Day was breaking. Lae Choo, who had been awake all night, dressed herself, then awoke her husband.
“’Tis the morn,” she cried. “Go, bring our son.”
The man rubbed his eyes and arose upon his elbow so that he could see out of the window. A pale star was visible in the sky. The petals of a lily in a bowl on the window-sill were unfurled.
“’Tis not yet time,” said he, laying his head down again.
“Not yet time. Ah, all the time that I lived before yesterday is not so much as the time that has been since my little one was taken from me.”
The mother threw herself down beside the bed and covered her face.
Hom Hing turned on the light, and touching his wife’s bowed head with a sympathetic hand inquired if she had slept.
“Slept!” she echoed, weepingly. “Ah, how could I close my eyes with my arms emptyof the little body that has filled them every night for more than twenty moons! You do not know—man—what it is to miss the feel of the little fingers and the little toes and the soft round limbs of your little one. Even in the darkness his darling eyes used to shine up to mine, and often have I fallen into slumber with his pretty babble at my ear. And now, I see him not; I touch him not; I hear him not. My baby, my little fat one!”
“Now! Now! Now!” consoled Hom Hing, patting his wife’s shoulder reassuringly; “there is no need to grieve so; he will soon gladden you again. There cannot be any law that would keep a child from its mother!”
Lae Choo dried her tears.
“You are right, my husband,” she meekly murmured. She arose and stepped about the apartment, setting things to rights. The box of presents she had brought for her California friends had been opened the evening before; and silks, embroideries, carved ivories, ornamental lacquer-ware, brasses, camphorwood boxes, fans, and chinaware were scattered around in confused heaps. In the midst of unpacking the thought of her child in the hands of strangers had overpowered her, and she had left everything to crawl into bed and weep.
Having arranged her gifts in order she stepped out on to the deep balcony.
The star had faded from view and there were bright streaks in the western sky. Lae Choo looked down the street and around. Beneath the flat occupied by her and her husband were quarters for a number of bachelor Chinamen, and she could hear them from where she stood, taking their early morning breakfast. Below their dining-room was her husband’s grocery store. Across the way was a large restaurant. Last night it had been resplendent with gay colored lanterns and the sound of music. The rejoicings over “the completion of the moon,” by Quong Sum’s firstborn, had been long and loud, and had caused her to tie a handkerchief over her ears. She, a bereaved mother, had it not in her heart to rejoice with other parents. This morning the place was more in accord with her mood. It was still and quiet. The revellers had dispersed or were asleep.
A roly-poly woman in black sateen, with long pendant earrings in her ears, looked up from the street below and waved her a smiling greeting. It was her old neighbor, Kuie Hoe, the wife of the gold embosser, Mark Sing. With her was a little boy in yellow jacket and lavender pantaloons. Lae Choo remembered him as a baby. She used to like to play withhim in those days when she had no child of her own. What a long time ago that seemed! She caught her breath in a sigh, and laughed instead.
“Why are you so merry?” called her husband from within.
“Because my Little One is coming home,” answered Lae Choo. “I am a happy mother—a happy mother.”
She pattered into the room with a smile on her face.
The noon hour had arrived. The rice was steaming in the bowls and a fragrant dish of chicken and bamboo shoots was awaiting Hom Hing. Not for one moment had Lae Choo paused to rest during the morning hours; her activity had been ceaseless. Every now and again, however, she had raised her eyes to the gilded clock on the curiously carved mantelpiece. Once, she had exclaimed:
“Why so long, oh! why so long?” Then apostrophizing herself: “Lae Choo, be happy. The Little One is coming! The Little One is coming!” Several times she burst into tears and several times she laughed aloud.
Hom Hing entered the room; his arms hung down by his side.
“The Little One!” shrieked Lae Choo.
“They bid me call tomorrow.”
With a moan the mother sank to the floor.
The noon hour passed. The dinner remained on the table.
The winter rains were over: the spring had come to California, flushing the hills with green and causing an ever-changing pageant of flowers to pass over them. But there was no spring in Lae Choo’s heart, for the Little One remained away from her arms. He was being kept in a mission. White women were caring for him, and though for one full moon he had pined for his mother and refused to be comforted he was now apparently happy and contented. Five moons or five months had gone by since the day he had passed with Lae Choo through the Golden Gate; but the great Government at Washington still delayed sending the answer which would return him to his parents.
Hom Hing was disconsolately rolling up and down the balls in his abacus box when a keen-faced young man stepped into his store.
“What news?” asked the Chinese merchant.
“This!” The young man brought fortha typewritten letter. Hom Hing read the words:
“Re Chinese child, alleged to be the son of Hom Hing, Chinese merchant, doing business at 425 Clay street, San Francisco.
“Same will have attention as soon as possible.”
Hom Hing returned the letter, and without a word continued his manipulation of the counting machine.
“Have you anything to say?” asked the young man.
“Nothing. They have sent the same letter fifteen times before. Have you not yourself showed it to me?”
“True!” The young man eyed the Chinese merchant furtively. He had a proposition to make and he was pondering whether or not the time was opportune.
“How is your wife?” he inquired solicitously—and diplomatically.
Hom Hing shook his head mournfully.
“She“Sheseems less every day,” he replied. “Her food she takes only when I bid her and her tears fall continually. She finds no pleasure in dress or flowers and cares not to see her friends. Her eyes stare all night. I think before another moon she will pass into the land of spirits.”
“No!” exclaimed the young man, genuinely startled.
“If the boy not come home I lose my wife sure,” continued Hom Hing with bitter sadness.
“It’s not right,” cried the young man indignantly. Then he made his proposition.
The Chinese father’s eyes brightened exceedingly.
“Will I like you to go to Washington and make them give you the paper to restore my son?” cried he. “How can you ask when you know my heart’s desire?”
“Then,”“Then,”said the young fellow, “I will start next week. I am anxious to see this thing through if only for the sake of your wife’s peace of mind.”
“I will call her. To hear what you think to do will make her glad,” said Hom Hing.
He called a message to Lae Choo upstairs through a tube in the wall.
In a few moments she appeared, listless, wan, and hollow-eyed; but when her husband told her the young lawyer’s suggestion she became as one electrified; her form straightened, her eyes glistened; the color flushed to her cheeks.
“Oh,” she cried, turning to James Clancy, “You are a hundred man good!”
The young man felt somewhat embarrassed; his eyes shifted a little under the intense gaze of the Chinese mother.
“Well, we must get your boy for you,” he responded. “Of course”—turning to Hom Hing—“it will cost a little money. You can’t get fellows to hurry the Government for you without gold in your pocket.”
Hom Hing stared blankly for a moment. Then: “How much do you want, Mr. Clancy?” he asked quietly.
“Well, I will need at least five hundred to start with.”
Hom Hing cleared his throat.
“I think I told to you the time I last paid you for writing letters for me and seeing the Custom boss here that nearly all I had was gone!”
“Oh, well then we won’t talk about it, old fellow. It won’t harm the boy to stay where he is, and your wife may get over it all right.”
“What that you say?” quavered Lae Choo.
James Clancy looked out of the window.
“He says,” explained Hom Hing in English, “that to get our boy we have to have much money.”
“Money! Oh, yes.”
Lae Choo nodded her head.
“I have not got the money to give him.”
For a moment Lae Choo gazed wonderingly from one face to the other; then, comprehension dawning upon her, with swift anger, pointing to the lawyer, she cried: “You not one hundred man good; you just common white man.”
“Yes, ma’am,” returned James Clancy, bowing and smiling ironically.
Hom Hing pushed his wife behind him and addressed the lawyer again: “I might try,” said he, “to raise something; but five hundred—it is not possible.”
“What about four?”
“I tell you I have next to nothing left and my friends are not rich.”
“Very well!”
The lawyer movedleisurelyleisurelytoward the door, pausing on its threshold to light a cigarette.
“Stop, white man; white man, stop!”
Lae Choo, panting and terrified, had started forward and now stood beside him, clutching his sleeve excitedly.
“You say you can go to get paper to bring my Little One to me if Hom Hing give you five hundred dollars?”
The lawyer nodded carelessly; his eyes were intent upon the cigarette which would not take the fire from the match.
“Then you go get paper. If Hom Hing not can give you five hundred dollars—I give you perhaps what more that much.”
She slipped a heavy gold bracelet from her wrist and held it out to the man. Mechanically he took it.
“I go get more!”
She scurried away, disappearing behind the door through which she had come.
“Oh, look here, I can’t accept this,” said James Clancy, walking back to Hom Hing and laying down the bracelet before him.
“It’s all right,” said Hom Hing, seriously, “pure China gold. My wife’s parent give it to her when we married.”
“But I can’t take it anyway,” protested the young man.
“It is all same as money. And you want money to go to Washington,” replied Hom Hing in a matter of fact manner.
“See, my jade earrings—my gold buttons—my hairpins—my comb of pearl and my rings—one, two, three, four, five rings; very good—very good—all same much money. I give them all to you. You take and bring me paper for my Little One.”
Lae Choo piled up her jewels before the lawyer.
Hom Hing laid a restraining hand upon her shoulder. “Not all, my wife,” he said in Chinese. He selected a ring—his gift to Lae Choo when she dreamed of the tree with the red flower. The rest of the jewels he pushed toward the white man.
“Take them and sell them,” said he. “They will pay your fare to Washington and bring you back with the paper.”
For one moment James Clancy hesitated. He was not a sentimental man; but something within him arose against accepting such payment for his services.
“They are good, good,” pleadingly asserted Lae Choo, seeing his hesitation.
Whereupon he seized the jewels, thrust them into his coat pocket, and walked rapidly away from the store.
Lae Choo followed after the missionary woman through the mission nursery school. Her heart was beating so high with happiness that she could scarcely breathe. The paper had come at last—the precious paper which gave Hom Hing and hiswife the right to the possession of their own child. It was ten months now since he had been taken from them—ten months since the sun had ceased to shine for Lae Choo.
The room was filled with children—most of them wee tots, but none so wee as her own. The mission woman talked as she walked. She told Lae Choo that little Kim, as he had been named by the school, was the pet of the place, and that his little tricks and ways amused and delighted every one. He had been rather difficult to manage at first and had cried much for his mother; “but children so soon forget, and after a month he seemed quite at home and played around as bright and happy as a bird.”
“Yes,” responded Lae Choo. “Oh, yes, yes!”
But she did not hear what was said to her. She was walking in a maze of anticipatory joy.
“Wait here, please,” said the mission woman, placing Lae Choo in a chair. “The very youngest ones are having their breakfast.”
She withdrew for a moment—it seemed like an hour to the mother—then she reappeared leading by the hand a little boy dressed in blue cotton overalls and white-soled shoes. The little boy’s face was round and dimpled and his eyes were very bright.
“Little One, ah, my Little One!” cried Lae Choo.
She fell on her knees and stretched her hungry arms toward her son.
But the Little One shrunk from her and tried to hide himself in the folds of the white woman’s skirt.
“Go’way, go’way!” he bade his mother.
Mermei lived in an upstairs room of a Chinatown dwelling-house. There were other little Chinese women living on the same floor, but Mermei never went amongst them. She was not as they were. She was a cripple. A fall had twisted her legs so that she moved around with difficulty and scarred her face so terribly that none save Lin John cared to look upon it. Lin John, her brother, was a laundryman, working for another of his countrymen. Lin John and Mermei had come to San Francisco with their parents when they were small children. Their mother had died the day she entered the foreign city, and the father the week following, both having contracted a fever on the steamer. Mermei and Lin John werethen taken in charge by their father’s brother, and although he was a poor man he did his best for them until called away by death.
Long before her Uncle died Mermei had met with the accident that had made her not as other girls; but that had only strengthened her brother’s affection, and old Lin Wan died happy in the knowledge that Lin John would ever put Mermei before himself.
So Mermei lived in her little upstairs room, cared for by Lin John, and scarcely an evening passed that he did not call to see her. One evening, however, Lin John failed to appear, and Mermei began to feel very sad and lonely. Mermei could embroider all day in contented silence if she knew that in the evening someone would come to whom she could communicate all the thoughts that filled a small black head that knew nothing of life save what it saw from an upstairs window. Mermei’s window looked down upon the street, and she would sit for hours, pressed close against it, watching those who passed below and all that took place. That day she had seen many things which she had put into her mental portfolio for Lin John’s edification when evening should come. Two yellow-robed priests had passed below on their way to the joss house in the next street; a little bird witha white breast had fluttered against the window pane; a man carrying an image of a Gambling Cash Tiger had entered the house across the street; and six young girls of about her own age, dressed gaily as if to attend a wedding, had also passed over the same threshold.
But when nine o’clock came and no Lin John, the girl began to cry softly. She did not often shed tears, but for some reason unknown to Mermei herself, the sight of those joyous girls caused sad reflections. In the midst of her weeping a timid knock was heard. It was not Lin John. He always gave a loud rap, then entered without waiting to be bidden. Mermei hobbled to the door, pulled it open, and there, in the dim light of the hall without, beheld a young girl—the most beautiful young girl that Mermei had ever seen—and she stood there extending to Mermei a blossom from a Chinese lily plant. Mermei understood the meaning of the offered flower, and accepting it, beckoned for her visitor to follow her into her room.
What a delightful hour that was to Mermei! She forgot that she was scarred and crippled, and she and the young girl chattered out their little hearts to one another. “Lin John is dear, but one can’t talk to a man, even if heis a brother, as one can to one the same as oneself,” said Mermei to Sin Far—her new friend, and Sin Far, the meaning of whose name was Pure Flower, or Chinese Lily, answered:
“Yes, indeed. The woman must be the friend of the woman, and the man the friend of the man. Is it not so in the country that Heaven loves?”
“What beneficent spirit moved you to come to my door?” asked Mermei.
“I know not,” replied Sin Far, “save that I was lonely. We have but lately moved here, my sister, my sister’s husband, and myself. My sister is a bride, and there is much to say between her and her husband. Therefore, in the evening, when the day’s duties are done, I am alone. Several times, hearing that you were sick, I ventured to your door; but failed to knock, because always when I drew near, I heard the voice of him whom they call your brother. Tonight, as I returned from an errand for my sister, I heard only the sound of weeping—so I hastened to my room and plucked the lily for you.”
The next evening when Lin John explained how he had been obliged to work the evening before Mermei answered brightly that that was all right. She loved him just as much asever and was just as glad to see him as ever; but if work prevented him from calling he was not to worry. She had found a friend who would cheer her loneliness.
Lin John was surprised, but glad to hear such news, and it came to pass that when he beheld Sin Far, her sweet and gentle face, her pretty drooped eyelids and arched eyebrows, he began to think of apple and peach and plum trees showering their dainty blossoms in the country that Heaven loves.
It was about four o’clock in the afternoon. Lin John, working in his laundry, paid little attention to the street uproar and the clang of the engines rushing by. He had no thought of what it meant to him and would have continued at his work undisturbed had not a boy put his head into the door and shouted:
“Lin John, the house in which your sister lives is on fire!”
The tall building was in flames when Lin John reached it. The uprising tongues licked his face as he sprung up the ladder no other man dared ascend.
“I will not go. It is best for me to die,” and Mermei resisted her friend with all her puny strength.
“The ladder will not bear the weight of both of us. You are his sister,” calmly replied Sin Far.
“But he loves you best. You and he can be happy together. I am not fit to live.”
“May Lin John decide, Mermei?”
“Yes, Lin John may decide.”
Lin John reached the casement. For one awful second he wavered. Then his eyes sought the eyes of his sister’s friend.
“Come, Mermei,” he called.
“Where is Sin Far?” asked Mermei when she became conscious.
“Sin Far is in the land of happy spirits.”
“And I am still in this sad, dark world.”
“Speak not so, little one. Your brother loves you and will protect you from the darkness.”
“But you loved Sin Far better—and she loved you.”
Lin John bowed his head.
“Alas!” wept Mermei. “That I should live to make others sad!”
“Nay,” said Lin John, “Sin Far is happy. And I—I did my duty with her approval, aye, at her bidding. How then, little sister, can I be sad?”
THE SMUGGLING OF TIE CO
Amongst the daring men who engage in contrabanding Chinese from Canada into the United States Jack Fabian ranks as the boldest in deed, the cleverest in scheming, and the most successful in outwitting Government officers.
Uncommonly strong in person, tall and well built, with fine features and a pair of keen, steady blue eyes, gifted with a sort of rough eloquence and of much personal fascination, it is no wonder that we fellows regard him as our chief and are bound to follow where he leads. With Fabian at our head we engage in the wildest adventures and find such places of concealment for our human goods as none but those who take part in a desperate business would dare to dream of.
Jack, however, is not in search of glory—money is his object. One day when a romantic friend remarked that it was very kind of him to help the poor Chinamen over the border, a cynical smile curled his moustache.
“Kind!” he echoed. “Well, I haven’t yet had time to become sentimental over the matter. It is merely a matter of dollars and cents, though, of course, to a man of mystrict principles, there is a certain pleasure to be derived from getting ahead of the Government. A poor devil does now and then like to take a little out of those millionaire concerns.”
It was last summer and Fabian was somewhat down on his luck. A few months previously, to the surprise of us all, he had made a blunder, which resulted in his capture by American officers, and he and his companion, together with five uncustomed Chinamen, had been lodged in a county jail to await trial.
But loafing behind bars did not agree with Fabian’s energetic nature, so one dark night, by means of a saw which had been given to him by a very innocent-looking visitor the day before, he made good his escape, and after a long, hungry, detective-hunted tramp through woods and bushes, found himself safe in Canada.
He had had a three months’ sojourn in prison, and during that time some changes had taken place in smuggling circles. Some ingenious lawyers had devised a scheme by which any young Chinaman on payment of a couple of hundred dollars could procure a father which father would swear the young Chinaman was born in America—thus proving him to be an American citizen with theright to breathe United States air. And the Chinese themselves, assisted by some white men, were manufacturing certificates establishing their right to cross the border, and in that way were crossing over in large batches.
That sort of trick naturally spoiled our fellows’ business, but we all know that “Yankee sharper” games can hold good only for a short while; so we bided our time and waited in patience.
Not so Fabian. He became very restless and wandered around with glowering looks. He was sitting one day in a laundry, the proprietor of which had sent out many a boy through our chief’s instrumentality. Indeed, Fabian is said to have “rushed over” to “Uncle Sam” himself some five hundred Celestials, and if Fabian had not been an exceedingly generous fellow he might now be a gentleman of leisure instead of an unimmortalized Rob Roy.
Well, Fabian was sitting in the laundry of Chen Ting Lung & Co., telling a nice-looking young Chinaman that he was so broke that he’d be willing to take over even one man at a time.
The young Chinaman looked thoughtfully into Fabian’s face. “Would you take me?” he inquired.
“Take you!” echoed Fabian. “Why, you are one of the ‘bosses’ here. You don’t mean to say that you are hankering after a place where it would take you years to get as high up in the ‘washee, washee’ business as you are now?”
“Yes, I want go,” replied Tie Co. “I want go to New York and I will pay you fifty dollars and all expense if you take me, and not say you take me to my partners.”
“There’s no accounting for a Chinaman,” muttered Fabian; but he gladly agreed to the proposal and a night was fixed.
“What is the name of the firm you are going to?” inquired the white man.
Chinamen who intend being smuggled always make arrangements with some Chinese firm in the States to receive them.
Tie Co hesitated, then mumbled something which sounded like “Quong Wo Yuen” or “Long Lo Toon,” Fabian was not sure which, but did not repeat the question, not being sufficiently interested.
He left the laundry, nodding goodbye to Tie Co as he passed outside the window, and the Chinaman nodded back, a faint smile on his small, delicate face lingering until Fabian’s receding form was lost to view.
It was a pleasant night on which the twomen set out. Fabian had a rig waiting at the corner of the street; Tie Co, dressed in citizen’s clothes, stepped into it unobserved, and the smuggler and would-be-smuggled were soon out of the city. They had a merry drive, for Fabian’s liking for Tie Co was very real; he had known him for several years, and the lad’s quick intelligence interested him.
The second day they left their horse at a farmhouse, where Fabian would call for it on his return trip, crossed a river in a row-boat before the sun was up, and plunged into a wood in which they would remain till evening. It was raining, but through mud and wind and rain they trudged slowly and heavily.
Tie Co paused now and then to take breath. Once Fabian remarked:
“You are not a very strong lad, Tie Co. It’s a pity you have to work as you do for your living,” and Tie Co had answered:
“Work velly good! No work, Tie Co die.”
Fabian looked at the lad protectingly, wondering in a careless way why this Chinaman seemed to him so different from the others.
“Wouldn’t you like to be back in China?” he asked.
“No,” said Tie Co decidedly.
“Why?”
“I not know why,” answered Tie Co.
Fabian laughed.
“Haven’t you got a nice little wife at home?” he continued. “I hear you people marry very young.”
“No, I no wife,” asserted his companion with a choky little laugh. “I never have no wife.”
“Nonsense,” joked Fabian. “Why, Tie Co, think how nice it would be to have a little woman cook your rice and to love you.”
“I not have wife,” repeated Tie Co seriously. “I not like woman, I like man.”
“You confirmed old bachelor!” ejaculated Fabian.
“I like you,” said Tie Co, his boyish voice sounding clear and sweet in the wet woods. “I like you so much that I want go to New York, so you make fifty dollars. I no flend in New York.”
“What!” exclaimed Fabian.
“Oh, I solly I tell you, Tie Co velly solly,” and the Chinese boy shuffled on with bowed head.
“Look here, Tie Co,” said Fabian; “I won’t have you do this for my sake. You have been very foolish, and I don’t care for your fifty dollars. I do not need it half as much as you do. Good God! how ashamed you make me feel—I who have blown in mythousands in idle pleasures cannot take the little you have slaved for. We are in New York State now. When we get out of this wood we will have to walk over a bridge which crosses a river. On the other side, not far from where we cross, there is a railway station. Instead of buying you a ticket for the city of New York I shall take train with you for Toronto.”
Tie Co did not answer—he seemed to be thinking deeply. Suddenly he pointed to where some fallen trees lay.
“Two men run away behind there,” cried he.
Fabian looked round them anxiously; his keen eyes seemed to pierce the gloom in his endeavor to catch a glimpse of any person; but no man was visible, and, save the dismal sighing of the wind among the trees, all was quiet.
“There’s no one,” he said somewhat gruffly—he was rather startled, for they were a mile over the border and he knew that the Government officers were on a sharp lookout for him, and felt, despite his strength, if any trick or surprise were attempted it would go hard with him.
“If they catch you with me it be too bad,” sententiously remarked Tie Co. It seemedas if his words were in answer to Fabian’s thoughts.
“But they will not catch us; so cheer up your heart, my boy,” replied the latter, more heartily than he felt.
“If they come, and I not with you, they not take you and it be all lite.”
“Yes,” assented Fabian, wondering what his companion was thinking about.
They emerged from the woods in the dusk of the evening and were soon on the bridge crossing the river. When they were near the centre Tie Co stopped and looked into Fabian’s face.
“Man come for you, I not here, man no hurt you.” And with the words he whirled like a flash over the rail.
In another flash Fabian was after him. But though a first-class swimmer, the white man’s efforts were of no avail, and Tie Co was borne away from him by the swift current.
Cold and dripping wet, Fabian dragged himself up the bank and found himself a prisoner.
“So your Chinaman threw himself into the river. What was that for?” asked one of the Government officers.
“I think he was out of his head,” replied Fabian. And he fully believed what he uttered.
“We tracked you right through the woods,” said another of the captors. “We thought once the boy caught sight of us.”
Fabian remained silent.
Tie Co’s body was picked up the next day. Tie Co’s body, and yet not Tie Co, for Tie Co was a youth, and the body found with Tie Co’s face and dressed in Tie Co’s clothes was the body of a girl—a woman.
Nobody in the laundry of Chen Ting Lung & Co.—no Chinaman in Canada or New York—could explain the mystery. Tie Co had come out to Canada with a number of other youths. Though not very strong he had always been a good worker and “very smart.” He had been quiet and reserved among his own countrymen; had refused to smoke tobacco or opium, and had been a regular attendant at Sunday schools and a great favorite with Mission ladies.
Fabian was released in less than a week. “No evidence against him,” said the Commissioner, who was not aware that the prisoner was the man who had broken out of jail but a month before.
Fabian is now very busy; there are lots of boys taking his helping hand over the border, but none of them are like Tie Co; and sometimes,between whiles, Fabian finds himself pondering long and earnestly over the mystery of Tie Co’s life—and death.
He that hath wine hath many friends,” muttered Koan-lo the Second, as he glanced backwards into the store out of which he was stepping. It was a Chinese general store, well stocked with all manner of quaint wares, and about a dozen Chinamen were sitting around; whilst in an adjoining room could be seen the recumbent forms of several smokers who were discussing business and indulging in the fascinating pipe during the intervals of conversation.
Noticeable amongst the smokers was Koan-lo the First, a tall, middle-aged Chinaman, wearing a black cap with a red button. Koan-lo the First was cousin to Koan-lo the Second, but whereas Koan-lo the Second was young and penniless, Koan-lo the First was one of the wealthiest Chinese merchants in San Francisco and a mighty man amongst the people of his name in that city, who regarded him as a father.
Koan-lo the Second had been instructedby Koan-lo the First to meet Sie, the latter’s bride, who was arriving that day by steamer from China. Koan-lo the First was too busy a man to go down himself to the docks.
So Koan-lo the Second and Sie met—though not for the first time. Five years before in a suburb of Canton City they had said to one another: “I love you.”
Koan-lo the Second was an orphan and had been educated and cared for from youth upwards by Koan-lo the First.
Sie was the daughter of a slave, which will explain why she and Koan-lo the Second had had the opportunity to know one another before the latter left with his cousin for America. In China the daughters of slaves are allowed far more liberty than girls belonging to a higher class of society.
“Koan-lo, ah Koan-lo,” cooed Sie softly and happily as she recognized her lover.
“Sie, my sweetest heart,” returned Koan-lo the Second, his voice both glad and sad.
He saw that a mistake had been made—that Sie believed that the man who was to be her husband was himself—Koan-lo the Second.
And all the love that was in him awoke, and he became dizzy thinking of what might yet be.
Could he explain that the Koan-lo who had purchased Sie for his bride, and to whom she of right belonged, was his cousin and not himself? Could he deliver to the Koan-lo who had many friends and stores of precious valuables the only friend, the only treasure he had ever possessed? And was it likely that Sie would be happy eating the rice of Koan-lo the First when she loved him, Koan-lo the Second?
Sie’s little fingers crept into his. She leaned against him. “I am tired. Shall we soon rest?” said she.
“Yes, very soon, my Sie,” he murmured, putting his arm around her.
“I was too glad when my father told me that you had sent for me,” she whispered.
“I said: ‘How good of Koan-lo to remember me all these years.’”
“And did you not remember me, my jess’-mine flower?”
“Why need you ask? You know the days and nights have been filled with you.”
“Having remembered me, why should you have dreamt that I might have forgotten you?”
“There is a difference. You are a man; I am a woman.”
“You have been mine now for over two weeks,” said Koan-lo the Second. “Do you still love me, Sie?”
“Look into mine eyes and see,” she answered.
“And are you happy?”
“Happy! Yes, and this is the happiest day of all, because today my father obtains his freedom.”
“How is that, Sie?”
“Why, Koan-lo, you know. Does not my father receive today the balance of the price you pay for me, and is not that, added to what you sent in advance, sufficient to purchase my father’s freedom? My dear, good father—he has worked so hard all these years. He has ever been so kind to me. How glad am I to think that through me the God of Restoration has decreed that he shall no longer be a slave. Yes, I am the happiest woman in the world today.”
Sie kissed her husband’s hand.
He drew it away and hid with it his face.
“Ah, dear husband!” cried Sie. “You are very sick.”
“No, not sick,” replied the miserable Koan-lo—“but, Sie, I must tell you that I am a very poor man, and we have got to leave this pretty house in the country and go to somecity where I will have to work hard and you will scarcely have enough to eat.”
“Kind, generous Koan-lo,” answered Sie, “you have ruined yourself for my sake; you paid too high a price for me. Ah, unhappy Sie, who has pulled Koan-lo into the dust! Now let me be your servant, for gladly would I starve for your sake. I care for Koan-lo, not riches.”
And she fell on her knees before the young man, who raised her gently, saying:
“Sie, I am unworthy of such devotion, and your words drive a thousand spears into my heart. Hear my confession. I am your husband, but I am not the man who bought you. My cousin, Koan-lo the First, sent for you to come from China. It was he who bargained for you, and paid half the price your father asked whilst you were in Canton, and agreed to pay the balance upon sight of your face. Alas! the balance will never be paid, for as I have stolen you from my cousin, he is not bound to keep to the agreement, and your father is still a slave.”
Sie stood motionless, overwhelmed by the sudden and terrible news. She looked at her husband bewilderedly.
“Is it true, Koan-lo? Must my father remain a slave?” she asked.
“Yes, it is true,” replied her husband. “But we have still one another, and you say you care not for poverty. So forgive me and forget your father. I forgot all for love of you.”
He attempted to draw her to him, but with a pitiful cry she turned and fled.
Koan-lo the first sat smoking and meditating.
Many moons had gone by since Koan-lo the Second had betrayed the trust of Koan-lo the First, and Koan-lo the First was wondering what Koan-lo the Second was doing, and how he was living. “He had little money and was unused to working hard, and with a woman to support what will the dog do?” thought the old man. He felt injured and bitter, but towards the evening, after long smoking, his heart became softened, and he said to his pipe: “Well, well, he had a loving feeling for her, and the young I suppose must mate with the young. I think I could overlook his ungratefulness were he to come and seek forgiveness.”
“Great and honored sir, the dishonored Sie kneels before you and begs you to put your foot on her head.”
These words were uttered by a youngChinese girl of rare beauty who had entered the room suddenly and prostrated herself before Koan-lo the First. He looked up angrily.
“Ah, I see the false woman who made her father a liar!” he cried.
Tears fell from the downcast eyes of Sie, the kneeler.
“Good sir,” said she, “ere I had become a woman or your cousin a man, we loved one another, and when we met after a long separation, we both forgot our duty. But the God of Restoration worked with my heart. I repented and now am come to you to give myself up to be your slave, to work for you until the flesh drops from my bones, if such be your desire, only asking that you will send to my father the balance of my purchase price, for he is too old and feeble to be a slave. Sir, you are known to be a more than just man. Oh, grant my request! ’Tis for my father’s sake I plead. For many years he nourished me, with trouble and care; and my heart almost breaks when I think of him. Punish me for my misdeeds, dress me in rags, and feed me on the meanest food! Only let me serve you and make myself of use to you, so that I may be worth my father’s freedom.”
“And what of my cousin? Are you now false to him?”
“No, not false to Koan-lo, my husband—only true to my father.”
“And you wish me, whom you have injured, to free your father?”
Sie’s head dropped lower as she replied:
“I wish to be your slave. I wish to pay with the labor of my hands the debt I owe you and the debt I owe my father. For this I have left my husband.”
Koan-lo the First arose, lifted Sie’s chin with his hand, and contemplated with earnest eyes her face.
“Your heart is not all bad,” he observed. “Sit down and listen. I will not buy you for my slave, for in this country it is against the law to buy a woman for a slave; but I will hire you for five years to be my servant, and for that time you will do my bidding, and after that you will be free. Rest in peace concerning your father.”
“May the sun ever shine on you, most gracious master!” cried Sie.
Then Koan-lo the First pointed out to her a hallway leading to a little room, which room he said she could have for her own private use while she remained with him.
Sie thanked him and was leaving his presence when the door was burst open and Koan-lo the Second, looking haggard and wild,entered. He rushed up to Sie and clutched her by the shoulder.
“You are mine!” he shouted. “I will kill you before you become another man’s!”
“Cousin,” said Koan-lo the First, “I wish not to have the woman to be my wife, but I claim her as my servant. She has already received her wages—her father’s freedom.”
Koan-lo the Second gazed bewilderedly into the faces of his wife and cousin. Then he threw up his hands and cried:
“Oh, Koan-lo, my cousin, I have been evil. Always have I envied you and carried bitter thoughts of you in my heart. Even your kindness to me in the past has provoked my ill-will, and when I have seen you surrounded by friends, I have said scornfully: ‘He that hath wine hath many friends,’ although I well knew the people loved you for your good heart. And Sie I have deceived. I took her to myself, knowing that she thought I was what I was not. I caused her to believe she was mine by all rights.”
“So I am yours,” broke in Sie tremblingly.
“So she shall be yours—when you are worthy of such a pearl and can guard and keep it,” said Koan-lo the First. Then waving his cousin away from Sie, he continued:
“This is your punishment; the God ofRestoration demands it. For five years you shall not see the face of Sie, your wife. Meanwhile, study, think, be honest, and work.”
“Your husband comes for you today. Does the thought make you glad?” questioned Koan-lo the First.
Sie smiled and blushed.
“I shall be sorry to leave you,” she replied.
“But more glad than sad,” said the old man. “Sie, your husband is now a fine fellow. He has changed wonderfully during his years of probation.”
“Then I shall neither know nor love him,” said Sie mischievously. “Why, here he—”
“My sweet one!”
“My husband!”
“My children, take my blessing; be good and be happy. I go to my pipe, to dream of bliss if not to find it.”
With these words Koan-lo the First retired.
“Is he not almost as a god?” said Sie.
“Yes,” answered her husband, drawing her on to his knee. “He has been better to me than I have deserved. And you—ah, Sie, how can you care for me when you know what a bad fellow I have been?”
“Well,” said Sie contentedly, “it is always our best friends who know how bad we are.”