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 his wife 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.