“Chun Ping wanted my house; he went with your priests and said it was his. The priests said it was his house. I went to the Yamen and showed them my red deed and white deed. They said, ‘It is your house; give us money and we will protect you.’ I gave them all my money. They gave my house to Chun Ping. They said, ‘We dare not offend these Christians; they have gunboats in the river. Go away.’ To-night your priests came and put me out.”
The Breton made no answer.
When the lightning flashed again it showed two men standing silently over the woman and children.
The black breakers of the storm-sea overhead began to fall amid the crash and boom of thunder.
The children were terror-stricken; the mother sobbed and cooed. The priest stared out into the night toward the Catholic community.
The storm grew worse and the still group bowed under it. The teeth of the little children chattered, but they did not cry nor speak. The mother had ceased her sobs and no longer cooed to her baby.
“We must go!” said the Breton, and he took up one of the children; the man picked up the other and a cage in which fluttered a bedraggled bird. They started off and the mother with her baby hugged tightly to her breast, followed.
The Breton, leading the way, went up to the door of a house and knocked.
No answer.
He went to another.