_ACKNOWLEDGMENT_
_I have to thank the Editors of The Independent, Out West, Hampton’s,
The Century, Delineator, Ladies’ Home Journal, Designer, New Idea, Short
Stories, Traveler, Good Housekeeping, Housekeeper, Gentlewoman, New York
Evening Post, Holland’s, Little Folks, American Motherhood, New England,
Youth’s Companion, Montreal Witness, Children’s, Overland, Sunset, and
Westerner magazines, who were kind enough to care for my children when I
sent them out into the world, for permitting the dear ones to return to
me to be grouped together within this volume._
_SUI SIN FAR_
_Mrs. Spring Fragrance_
I
When Mrs. Spring Fragrance first arrived in Seattle, she was
unacquainted with even one word of the American language. Five years
later her husband, speaking of her, said: “There are no more American
words for her learning.” And everyone who knew Mrs. Spring Fragrance
agreed with Mr. Spring Fragrance.
Mr. Spring Fragrance, whose business name was Sing Yook, was a young
curio merchant. Though conservatively Chinese in many respects, he was
at the same time what is called by the Westerners, “Americanized.” Mrs.
Spring Fragrance was even more “Americanized.”
Next door to the Spring Fragrances lived the Chin Yuens. Mrs. Chin Yuen
was much older than Mrs. Spring Fragrance; but she had a daughter of
eighteen with whom Mrs. Spring Fragrance was on terms of great
friendship. The daughter was a pretty girl whose Chinese name was Mai
Gwi Far (a rose) and whose American name was Laura. Nearly everybody
called her Laura, even her parents and Chinese friends. Laura had a
sweetheart, a youth named Kai Tzu. Kai Tzu, who was American-born, and
as ruddy and stalwart as any young Westerner, was noted amongst baseball
players as one of the finest pitchers on the Coast. He could also sing,
“Drink to me only with thine eyes,” to Laura’s piano accompaniment.
Now the only person who knew that Kai Tzu loved Laura and that Laura
loved Kai Tzu, was Mrs. Spring Fragrance. The reason for this was that,
although the Chin Yuen parents lived in a house furnished in American
style, and wore American clothes, yet they religiously observed many
Chinese customs, and their ideals of life were the ideals of their
Chinese forefathers. Therefore, they had betrothed their daughter,
Laura, at the age of fifteen, to the eldest son of the Chinese
Government school-teacher in San Francisco. The time for the
consummation of the betrothal was approaching.
Laura was with Mrs. Spring Fragrance and Mrs. Spring Fragrance was
trying to cheer her.
“I had such a pretty walk today,” said she. “I crossed the banks above
the beach and came back by the long road. In the green grass the
daffodils were blowing, in the cottage gardens the currant bushes were
flowering, and in the air was the perfume of the wallflower. I wished,
Laura, that you were with me.”
Laura burst into tears. “That is the walk,” she sobbed, “Kai Tzu and I
so love; but never, ah, never, can we take it together again.”
“Now, Little Sister,” comforted Mrs. Spring Fragrance, “you really must
not grieve like that. Is there not a beautiful American poem written by
a noble American named Tennyson, which says:
“’Tis better to have loved and lost,
Than never to have loved at all?”
Mrs. Spring Fragrance was unaware that Mr. Spring Fragrance, having
returned from the city, tired with the day’s business, had thrown
himself down on the bamboo settee on the veranda, and that although his
eyes were engaged in scanning the pages of the _Chinese World_, his ears
could not help receiving the words which were borne to him through the
open window.
“’Tis better to have loved and lost,
Than never to have loved at all,”
repeated Mr. Spring Fragrance. Not wishing to hear more of the secret
talk of women, he arose and sauntered around the veranda to the other
side of the house. Two pigeons circled around his head. He felt in his
pocket for a li-chi which he usually carried for their pecking. His
fingers touched a little box. It contained a jadestone pendant, which
Mrs. Spring Fragrance had particularly admired the last time she was
down town. It was the fifth anniversary of Mr. and Mrs. Spring
Fragrance’s wedding day.
Mr. Spring Fragrance pressed the little box down into the depths of his
pocket.
A young man came out of the back door of the house at Mr. Spring
Fragrance’s left. The Chin Yuen house was at his right.
“Good evening,” said the young man. “Good evening,” returned Mr. Spring
Fragrance. He stepped down from his porch and went and leaned over the
railing which separated this yard from the yard in which stood the young
man.
“Will you please tell me,” said Mr. Spring Fragrance, “the meaning of
two lines of an American verse which I have heard?”
“Certainly,” returned the young man with a genial smile. He was a star
student at the University of Washington, and had not the slightest doubt
that he could explain the meaning of all things in the universe.
“Well,” said Mr. Spring Fragrance, “it is this:
“’Tis better to have loved and lost,
Than never to have loved at all.”
“Ah!” responded the young man with an air of profound wisdom. “That, Mr.
Spring Fragrance, means that it is a good thing to love anyway—even if
we can’t get what we love, or, as the poet tells us, lose what we love.
Of course, one needs experience to feel the truth of this teaching.”
The young man smiled pensively and reminiscently. More than a dozen
young maidens “loved and lost” were passing before his mind’s eye.
“The truth of the teaching!” echoed Mr. Spring Fragrance, a little
testily. “There is no truth in it whatever. It is disobedient to reason.
Is it not better to have what you do not love than to love what you do
not have?”
“That depends,” answered the young man, “upon temperament.”
“I thank you. Good evening,” said Mr. Spring Fragrance. He turned away
to muse upon the unwisdom of the American way of looking at things.
Meanwhile, inside the house, Laura was refusing to be comforted.
“Ah, no! no!” cried she. “If I had not gone to school with Kai Tzu, nor
talked nor walked with him, nor played the accompaniments to his songs,
then I might consider with complacency, or at least without horror, my
approaching marriage with the son of Man You. But as it is—oh, as it
is—!”
The girl rocked herself to and fro in heartfelt grief.
Mrs. Spring Fragrance knelt down beside her, and clasping her arms
around her neck, cried in sympathy:
“Little Sister, oh, Little Sister! Dry your tears—do not despair. A moon
has yet to pass before the marriage can take place. Who knows what the
stars may have to say to one another during its passing? A little bird
has whispered to me—”
For a long time Mrs. Spring Fragrance talked. For a long time Laura
listened. When the girl arose to go, there was a bright light in her
eyes.