I’ll bring you some eggs, all bright and red.”
She saw that the queer voice came from a bright red little hen, who gave
her some beautiful eggs when she had given the bread.
Following the sound of a sharp voice she walked along the path until she
came to a most beautiful peacock, gorgeous in the spread of its
wonderful plumage.
This pleased her more than any of the others, because the peacock
feather is sacred to the Chinese, and is used in their temples where
they pray to the joss. The peacock’s offering was a very large bunch of
these brilliant feathers, to take to her _mo chun_, while it said in a
queer, sharp voice,--
“It matters not, my little one, how stormy is the weather;
The joss will always care for those who have a peacock feather.”
“Now for the last place,” said Queen Bunny; and following the sound of a
terrible screeching noise, they climbed a ladder into a tall tree, and
there was a beautiful American eagle. It was not cross a bit, as eagles
usually are, but was singing,--
“The gift I have, little girl, for you
Is three big eggs--red, white, and blue.”
It seemed to Mun Chee that the best came last, for these were such
beautiful eggs, and so different from any of the others. Her basket was
quite full now, and as she saw the shade growing more dense beneath the
trees she thought it must be quite time for her to return to her own
home. So, after bidding good-by to all the royal company of white
rabbits, and having her arms filled with the fragrant China lilies, she
sprang upon the queen’s back once more, and sped away--away--far from
the Easter palace--the palace of a dream.
_PING PONG AND PING YET_
Ping Pong was not a game, but a dear little Chinese boy, who was eagerly
looking forward to something which was almost like an American
Christmas. The Chinese do not have any Christmas, but they have
something else which serves the purpose, as far as their eager little
hearts are concerned, and that is, the Festival of the Moon. Ping Pong’s
round, fat, and very dirty face looked something like a moon as he
leaned over the counter in his father’s drug store, and watched him
weigh and mix portions of dried lizards and snakes for his customers;
for the Chinese use dried lizards and snakes, and all sorts of funny
things, for medicine.
It would seem so very queer to an American child, but it did not strike
little Ping Pong as being at all out of the way, and he would probably
have thought it just as strange to know that people took powders and
pills. He thought when he grew up to be a “velly big man” like his
father, he would either be a druggist or a highbinder, or better still
he might be both; yet, a highbinder was one who always sought a way of
killing people he did not like, and a druggist sometimes killed people
he really did like,--but that was always through mistake, of course.
Ping Pong and his dear little sister Ping Yet were teasing the
good-natured father to take them to the joss house. That was indeed a
queer idea. Why should two children wish to go to the temple to pray to
the joss? Surely the father could pray enough for himself and his
family, too. But he never liked to refuse any reasonable request of his
children, so he asked advice of the little mother, who was engaged in
some very mysterious occupation which compelled her to keep the kitchen
door locked. _Mo chun_ opened the door cautiously, and, peeping out,
whispered to _ho chun_, who smiled in a peculiar way. “What foh you
likee go joss house, you _hai tongs_?” (babies), she now asked, and Ping
Pong replied: “We likee play to good joss to bling us pletty
moon-cakes.”
The mother had to giggle at that, in her dear little Chinese way, for
she knew a good deal about moon-cakes, and knew about the white rabbit.
But she was not going to tell all she knew, just now, so she only smiled
in her sweet mother way, and gave her consent to their going.
It was just getting dark when they left, and the proud father started
out to the joss house with a happy child on each side of him, and two
small brown hands clasped tightly in his big brown ones. They had never
been to the temple before, but they had heard it was a very good thing
to do when one wanted anything very badly.
“How pletty the big dlagon lantehns look!” they exclaimed.
Yes, the big lanterns did indeed look pretty, as they gleamed and swayed
in front of every door in the big Chinatown of San Francisco, and looked
like big golden moons, almost as big as the moon in which the white
rabbit lived. The streets were very gay at this season, and the shops
were full of people buying gifts.
Little Ping Yet made a very pretty picture as she shyly patted down the
narrow streets with her embroidered sandals, wide silken trousers, and
blue silk blouse richly embroidered by the loving fingers of her dear
_mo chun_. Her polished hair was done in a queue.
The moon rabbit must surely have passed this way, for the windows were
all full of little cakes shaped like the moon. They thought that all
the year, while they were flying kites, popping fire-crackers, and
playing in the street in front of their home, the white rabbit must be
always pounding rice.
It took them a very long time to get to the joss house, because there
were so many interesting things on the way. Ping Pong, in boyish
eagerness, pressed his little nose and dirty fingers right up against
the glass in one place, or at least he thought it was the glass, until
he fell right in, with his nose on a candy pagoda thirteen stories high,
and then he found out his mistake. That glass happened to be broken out,
and he was very much embarrassed. The gingerbread peacock seemed to
glare scornfully at him as his _ho chun_ pulled him out, and the
painted gods and goddesses seemed to smile on him in a pitying way.
Little Ping Yet was as much ashamed as if she herself had fallen with
her nose on a Chinese pagoda, and she hid her face with her wide silken
sleeves. But the shopkeeper was good natured and said, with a kindly pat
of the button on top of Ping Pong’s round Chinese cap, “Neveh mind!
that’s all light; you heap good _samen jai_ and _ne jai_ (boy and girl).
I hope you get heap plenty moon-cake flom the white labbit.”
They wandered on in happy abandon, until they reached the long steps,
which, _ho chun_ informed them, led up to the temple of the good Joss.
They had so often wondered what the joss looked like; was he a big
rabbit, or a peacock, or perhaps a dragon with scaly sides and spitting
fire? They secretly hoped, in their innocent little hearts, that if it
was a “dlagon” he would refrain from spitting fire while they were
there. When they thought of what might await them, they were almost
sorry they had come, and their timid little hearts beat fearfully
against their blouses; but the touch of _ho chun’s_ strong hand was
reassuring, and they reflected that surely there could be nothing so
very dreadful up there, or he would not have taken them.
First they passed through a room where some Chinamen were selling long
narrow red-paper packages of incense sticks. _Ho chun_ bought one, and
the men spoke kindly to the boy and girl, and they passed on. Up
another flight of steps they went, until it seemed as if they must be
almost as high up as the moon. A strong odor of incense greeted their
nostrils, and it seemed good, for they were accustomed to it, as it was
always burning at home before the different gods and ancestral tablets.
The odor grew stronger, and they heard some one beating the big gong.
Soon they had placed their sandalled feet upon the last step, and their
oblique eyes were fairly dazzled with the sparkle and beauty of it all.
“Where joss? I likee see him,” they both exclaimed in awed whispers,
while _ho chun_ pointed to the gaudy altar, gay with its brass carvings
and rosettes of red paper. Bright peacock feathers were plentiful, and
seemed to stare at them with a thousand eyes. Back of it all, in a
sheltered recess, was the joss. They heaved a sigh of relief that he was
not a dragon. An American child would have thought him perfectly
hideous, but the Chinese children have such different ideas, and they
exclaimed rapturously, “Oh, velly pletty joss! heap fine god; me likee.”
Perhaps they thought it best to say very nice things of him in his
presence, however, because it would never do to offend him, or he might
not allow the white “labbit” to visit them. So they ventured quite near,
and spoke in tones he could not fail to hear.
After a whispered consultation with _ho chun_ they opened the pretty
red-paper package, and each took from it two incense sticks, and their
father having lighted them, the children waved them several times right
under the nose of the great and high one, and bowed their little heads
to the floor a great many times, meanwhile asking in their innocent
little way that the good joss would please make the white rabbit bring
them something nice. When they had finished, they placed the rest of the
incense sticks in the great brass urn in front of the joss, and the
sacred ashes fell down and helped to fill it up. Every time they had
bowed their heads the big gong had been beaten, and at first the noise
had frightened them, but finally they grew to like it.
_Ho chun_ thought that while they were there, they had better try
throwing the fortune sticks, as he knew it would please them, so he
picked up a tall round box, full of bamboo sticks, and explained it to
them. They first asked the joss “Will we get any moon-cakes?” Then each
in turn took the box and shook it until one stick fell out, when they
picked it up, and _ho chun_ read the Chinese number on it, then looked
in a book and found out what that number said. Fortunately the answer
was favorable, and they felt happy now. That meant that they might
really expect some gift from the moon rabbit.
Before going home they all stepped out on the beautiful balcony on which
were swinging the biggest lanterns they had ever seen, and they leaned
over the edge, where there were great pots of the pretty China lily in
blossom, with red papers tied around the stems, and looked at the
hundreds of people passing below them. The grown-up people all had their
arms full of bundles, and little three-cornered brown paper parcels. All
was noisy and happy and bright, because it was the eve of the Moon
Festival, and the shopping must all be done before the rabbit should
come.
Down the long steps they went again, and into the crowded street, where
all was joy and delight, and mysterious whispering.
“Oh, that pletty pagoda!” said Ping Pong, “I so ’flaid the labbit no
bling me pagoda, I think _ho chun_ betteh get.”
_Ho chun_ laughed and said, “No! I wait and see if the labbit come, I
think bimeby he come and bling pagoda; I no can tell--we wait and see.”
But what if he should forget to bring one? and they were such beautiful
pagodas, and all made of candy. The little round faces were sober for a
while, thinking how very dreadful it would be if, after all, the rabbit
did not come, or, if he did come, and should forget to bring the
much-desired pagoda.
They were very tired when at last they reached their home, over which
gleamed the big golden Chinese letters of welcome, and in a little bowl
beside the door burned the punk sticks, day and night, to keep the evil
spirits from entering their home. Their tired little legs could hardly
climb the stairs, but at last they were there, and had tumbled into the
mother’s loving arms, and had been kissed and questioned thoroughly.
_Mo chun_ was really astonished to hear of the glorious time they had
enjoyed, and of the many wonders they had seen. When they mentioned the
pagoda she was suddenly seized with the giggles, and her laughter was so
merry and contagious that they all laughed till their sides ached,
though the children could not have told why they laughed. The mother and
father knew why, but they would not tell. The hour had come, and indeed
it was long past the hour when they should have gone to bed, but then
the beautiful Moon Festival came only once a year, and so they might be
allowed a few privileges. They were finally asleep on their beds of
matting, and the mother looked tenderly at the rosy little faces as she
went into the kitchen--the kitchen which for some reason had been locked
all day.
Well, morning came at last, as it always does, and before the sun was up
Ping Pong and his sister jumped out of bed, exclaiming: “Oh, _mo chun_,
has the white labbit been?”
Oh, what were all those beautiful things on the table? Why, the whole
room was changed. When they had gone to bed the night before, there was
nothing there but just the things that belonged in the room, and
now--and now-- The white rabbit had
[Illustration: _There was a big bouquet for Ping Pong_]
surely been here, for the table was covered with the most beautiful
gifts they had ever seen,--lots of cunning little moon-cakes, sprinkled
with poppy and caraway seed; and some like a horse and a cow, and all
sorts of funny animals. And there was a big bouquet for Ping Pong,
because it was his birthday too.
There were also some big candy dragons, with great staring eyes, but
now, instead of the dragons eating them, they were going to eat the
dragons. My! what fun that would be! and they could not wait, but
planted their strong white teeth in the white heads, and bit them off.
My! how sweet they were! so sweet that their bodies went next, and soon
there were no dragons at all.
There were all kinds of gaudily painted toys of clay, and little Ping
Yet’s dancing eyes danced more than ever, and she fairly rippled over
with smiles when she saw, sticking out of a bright red pair of
embroidered sandals, a real Chinese doll. It looked very much like Ping
Yet herself, with its bright black eyes, rosy cheeks, and coal-black
hair. She thought it surely must be the most beautiful thing in the
whole big world, but _mo chun_ said she knew something more beautiful.
The little one wondered vaguely what it could be, and how anything could
be more beautiful, but she was too busy to wonder long, for Ping Pong
had uttered such a shriek of delight that she almost jumped out of her
little sandals. What could be the matter?
“What foh you cly? you buhn youh fingeh?” she cried; and he in reply
pointed to the cause of all his excitement; it was--oh, joy!--a pagoda,
and _mo chun_ said:
“The dragon pagoda it touches the sky;
The dragon pagoda, thirteen stories high.”
It was just exactly like the one they had asked _ho chun_ to buy, and
the dear white rabbit in the moon must have seen right down into their
minds and brought what they wished. And oh, they were so glad now that
they had gone to the joss house, and burned the incense and thrown the
fortune sticks, for if they had not--who knows?--the white rabbit might
have forgotten them.
_THE LITTLE ALMOND BLOSSOM_
Mo Chun called her the little Almond Blossom, as she was so bright and
beautiful, and she loved her so. Her real name was Gum Sing, and she
was, so the mother thought, the prettiest thing in all the big Chinatown
of San Francisco.
Gum Sing’s father kept a store, where they sold all sorts of fine china
and silk. She often went to her father’s store, but never alone. Oh, no!
she was too precious to be trusted out alone, and then she was too young
to find her way through the winding streets, and the doors all looked
alike to her, so the _mo chun_ or the nurse always accompanied her.
Gum Sing had such a round, dimpled face, and there always seemed to be
kisses lurking in the dimples. And she had the merriest little
laugh,--just like music to her mother. It was not enough for _mo chun_
to see this little face every day, and to sleep on the hard pillow with
it at night. No, that was not enough, for how could any one ever have
enough of so fair a thing? So the father and mother agreed that their
little Almond Blossom must have her picture taken. That was a great day
in the house of Gum. Such an event had never happened before.
Now Gum Sing did not know at all what it meant to have her picture
taken, but she knew by the smiles on her mother’s face, and by the
careful and proud manner in which she was being arrayed, that it could
be no small thing, and that some way or other she was expected to look
as beautiful and as much like the almond flower as she could, as that
was sacred to the Chinese.
With delight she saw that she was to wear her lavender silk blouse. “Oh,
_mo chun_,” she giggled, “I likee wear _ho chun’s_ big gold watch.”
Now, although the little mother did not think it just exactly the proper
thing for any one so tiny as Gum Sing to wear a watch and chain, yet
this was such an important event--and such a proud moment for her--that
she could see no harm in letting her have her way about it this time.
She insisted upon carrying _mo chun’s_ big fan, too, and it certainly
did look very wonderful to see it clasped in the tiny brown hand.
The trousers of pink silk were so bright and pretty, and the dainty
little sandals had been embroidered by _mo chun_ herself.
When all was ready, _ho chun_ appeared on the scene, and the happy party
started out for the photograph gallery of Hen Yin Gock.
“I so happy--I so glad,” giggled the little Gum Sing, not knowing just
what she was happy about, only she was such a happy little thing always,
and being the only child had so much love given her. At last they
reached the place. There did not seem to be anything wonderful about it.
There was a window with a lot of pictures in it, and a crowd of
Chinamen were jostling each other to see them. Then they ascended the
stairway and rapped on the door, and some one called out in Chinese,
“_Yap loi le_,” which means “Come in.”
They went in, and the man talked to them pleasantly, but when he went
and put his head under a black curtain on some kind of a box, then Gum
Sing thought it was time to complain. This was too much! She cried: “_Mo
chun_--I no likee--will it hurt? I ’flaid the big dlagon come out of the
box.” (The nurse had evidently been telling her stories about the big
Chinese dragon.)
Then the good Hen Yin Gock came out from the curtain, and assured her
that there was no danger. He brought out two lovely yellow roses in a
vase, and put them on a small table with a bright cover, and then told
Gum Sing: “If you heap good girl, and do what I say, I give you the
floweh, pletty soon.”
Then he also placed on the table a flute, with gaily colored tassels,
and then the cunningest little jar, which looked very much as if it
might contain preserved ginger, and she was just thinking how much she
liked preserved ginger when the man said: “Now keep still! look light at
this box!” (The little mother trembled; could it be that after all there
was something horrible in the box?) “There is a little bird in this box,
and you may see it fly out if you are quiet. Now!--all leady!” (ready).
Gum Sing was so full of giggles that she could hardly be quiet, and the
dimples chased each other all over her sunny face. The father and mother
gazed with love and admiration at the beauty of their little almond
flower, with one hand thrown carelessly on the table and the other
grasping the fan.
“There!” at last said the photographer.
Gum Sing wanted to know what it was all about, yet she could not seem to
find out. But several days after that, when _ho chun_ was out on the
pavement in front of their home, putting some China lilies in a bowl of
water, a man came, and handed him a little package. Gum Sing was all
curiosity in a minute.
“Oh, _ho chun_, what is it? Let me see!” she cried, and _mo chun_ was
almost as eager. So the father opened the package while they waited
wonderingly, and there, before their eyes, on pieces of polished
cardboard--could it be?--yes, yes!--the picture of their little Almond
Blossom--big watch, fan, dimples, giggle and all.
But Gum Sing wonders to this day why the bird did not come out of the
box.
_THE CHRISTMAS OF GUM CHING_
Gum Ching lived in America, but she had no way of knowing it, as she
never saw any of the country, and was kept in her home all the time. As
she was unfortunate enough to be a girl, she had never been permitted to
go anywhere, except to play on the street in front of her father’s
store. Sometimes, when playing thus, she had seen little American girls
drive by in carriages with their mamas, and they seemed to be having so
much fun that little Gum Ching would look very sad after they had
passed, and would say to her brother Gum Lee: “I wish _I_ was a
’Melican little girl--they have heap good time.”
It was Christmas day, yet this had never meant any happiness for Gum
Ching, for the Chinese save all their good times for the New Year. But
it chanced that her little brother had been attending the Mission, and
learning to read, and the little sister had heard him say that they were
going to have a Christmas tree at the Mission that very night.
“What can a Christmas tree be?” said the little Chinese girl to herself;
and her thoughts were busy with this all day, wondering what kind of a
strange tree it was.
Oh, if she could only go! But how could she, when she had never been out
of Chinatown, and there might be all sorts of ugly things waiting to
catch her as she passed. She could see the Mission from their upstairs
window, and she wondered vaguely if any of the little “‘Melican” girls
who had passed in their carriages would be there. She said to herself:
“Even if they should punish me when I get home I no care--because then I
have something nice to think of, anyway.”
The darkness came at last, and Gum Ching had never been out in the dark.
She never knew before that it was quite so black, but she had made up
her mind to go, no matter what the consequences were.
Now Gum Ching did not have any mama, and it was very lonely for her at
home, with no one but just her _ho chun_ and the little brother, who was
always off playing with some boys. After she had eaten her supper, and
had seen _ho chun_ light his long opium pipe, she knew then that he
would lie down, and not awaken until the morning. So she slipped out and
toddled on, in her small sandals, in the direction of the light which
streamed from the windows of the mission.
She looked up at the sky, and was just saying: “I wondeh what those
pletty spahkling things are up there; I likee have one;” when suddenly
she heard a mighty roar, and right through the blackness of the night
came a great demon of fire, snorting, puffing, and screaming, and coming
right toward the poor little trembling Gum Ching. She feared to move,
and so stood quite still until the big giant had passed, and vanished
again into the darkness of the night.
It was only the train, but Gum Ching did not know. She was only a girl.
Onward she started again, brave little soul, and soon she had reached
the Mission. No one would ever know what a terrible undertaking it was
for a little girl from China.
The door was open, and a soft radiance streamed out, and lit up the
timid form of the little Gum Ching, as she stood on the step, in the
dark and the cold.
She could hear a confused murmur of happy voices, and just as she was
hesitating whether she would venture in or turn and fly back to her
lonely home again, a kind hand clasped hers, and a woman’s tender voice
said: “Why, come right in, dear.”
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_