steaming rice before the joss, so that he would protect her little girl from the wrath of the mighty ocean, and lighted the punks before him, so that the incense filled the little room.

Meanwhile, the little fishing boat went dancing over the blue waves, as light as an egg-shell, and the little Chinese girl was happy.

They kept near the shore at first, and when they passed the Del Monte hotel she saw hundreds of little American children running on the beach. She loved to watch them, as they ran with bare feet, kicking up the white sand. Some of them were jumping rope with long strands of kelp; some were hunting shells and bits of sea-moss; some were running into the foamy surf, filling their bright tin pails with water, and then hurrying from the big waves they would run back to pour the water into some little place in the sand, where they were building all sorts of wonderful things.

Some of the little girls had the most wonderful dolls in their arms,--or at least they seemed wonderful to a little girl who had no doll, except just the hard kelp balls which she had dressed up and used for dolls, as she did not like to ask for one, for fear it would cost too much.

They left the shore now, and went farther out, where the ocean was deep and the waves were rough. The cool salt spray dashed in her face, and her long queue hung over the side of the boat and dipped into the water. _Ho chun_ told her to take it in, or a big fish might come along and pull her in. Oh, what fun it was to see him cast in the net, and pull out so many big fish! but she was a little afraid of them, they were so squirmy and floppy. She cuddled up in one end of the boat, so they could not jump on her, but _ho chun_ fixed a plank in front of her, so she was not afraid.

It was her turn now, and so the father produced a stout little fishing pole and tackle, and she tried her luck at fishing in the big ocean. Soon she felt a strong tug at her line,--so strong that it almost pulled her in. She tugged away, though, till she almost fell out of the boat, but it was too big for her; she could not manage it without the help of _ho chun_.

“_Maskee!_” he said, and took hold of the pole. She still kept her small hands on it, though, so she could say that she caught it. Pretty soon there came up out of the water a big, big salmon, all gold and sparkling in the sunlight. She just squealed with delight, and her father said: “Heap good girl; catchee velly big fish.”

They were so interested in the work and were having such fine luck that they did not realize how late it was getting. Lo Luen was enjoying it so, that her father could not bear to stop her pleasure.

The darkness fell upon the waters now, and the sea moaned sadly. The waves grew rougher, and the air colder. It was not pretty when the sun was not shining on it.

“The wateh too black now; I no likee; I want see _mo chun_,” falteringly said the little one.

They could see the dim outlines of great ships with their lights sending long, narrow rays across the dark of the ocean. They looked like stars, and made one feel as if they were not alone on the vast waters.

“We go home now--see _mo chun_; get nice hot _tea_,” said the father, in a kind tone, as he clasped the little figure closely to him, and started to row home. Of course Lo Luen did not really feel afraid, with her father so near, and said: “I no ’flaid; but I likee go fast. I cold and hungly--that’s all.”

Her father smiled in the dark as he murmured consolingly, “Yes--that’s all.”

Lo Luen was thinking, as she crouched there, nestled up against _ho chun_, “How pletty those dolls were; I be so happy if I had one--just one, foh my velly own.”

The moonbeams lit up the water in a silvery path, and as Lo Luen looked at this path and thought how very beautiful it was, she noticed something floating in the light and bounding up and down on the waves. It looked like a big lump of seaweed.

“What is that, _ho chun_?” she said, with childish curiosity.

“Oh, I think just a piece of wood or a bunch of kelp; you likee get it, little girl?”

“Yes, we see what it is,” she said.

It seemed determined to get away from them, for almost every time they were near enough to touch it a big wave would come, and take it away in the dark, and it would be lost to sight for a while. But soon the light revealed it right within reach. _Ho chun_ put out his hand and grasped it, and putting it on the fish said: “We see when we get home,” and rowed away as fast as he could.

At home the little mother was getting very uneasy. What could keep them so long? “_Cheung kan ye lok_” (it is getting very late), she said. Oh, why had she ever let her go? To think of her _pao chu_ (precious pearl) being out on the big ocean at night. She imagined all sorts of horrible things, and blamed herself. Perhaps she had not set enough food before the joss, nor burned enough incense. She had the tea all nice and hot, and knew if nothing had happened they would be very hungry when they reached home. So she lighted more punks before the god, and had already sung the baby’s little Chinese song:

“My little baby--little boy blue--
Is as sweet as sugar and cinnamon too;
Isn’t this precious darling of ours
Sweeter than dates and cinnamon flowers?”

He now lay asleep on his couch, and she was all alone.

After what seemed an age to her she heard the sound of a boat being dragged upon the sand, and ran to the door of the hut, and stood there looking out upon the beach. “Lo Luen! Lo Luen!” she called out in the darkness, “_Yap loi le!_” (come in!) and there was a rush of sandalled feet, and in just a moment two cold brown hands were clasped in her warm ones, and a dear little cold nose was pressed against her face. “Lo Luen, precious pearl, you have come back, and the joss is good,” she said.

After the fish were put away _ho chun_ came in, and everything was peace and happiness again. The warm room seemed more welcome than ever before, for they were benumbed with cold, and oh, so hungry! _Mo chun_, with all gentleness and love, soon had them seated, with bowls of steaming rice before them, and fried fish, and other good things which she had prepared in their absence.

After supper Lo Luen happened to think of the mysterious bundle of seaweed, and _ho chun_ went out and brought it in. It was very wet, and smelled of the sea.

“I guess it’s only a piece of wood with kelp on,” said _mo chun_; but anyway, they tore the wet seaweed from it, while Lo Luen looked eagerly on. What could that be sticking out of the weed? It looked--it actually looked like a doll’s foot. It couldn’t be, and yet--With a great cry of joy Lo Luen saw her father uncover the treasure. All the pent-up feeling of starved child-life was in her cry, for there, disclosed to her dancing, oblique eyes was a doll--a real one, and a very beautiful one. She could not believe it at first, but rubbed her eyes. They were all astonished, for this was indeed an event in their barren lives.

The doll opened her eyes as if she were alive, and seemed to gaze at them in gratitude for being saved from the cruel water. Lo Luen hugged it to her wildly beating heart and her face beamed with a rapturous joy the like of which had never before come to her. She was such a little mother, always, and now she would have something upon which to shower all the wealth of love repressed in her warm little heart.

They did not attempt to solve the mystery. To them it was enough that this beautiful toy had been sent to them from the waters. It may have been that the doll was lost in some shipwreck, or that some of the little maidens at Del Monte had left it too near the water, and the waves had carried it away. It belonged now to the little Chinese fisher-maiden, and that was enough to know.

She slept that night with the precious doll in her arms--dear little Lo Luen!

_THE FINDING OF SING HO_

Little Sing Ho did not look very happy as he stood out on the pavement in front of his home. He had intended taking a beautiful walk, and had his umbrella already over his head, preparatory to starting, when his _mo chun_ appeared on the scene, and said: “Where you going, _hai tong_ (baby)?”

Now Sing Ho did not like to be called _hai tong_, for he felt that he was almost a big man, so he replied: “I going foh walk, down stleet.”

“No, no! you too small; you stay home now, and maybe bimeby _mo chun_ take you,” she said; and then she hurried into the house to see if the rice was burning. When she had disappeared he stood there for a moment, with the gay umbrella over him, looking very much displeased.

He was only four years old, it is true, but do you know, he often thought he knew more than his dear mother. Now Sing Ho was the only child, and had always been loved and petted, and had never been denied anything in his short little life. He remembered many walks he had taken with his father and mother, and he had always had such a good time that he thought it would be still better if he could take a walk all alone. He had just seen two of his little friends, with their queer little Chinese caps on,

_Two of his little friends, with their queer little Chinese caps on_]

and they had said they were going for a walk, so why not he?

He knew his _mo chun_ was very busy, embroidering a _blouse_ for him to wear on the New Year, and the San Nin (New Year) would be here to-morrow. So he thought in his baby way that he would take advantage of his mama, and only walk down the street a little way, and she would never know. He was too small to realize that it is a very difficult matter for even grown-up persons to find their way through the narrow and tortuous streets of the big Chinatown of San Francisco. He could not be expected to know these things.

So he wandered on, and soon forgot his fear in watching the beautiful things all around him. Chinatown was in holiday attire, and as far as the eye could reach the narrow streets were a perfect mass of bloom and beauty. On both sides of the streets were ranged great stands of the China lily and fragrant almond blossom, with delicate shades of pink.

Someway he found it very hard to get past the store windows, as they seemed to have so many things in them that boys like, and he forgot everything in the delight of gazing at them, and pressed his eager little round face right up against the glass in some places, and poked his cunning little nose into a fragrant bunch of lilies, to inhale their sweetness. _Mo chun_ had some lilies at home, but not so many nor such beautiful ones as these. At every door were strange Chinese letters, and he looked longingly at great bunches of peacock feathers with their many eyes, and the gaudy rosettes of red paper which are everywhere on the New Year. Almost every one that he met carried a brown paper parcel of pork and an onion, or some kind of funny looking lettuce, for the Chinese love pork better than the Americans love turkey, and it had to be a very poor person indeed who did not feel able to buy himself a piece of pork on the New Year.

Chinamen of all kinds were thronging the streets, and so many children, too, were toddling along with some older person, that no one noticed that the little boy was alone.

He believed he had only to walk back just a little way and he would be at home. He did not know that he had made several turns, and that it would be impossible for him to find his way back alone.

Naughty little Sing Ho! There were so many American people, too, in the shops, buying curious and beautiful things. On both sides of the street were rows of great dragon lanterns. He looked at them in childish wonder, longing for the great swaying globes. Suddenly he felt something hit him on the arm, and, looking upward, saw far above him some beautiful Chinese ladies on a balcony; and what is this that they have thrown down? Something very near to the heart of a boy,--a bright bunch of fire-crackers!

He was smiling now without any difficulty. Just then he heard a woman’s shrill, high-pitched voice speaking to him from the latticed window above him, saying: “Little boy! little boy! where is your _mo chun_?”

“She at home,” he replied, and then hesitatingly faltered, “_Ngo pa ngo tong cho lu lok_” (I am afraid I have lost my way).

He was crying now, and presented a very mournful appearance to the gaze of the passer-by. These ladies above him were those of the tiny “golden lily feet,” and very wealthy and aristocratic, so they could not leave their rooms and come down to him, as that was not their custom. If it had been the next day they could have done so, for on every day of the week of San Nin they were permitted to leave their homes and go anywhere they pleased.

“_Ni kiu mat meng a?_” (what is your name?) they asked.

“My name? Sing Ho,” he cried.

“You come up,” they called down to him, pointing meanwhile to a dark and narrow stairway which led up from the street.

“It so dark--Sing Ho ’flaid to go alone--I want _mo chun_--boo, hoo,” he wailed, in a pitiful little voice.

“But you must come. We find _mo chun_; we give you heap plenty fiah-clackeh (fire-cracker), plenty nice little cake; come on!”

Baby though he was, he remembered that his mother had always warned him against strangers, and told him never to allow any one to persuade him to go with them. But finally he decided that this was very different, and that anything would be better than being lost on the street.

“All light!” he sobbed, and started in great fear up the narrow stairway. Ugh! how dark it was! and he trembled, as his little sandalled feet crept hesitatingly on. When he at last reached the end of the stairway he found himself in a dark and narrow hall thick with the fumes of opium.

Where were the beautiful ladies?--and the little cakes? Nothing was to be seen but the gaunt figures of Chinamen gliding stealthily to and fro in the narrow hall. There were many doors on either side the hallway, and in each door was a small, square lattice into which the men would speak some queer words in Chinese, when the door would be cautiously opened, and he would enter. When the doors opened little Sing Ho caught glimpses of many Chinamen with cards in their hands, seated around some tables and calling out in a loud voice strange Chinese words which he could not understand. In some of the rooms he could see men reclining on bamboo couches and smoking opium. Oh, if his mother could see him now, as he stood there alone, and trembling in the half-darkness!

Just then his dear and beautiful little mother had put the last stitch in the blouse she was embroidering, and proudly held it out to the admiring gaze of her sister, who lived with her.

“He is playing outside; I go get him,” she said; and with a smile on her lips she opened the door and called him.

“Sing Ho! Sing Ho!”

No reply.

“Why, that is strange,” she thought. “Maybe he come in the house and go to sleep.”

She hurried into the small bedroom and looked eagerly at the couch. No, there was no _samen jai_ there. She was trembling now, with a nameless fear. Her pretty face grew pale, and the little brown nervous fingers were like ice.

Her boy--her baby--the honored one of the house of Sing, whose birth had crowned her with glory. Why, he must be there; he could not be gone from her--and yet--where was he? Her little tender baby boy who had never been from her side; the little brown face, naughty, sometimes, it is true, but always, to the mother, the dearest of things in all the big world.

Without stopping to change her house-robes she rushed down the street, and to the store of her husband, Sing Kee. He was just going down into the cellar after some tubs of preserved ginger, when he was startled by seeing his wife appear before him. The cat, that had always been loved and petted by little Sing Ho, lay sunning itself at the entrance, and Sing Kee looked up with a very serious face, for he knew that no little matter would bring his wife thus unexpectedly to his place of business. She surely would not be going on the street the day before the New Year.

“What’s the matter?” he asked in Chinese. She could hardly reply for the wild throbbing of her tender heart.

“My baby--my precious pearl--he lost! I no can find him; he gone--I no know where.”

And then she hid her face in her trembling brown hands and wept in the wildest grief. The poor father was terrified, for he knew what a big place Chinatown was, and how easily a little child could be lost or stolen, or hidden away, and no one would ever see it again. He knew the underground passages and dark opium dens which were thick around them, and his heart almost broke as he listened to her story. She had little to tell. It was only that he had wanted to take a walk, and she had told him he must not go, believing that he would obey her, as he always had.

They started through the streets now, in search of him, their eager eyes gazing in all directions. Two of his little playmates stood on a doorstep, and they inquired of them if they had seen him. Yes, they had seen him early in the afternoon. He had passed them, carrying his umbrella.

The distracted parents searched until the dark night fell and the great dragon lanterns were lighted in the balcony of the joss house near by.

The joss house!--there was an idea! Why had they not thought of it before? They would go there at once, and supplicate the god, that they might find their baby. They ascended the long flights of stairs until they were right in the room with the joss. There were little bowls of ashes full of punks, to be burned before the god, and the odor of incense filled the air as they lighted them and waved them before the joss.

Sing Kee threw many of the little carved prayer-sticks into the air, too, and when they fell, looked at them eagerly, evidently seeing something about them which pleased him, for he smiled, and said to the timid little mother: “They say we find him to-mollow--we go home now.”

They went home, but it was not home to-night without the dear little round, saucy face on the hard pillow, the patter of the little sandalled feet on the floors, and the click of the little chopsticks. There was no sleep for them that night. They had told the Chinatown police of their loss, but no clue had yet been reported.

Early next morning they started out again, on their weary search. It was the first day of the New Year, but they had not dreamed they would celebrate it in this way, as with heavy hearts they picked their way through the narrow streets, glancing in every direction, and up at the flower-laden balconies, with the candles burning for the joss.

Meanwhile the little Sing Ho had stood in fright, and looked around him, in the darkness of the hallway. Where were the pretty ladies? Had he only dreamed he saw them?

Suddenly he heard a high-pitched but sweet voice somewhere above him, saying: “Where are you, little boy? Come up the other stairs.”

The other stairs? where were they? He had supposed that he was at the top now, but on looking around he saw still another flight of steps, and gladly running to them he started on upward again, as fast as his tired little legs could carry him. When he reached the top, some one opened a door, cautiously, and calling out “_Yap loi le!_” (Come in!) reached out a beautiful jewelled hand, and drew him softly within the room.

Oh, how lovely it all was! There was a chatter of women’s voices in high-bred, nasal tones, and the room was warm, and smelled of incense. One very pretty little lady drew him to her as tenderly as a mother, and said to him in the sweetest tones: “Do not fear, little one! I will find _mo chun_ for you. Where do you live?”

“Why, I live with _mo chun_ and _ho chun_,” he said.

“Where do they live?” she inquired.

“I no know--they live at my home--and _mo chun_ she make me velly pletty blouse.”

Poor little boy! so he could not give them any clue, then, by which they might find his parents. Well, they would have to wait, and do the best they could under the circumstances. They tried to make him forget his sorrow for a while, and showed him many wonderful things. In the centre of the room was a table, all arranged for the New Year, and on it were great bowls of China lilies, and Chinese lemons and oranges. Then there was a polished tray, holding all kinds of candy and nuts. The windows were a perfect mass of lily and almond blossom, and peacock’s feathers were everywhere staring, with their green eyes. Outside was the balcony, from which the ladies had first spoken to the little lost boy, and on it were many big dragon lanterns, whose soft light fell upon the flowers, and made it look like fairyland.

They served tea out on the balcony, and gave Sing Ho the dearest little cup, and cakes, and plenty of watermelon seed to nibble at, and everything that he loved, except--his dear mama. When the breezes began to blow too roughly and sway the dragon lanterns, they decided to put the little stranger to bed. This was the worst moment of all. How could he go to bed without his dear mother’s kiss? Oh, how his lonely little heart ached and ached, and he just had to let the big tears come, and roll down his cheeks. He didn’t want to be rude to the pretty lady, but--there was no one like his _mo chun_. Finally he did go to sleep, though, and when he awoke it was the first day of the New Year.

He was waited upon like a little king, with a big bowl of rice and ivory chopsticks, nice hot tea, and little almond cakes--everything that one could wish, but--it did not take the ache out of his heart. After breakfast he and the beautiful lady went

_His own beautiful_ mo chun]

out on the balcony, and sat there for hours, looking down at the crowd.

The streets were thronged now, and there was an incessant noise of fireworks. The New Year had begun in earnest. The lady was going to take him for a walk that afternoon, but they would sit on the balcony now, and watch the crowds beneath. There were so many children, and all dressed in their richest robes. It made the heart of little Sing Ho ache to see the richly embroidered blouses, so like his own, and if he had not been naughty and run away he might even now be walking along down there, wearing the blouse, and holding the hand of his own beautiful _mo chun_.

His own beautiful _mo chun_?--Why--why--he rubbed his eyes and stared down into the street. Was he dreaming?

“_Mo chun! Mo chun!_” he screamed, in his shrill baby voice; for down on the street beneath the balcony hurried a pale but pretty little Chinese woman, her searching gaze going in every direction.

“It is my _mo chun_! Stop!” he cried; and the Chinese lady on the balcony threw down her painted fan and hit the little mother of Sing Ho right on the head. Glancing upward in surprise, the mother looked straight into the eyes of her precious pearl, her little Sing Ho! Oh, the rapture and the mother-love that shone in her face now! How the light came back into her eyes, and the red lips smiled, and the red rose bloomed in her cheeks as she reached out her arms to the balcony and sobbed: “_Hai tong! hai tong_ (baby! baby)!”

The father, who had gone on in front of her, Chinese fashion, was called back, and together they ascended the same steps which had so frightened their baby boy. As it was the New Year week it was perfectly proper that they should both enter the rooms of the Chinese ladies, and what a happy time that was!

Every one soon became acquainted, through the medium of a little child, and very soon they were all having a New Year’s cup of tea and other dainties, and were laughing and chatting away as if they had known each other always.

When they went home Sing Ho was given so many beautiful things that his little arms were full, and _ho_ _chun_ said as they entered the door of their own home: “I knew we would find him, because the prayer-sticks said so.”

_THE SLAVE-GIRL’S THANKSGIVING_

It was Thanksgiving Eve; but of this fact Pao Chu was entirely ignorant, for how could she know anything of Thanksgiving, or of giving thanks, when she was only a little Chinese slave, and had never been out of her prison in Chinatown?

Quong Lee, the president of the Quong Duck Tong, a highbinder society, was her owner, and she supposed that everybody was like him, and that there was no goodness or happiness in all the world. All the world to Pao Chu meant just the limited area she could see from her iron-barred window--about one foot square. And yes--on one occasion the old hag who guarded her had fallen into a deep opium sleep, and Pao Chu had slipped out on the tiny, flower-decked balcony, and, leaning far over, had gazed with pathetic eagerness down at the swarming crowd of Chinamen below. Her name meant “precious pearl,” but she could see no reason for such a meaning, unless--yes, it must be because she would bring a big price when she was sold again. She had overheard Quong Lee talking to the old hag Suey Gong one night when they had thought she slept, and he had said then that one of his highbinder friends had offered him three thousand dollars for Pao Chu, but he was not going to sell her yet, as he thought he could get five thousand soon, for she was growing more beautiful every day. But the poor little pearl paid dearly for that one little tantalizing glimpse of the Chinese world. It happened to be the night of a Chinese celebration,--the “Moon Festival,”--and the light from the great dragon lanterns swaying above her shone full upon her pretty face. Many glanced upward, and were startled by the lovely apparition. Her face was full of Oriental witchery, and the tender young soul of her shone out in the great velvet eyes, and the pretty mouth glowed like a scarlet rose, while her hair shone in the mystical fairy light of the lanterns.

But alas for Pao Chu, the pure pearl in the mire! As she gazed down at the moving merry crowd, her whole soul in her eyes, and living a whole life in that one moment, two passed beneath the balcony--a fateful two; one the highbinder friend of her master, who saw her face, and forever after wished to gain possession of it for his own, and the other her master, Quong Lee, the great and high--Quong Lee, the demon and arch-fiend. At first he was amazed at the transformation that happiness had made in her face, and then--with one bound he was up the stairs. The poor little slave-girl stood transfixed with horror. She called hysterically on the little squatty god in the corner, but the god stolidly refused to listen,--indeed he always had refused. She could not recall a time when he had ever listened; and now her master strode furiously into the room, and grasped the poor trembling child with his great murderous hands. He shook her violently, and hurled at her all the Chinese profanity at his command. He beat her so that she almost died, and she would so much rather have really died, but he would not kill the goose that laid the golden eggs. Oh, no! this little bit of stubborn womanhood would fill his purse with gold some day, and so--he must not go too far. He must not cripple or maim her or she would be a drug on the market. He would simply beat her and starve her for a few days, and bestow upon her every vile epithet in his category.

He then dragged the old Suey Gong from her hard couch and gave her a beating. Her brain was so deadened with opium that she could not understand why she was being beaten; but then it did not matter why, she had often been beaten, and there must be a reason for it. She would have liked to know, of course, but then it was a woman’s place to be beaten, as the _yen_, or female principle, was the source of all evil, and must be chastised whenever the male principle should see fit to do so.

From that time on there was no more freedom for the little slave. No fresh air save that which came through the tiny lattice; no glimpse of any human being save the old hag and the highbinder. Nothing to do but just to sit and make cigarettes all day, for her master to sell, and to talk to the old Suey Gong.

It was two years since her fateful visit to the balcony, and the girl was talking in her innocent way to the old woman.

“Suey Gong! do you know when I be sold? Will the new master beat me evly day? What kind of a life will it be? Tell me!” These, and many other questions, but to none of them could the old woman reply. If she had known the answers she would not have dared.

“I no _sabe_ (understand) anything,” she said, “I only know China girl neveh be happy. Bad spirits allee timee stay with her. She must allee timee play (pray) to the gods; she must work for man, he must beat her; she neveh be flee (free). She have heap plenty bad time here; I no know why; I no can tell.”

“But why should I play to god when he neveh hear? Listen! listen!--Suey Gong! I no play to Chinese god any more. Afteh this I play--I play to--’Melican god. Then we see!”

The old woman held up her hands in horror. The American spirit had surely gotten into this bit of Chinese girlhood. O that she had never told this girl about the American god! It was too late now, though, for Pao Chu with clasped hands was saying:

“Oh, heap good ’Melican joss! Listen to a poor slave-girl’s prayer! My master he beat me evly day; I no can tell why. I tly to be good, but he allee time beat me and starve me; I _so_ unhappy. Oh, good ’Melican god, if you can hear me, set me flee (free)!”

This innocent petition was enough to have brought tears to the eyes of even the little clay god, but he was not moved. Old Suey Gong was so terrified for fear the girl’s prayer would bring down the whole horde of evil spirits upon them that she in feverish haste set to work to light fresh incense sticks before the joss, and to set fresh bowls of food and tea before him. All this happened on Thanksgiving Eve, though there was nothing at all in the slave-girl’s life for which she could be thankful, even if she had known it was Thanksgiving.

But wait!--there _was_ something, for old Suey Gong was telling her that the master had received an important telegram from some member of the Quong Duck Tong, which had called him out of the city, and he would not be able to return for two whole days,--two days without being beaten! Perhaps already the ’Melican god had heard. If she could only gain the consent of the old woman she might once more venture on the forbidden balcony. The fates were kind and the opium goddess filled the old woman’s brain with dreams, and held down her eyelids. She slept, but the little girl did not. Garbed in pale lavender silk, she stole noiselessly out on the forbidden balcony. Her slim brown fingers lovingly caressed the Chinese lilies wrapped in red paper to scare away the bad spirits. Just now the bad spirits were not on duty, luckily for the little Chinese maiden. The tang of the sea air was so refreshing to her starved senses. She could look down to-night without fear, for her master would not come to-night, and in a childish, unformed way she breathed a blessing on the unknown highbinder who had sent the message, and although she did not know it was Thanksgiving Eve, a prayer of thanks to the unknown, intangible power who had given her this moment’s freedom went up from her innocent heart.

Everywhere down the streets of “Little China” the big lanterns glowed and swung in the fresh night air. A bell pealed out on the silence, and seemed to speak of peace, and of something different from the life she knew.

Suddenly her eye fell upon some one who did not wear the accustomed queue and blouse,--a big, strong American man with a kind face stood looking up at her. He wore a blue suit and brass buttons, and on his coat gleamed a great shining star. While he gazed upward at the girl a carriage rattled over the cobble-stones and stopped right under the balcony.

And now the big man was saying--could it be that he was speaking to her?--Hello, little one! Would you like to celebrate Che San Yet?” She knew that meant thanksgiving, but the Chinese Thanksgiving did not come until February, and she could not imagine what he meant.

He resumed: “Come with me, you poor little slave, and I will take you to a good, kind home, where they will never beat you, and you will be free.”

Free? She could not take in the meaning of the word. She could not even dream what it must be to be free. “Oh, no! I velly much ’flaid bad spirit catch me; I no can come; you down so low, and I up so high.”

But just then the carriage door opened, and a woman’s sweet face looked out, and a woman held out motherly arms of love toward the high balcony and its lonely occupant.

And old Suey Gong still slept.

A sweet voice called up: “Come and live with me, dear; I will always be kind.”

Pao Chu’s eyes filled with tears. It was the first time in all her life that any one had ever spoken a kind word to her. Before she could reply, the big policeman, who had some way slipped in through the rear, had taken her trembling little form in his strong arms, and hurrying down, placed her in the carriage, where she was clasped in the tender arms of Miss Cameron, Superintendent of the Chinese Rescue Mission.

She could not understand yet that she was free; but when she awoke on Thanksgiving morning and saw all the happy Chinese girl faces around her, and at the bountiful Thanksgiving table was made to understand the reason of it all, she then realized the true meaning of Thanksgiving, and said: “It would neveh have happened if I had not played to the good ’Melican God.”