I
Many years ago in the beautiful land of China, there lived a rich and
benevolent man named Chan Ah Sin. So kind of heart was he that he could
not pass through a market street without buying up all the live fish,
turtles, birds, and animals that he saw, for the purpose of giving them
liberty and life. The animals and birds he would set free in a cool
green forest called the Forest of the Freed, and the fish and turtles he
would release in a moon-loved pool called the Pool of Happy Life. He
also bought up and set free all animals that were caged for show, and
even remembered the reptiles.
Some centuries after this good man had passed away, one of his
descendants was accused of having offended against the laws of the land,
and he and all of his kin were condemned to be punished therefor.
Amongst his kin were two little seventh cousins named Chan Ming and Chan
Mai, who had lived very happily all their lives with a kind uncle as
guardian and a good old nurse. The punishment meted out to this little
boy and girl was banishment to a wild and lonely forest, which forest
could only be reached by travelling up a dark and mysterious river in a
small boat. The journey was long and perilous, but on the evening of the
third day a black shadow loomed before Ming and Mai. This black shadow
was the forest, the trees of which grew so thickly together and so close
to the river’s edge that their roots interlaced under the water.
The rough sailors who had taken the children from their home, beached
the boat, and without setting foot to land themselves, lifted the
children out, then quickly pushed away. Their faces were deathly pale,
for they were mortally afraid of the forest, which was said to be
inhabited by innumerable wild animals, winged and crawling things.
Ming’s lip trembled. He realized that he and his little sister were now
entirely alone, on the edge of a fearsome forest on the shore of a
mysterious river. It seemed to the little fellow, as he thought of his
dear Canton, so full of bright and busy life, that he and Mai had come,
not to another province, but to another world.
One great, big tear splashed down his cheek. Mai, turning to weep on his
sleeve, saw it, checked her own tears, and slipping a little hand into
his, murmured in his ear:
“Look up to the heavens, O brother. Behold, the Silver Stream floweth
above us here as bright as it flowed above our own fair home.” (The
Chinese call the Milky Way the Silver Stream.)
While thus they stood, hand in hand, a moving thing resembling a knobby
log of wood was seen in the river. Strange to say, the children felt no
fear and watched it float towards them with interest. Then a watery
voice was heard. “Most honorable youth and maid,” it said, “go back to
the woods and rest.”
It was a crocodile. Swimming beside it were a silver and a gold fish,
who leaped in the water and echoed the crocodile’s words; and following
in the wake of the trio, was a big green turtle mumbling: “To the woods,
most excellent, most gracious, and most honorable.”
Obediently the children turned and began to find their way among the
trees. The woods were not at all rough and thorny as they had supposed
they would be. They were warm and fragrant with aromatic herbs and
shrubs. Moreover, the ground was covered with moss and grass, and the
bushes and young trees bent themselves to allow them to pass through.
But they did not wander far. They were too tired and sleepy. Choosing a
comfortable place in which to rest, they lay down side by side and fell
asleep.
When they awoke the sun was well up. Mai was the first to open her eyes,
and seeing it shining through the trees, exclaimed: “How beautiful is
the ceiling of my room!” She thought she was at home and had forgotten
the river journey. But the next moment Ming raised his head and said:
“The beauty you see is the sun filtering through the trees and the
forest where—”
He paused, for he did not wish to alarm his little sister, and he had
nearly said: “Where wild birds and beasts abound.”
“Oh, dear!” exclaimed Mai in distress. She also thought of the wild
birds and beasts, but like Ming, she also refrained from mentioning
them.
“I am impatiently hungry,” cried Ming. He eyed enviously a bright little
bird hopping near. The bird had found a good, fat grasshopper for its
breakfast, but when it heard Ming speak, it left the grasshopper and
flew quickly away.
A moment later there was a great trampling and rustling amongst the
grasses and bushes. The hearts of the children stood still. They clasped
hands. Under every bush and tree, on the branches above them, in a pool
near by, and close beside them, almost touching their knees, appeared a
great company of living things from the animal, fish, fowl, and insect
kingdoms.
It was true then—what the sailors had told them—only worse; for whereas
they had expected to meet the denizens of the forest, either singly or
in couples, here they were all massed together.
A tiger opened its mouth. Ming put his sister behind him and said:
“Please, honorable animals, birds, and other kinds of living things,
would some of you kindly retire for a few minutes. We expected to meet
you, but not so many at once, and are naturally overwhelmed with the
honor.”
“Oh, yes, please your excellencies,” quavered Mai, “or else be so kind
as to give us space in which to retire ourselves, so that we may walk
into the river and trouble you no more. Will we not, honorable brother?”
“Nay, sister,” answered Ming. “These honorable beings have to be subdued
and made to acknowledge that man is master of this forest. I am here to
conquer them in fight, and am willing to take them singly, in couples,
or even three at a time; but as I said before, the honor of all at once
is somewhat overwhelming.”
“Oh! ah!” exclaimed Mai, gazing awestruck at her brother. His words made
him more terrible to her than any of the beasts of the field. Just then
the tiger, who had politely waited for Ming and Mai to say their say,
made a strange purring sound, loud, yet strangely soft; fierce, yet
wonderfully kind. It had a surprising effect upon the children, seeming
to soothe them and drive away all fear. One of little Mai’s hands
dropped upon the head of a leopard crouching near, whilst Ming gazed
straight into the tiger’s eyes and smiled as at an old friend. The tiger
smiled in return, and advancing to Ming, laid himself down at his feet,
the tip of his nose resting on the boy’s little red shoes. Then he
rolled his body around three times. Thus in turn did every other animal,
bird, fish, and insect present. It took quite a time and Mai was glad
that she stood behind her brother and received the obeisances by proxy.
This surprising ceremony over, the tiger sat back upon his haunches and,
addressing Ming, said:
“Most valorous and honorable descendant of Chan Ah Sin the First: Your
coming and the coming of your exquisite sister will cause the flowers to
bloom fairer and the sun to shine brighter for us. There is, therefore,
no necessity for a trial of your strength or skill with any here.
Believe me, Your Highness, we were conquered many years ago—and not in
fight.”
“Why! How?” cried Ming.
“Why! How?” echoed Mai.
And the tiger said:
“Many years ago in the beautiful land of China, there lived a rich and
benevolent man named Chan Ah Sin. So kind of heart was he that he could
not pass through a market street without buying up all the live fish,
turtles, birds, and animals that he saw, for the purpose of giving them
liberty and life. These animals and birds he would set free in a cool
green forest called the Forest of the Freed, and the fish and turtles he
would release in a moon-loved pool called the Pool of Happy Life. He
also bought up and set free all animals that were caged for show, and
even remembered the reptiles.”
The tiger paused.
“And you,” observed Ming, “you, sir tiger, and your forest companions,
are the descendants of the animals, fish, and turtles thus saved by Chan
Ah Sin the First.”
“We are, Your Excellency,” replied the tiger, again prostrating himself.
“The beneficent influence of Chan Ah Sin the First, extending throughout
the centuries, has preserved the lives of his young descendants, Chan
Ming and Chan Mai.”
II
THE TIGER’S FAREWELL
Many a moon rose and waned over the Forest of the Freed and the
Moon-loved Pool of Happy Life, and Ming and Mai lived happily and
contentedly amongst their strange companions. To be sure, there were
times when their hearts would ache and their tears would flow for their
kind uncle and good old nurse, also for their little playfellows in
far-away Canton; but those times were few and far between. Full well the
children knew how much brighter and better was their fate than it might
have been.
One day, when they were by the river, amusing themselves with the
crocodiles and turtles, the water became suddenly disturbed, and lashed
and dashed the shore in a very strange manner for a river naturally calm
and silent.
“Why, what can be the matter?” cried Ming.
“An honorable boat is coming,” shouted a goldfish.
Ming and Mai clasped hands and trembled.
“It is the sailors,” said they to one another; then stood and watched
with terrified eyes a large boat sail majestically up the broad stream.
Meanwhile down from the forest had rushed the tiger with his tigress and
cubs, the leopard with his leopardess and cubs, and all the other
animals with their young, and all the birds, and all the insects, and
all the living things that lived in the Forest of the Freed and the
Moon-loved Pool. They surrounded Ming and Mai, crouched at their feet,
swarmed in the trees above their heads, and crowded one another on the
beach and in the water.
The boat stopped in the middle of the stream, in front of the strip of
forest thus lined with living things. There were two silk-robed men on
it and a number of sailors, also an old woman carrying a gigantic
parasol and a fan whose breeze fluttered the leaves in the Forest of the
Freed.
When the boat stopped, the old woman cried: “Behold, I see my precious
nurslings surrounded by wild beasts. A-ya, A-ya, A-ya.” Her cries rent
the air and Ming and Mai, seeing that the old woman was Woo Ma, their
old nurse, clapped their little hands in joy.
“Come hither,” they cried. “Our dear friends will welcome you. They are
not wild beasts. They are elegant and accomplished superior beings.”
Then one of the men in silken robes commanded the sailors to steer for
the shore, and the other silk-robed man came and leaned over the side of
the boat and said to the tiger and leopard:
“As I perceive, honorable beings, that you are indeed the friends of my
dear nephew and niece, Chan Ming and Chan Mai, I humbly ask your
permission to allow me to disembark on the shore of this river on the
edge of your forest.”
The tiger prostrated himself, so also did his brother animals, and all
shouted:
“Welcome, O most illustrious, most benevolent, and most excellent Chan
Ah Sin the Ninth.”
So Mai crept into the arms of her nurse and Ming hung on to his uncle’s
robe, and the other silk-robed man explained how and why they had come
to the Forest of the Freed and the Moon-loved Pool.
A fairy fish, a fairy duck, a fairy butterfly, and a fairy bird, who had
seen the children on the river when the cruel sailors were taking them
from their home, had carried the news to the peasants of the rice
fields, the tea plantations, the palm and bamboo groves. Whereupon great
indignation had prevailed, and the people of the province, who loved
well the Chan family, arose in their might and demanded that an
investigation be made into the charges against that Chan who was reputed
to have broken the law, and whose relatives as well as himself had been
condemned to suffer therefor. So it came to pass that the charges, which
had been made by some malicious enemy of high official rank, were
entirely disproved, and the edict of banishment against the Chan family
recalled.
The first thought of the uncle of Ming and Mai, upon being liberated
from prison, was for his little nephew and niece, and great indeed was
his alarm and grief upon learning that the two tender scions of the
house of Chan had been banished to a lonely forest by a haunted river,
which forest and river were said to be inhabited by wild and cruel
beings. Moreover, since the sailors who had taken them there, and who
were the only persons who knew where the forest was situated, had been
drowned in a swift rushing rapid upon their return journey, it seemed
almost impossible to trace the little ones, and Chan Ah Sin the Ninth
was about giving up in despair, when the fairy bird, fish, and
butterfly, who had aroused the peasants, also aroused the uncle by
appearing to him and telling him where the forest of banishment lay and
how to reach it.
“Yes,” said Chan Ah Sin the Ninth, when his friend ceased speaking, “but
they did not tell me that I should find my niece and nephew so tenderly
cared for. Heaven alone knows why you have been so good to my beloved
children.”
He bowed low to the tiger, leopard, and all the living things around
him.
“Most excellent and honorable Chan Ah Sin the Ninth,” replied the Tiger,
prostrating himself, “we have had the pleasure and privilege of being
good to these little ones, because many years ago in the beautiful land
of China, your honorable ancestor, Chan Ah Sin the First, was good and
kind to our forefathers.”
Then arising upon his hind legs, he turned to Ming and Mai and tenderly
touching them with his paws, said:
“Honorable little ones, your banishment is over, and those who roam the
Forest of the Freed, and dwell in the depths of the Pool of Happy Life,
will behold no more the light of your eyes. May heaven bless you and
preserve you to be as good and noble ancestors to your descendants as
your ancestor, Chan Ah Sin the First, was to you.”
THE STORY OF A LITTLE CHINESE
SEABIRD
A little Chinese seabird sat in the grass which grew on a rocky island.
The little Chinese seabird was very sad. Her wing was broken and all her
brothers and sisters had flown away, leaving her alone. Why, oh why, had
she broken her wing? Why, oh why, were brothers and sisters so?
The little Chinese seabird looked over the sea. How very beautiful its
life and movement! The sea was the only consolation the little Chinese
seabird had. It was always lovely and loving to the little Chinese
seabird. No matter how often the white-fringed waves spent themselves
for her delight, there were always more to follow. Changeably unchanged,
they never deserted her nor her island home. Not so with her brothers
and sisters. When she could fly with them, circle in the air, float upon
the water, dive for little fish, and be happy and gay—then indeed she
was one of them and they loved her. But since she had broken her wing,
it was different. The little Chinese seabird shook her little head
mournfully.
But what was that which the waves were bearing towards her island? The
little Chinese seabird gave a quick glance, then put her little head
under the wing that was not broken.
Now, what the little Chinese seabird had seen was a boat. Within the
boat were three boys—and these boys were coming to the island to hunt
for birds’ eggs. The little Chinese seabird knew this, and her bright,
wild little eyes glistened like jewels, and she shivered and shuddered
as she spread herself as close to the ground as she could.
The boys beached the boat and were soon scrambling over the island,
gathering all the eggs that they could find. Sometimes they passed so
near to the little Chinese seabird that she thought she must surely be
trampled upon, and she set her little beak tight and close so that she
might make no sound, should so painful an accident occur. Once, however,
when the tip of a boy’s queue dangled against her head and tickled it,
the little Chinese seabird forgot entirely her prudent resolve to suffer
in silence, and recklessly peeked at the dangling queue. Fortunately for
her, the mother who had braided the queue of the boy had neglected to
tie properly the bright red cord at the end thereof. Therefore when the
little Chinese seabird pecked at the braid, the effect of the peck was
not to cause pain to the boy and make him turn around, as might
otherwise have been the case, but to pull out of his queue the bright
red cord. This, the little Chinese seabird held in her beak for quite a
long time. She enjoyed glancing down at its bright red color, and was
afraid to let it fall in case the boys might hear.
Meanwhile, the boys, having gathered all the eggs they could find,
plotted together against the little Chinese seabird and against her
brothers and sisters, and the little seabird, holding the red cord in
her beak, listened with interest. For many hours after the boys had left
the island, the little Chinese seabird sat meditating over what she had
heard. So deeply did she meditate that she forgot all about the pain of
her broken wing.
Towards evening her brothers and sisters came home and settled over the
island like a wide-spreading mantle of wings.
For some time the little Chinese seabird remained perfectly still and
quiet. She kept saying to herself, “Why should I care? Why should I
care?” But as she did care, she suddenly let fall the bright red cord
and opened and closed her beak several times.
“What is all that noise?” inquired the eldest seabird.
“Dear brother,” returned the little Chinese seabird, “I hope I have not
disturbed you; but is not this a very lovely night? See how radiant the
moon.”
“Go to sleep! Go to sleep!”
“Did you have an enjoyable flight today, brother?”
“Tiresome little bird, go to sleep, go to sleep.”
It was the little Chinese seabird’s eldest sister that last spoke.
“Oh, sister, is that you?” replied the little Chinese seabird. “I could
see you last of the flock as you departed from our island, and I did so
admire the satin white of your under-wings and tail.”
“Mine is whiter,” chirped the youngest of all the birds.
“Go to sleep, go to sleep!” snapped the eldest brother.
“What did you have to eat today?” inquired the second brother of the
little Chinese seabird.
“I had a very tasty worm porridge, dear brother,” replied the little
Chinese seabird. “I scooped it out of the ground beside me, because you
know I dared not move any distance for fear of making worse my broken
wing.”
“Your broken wing? Ah, yes, your broken wing!” murmured the second
brother.
“Ah, yes, your broken wing!” faintly echoed the others.
Then they all, except the very youngest one, put their heads under their
own wings, for they all, except the very youngest one, felt a little bit
ashamed of themselves.
But the little Chinese seabird did not wish her brothers and sisters to
feel ashamed of themselves. It embarrassed her, so she lifted up her
little voice again, and said:
“But I enjoyed the day exceedingly. The sea was never so lovely nor the
sky either. When I was tired of watching the waves chase each other, I
could look up and watch the clouds. They sailed over the blue sky so
soft and white.”
“There’s no fun in just watching things,” said the youngest of all the
birds: “we went right up into the clouds and then deep down into the
waves. How we splashed and dived and swam! When I fluttered my wings
after a bath in silver spray, it seemed as if a shower of jewels dropped
therefrom.”
“How lovely!” exclaimed the little Chinese seabird. Then she remembered
that if her brothers and sisters were to have just as good a time the
next day, she must tell them a story—a true one.
So she did.
After she had finished speaking, there was a great fluttering of wings,
and all her brothers and sisters rose in the air above her, ready for
flight.
“To think,” they chattered to one another, “that if we had remained an
hour longer, those wicked boys would have come with lighted torches and
caught us and dashed us to death against stones.”
“Yes, and dressed us and salted us!”
“And dressed us and salted us!”
“And dried us!”
“And dried us!”
“And eaten us!”
“And eaten us!”
“How rude!”
“How inconsiderate!”
“How altogether uncalled for!”
“Are you quite sure?” inquired the eldest brother of the little Chinese
seabird.
“See,” she replied, “here is the red cord from the queue of one of the
boys. I picked it out as his braid dangled against my head!”
The brothers and sisters looked at one another.
“How near they must have come to her!” exclaimed the eldest sister.
“They might have trampled her to death in a very unbecoming manner!”
remarked the second.
“They will be sure to do it tonight when they search with torchlight,”
was the opinion of the second brother.
And the eldest brother looked sharply down upon the little Chinese
seabird, and said:
“If you had not told us what these rude boys intended doing, you would
not have had to die alone.”
“I prefer to die alone!” proudly replied the little Chinese seabird. “It
will be much pleasanter to die in quiet than with wailing screams in my
ears.”
“Hear her, oh, hear her!” exclaimed the second sister.
But the eldest sister, she with the satin-white under-wings and
spreading tail, descended to the ground, and began pulling up some tough
grass. “Come,” she cried to the other birds, “let us make a strong nest
for our broken-winged little sister—a nest in which we can bear away to
safety one who tonight has saved our lives without thought of her own.”
“We will, with pleasure,” answered the other birds.
Whereupon they fluttered down and helped to build the most wonderful
nest that ever was built, weaving in and out of it the bright red cord,
which the little Chinese seabird had plucked out of the boy’s queue.
This made the nest strong enough to bear the weight of the little
Chinese seabird, and when it was finished they dragged it beside her and
tenderly pushed her in. Then they clutched its sides with their beaks,
flapped their wings, and in a moment were soaring together far up in the
sky, the little Chinese seabird with the broken wing happy as she could
be in the midst of them.