Little Almond Blossoms: A Book of Chinese Stories for Children

by Jessie Juliet Knox

IT was Christmas Eve. In the big Chinatown of San Francisco little Ah Chee and her brother Ah Gong were eagerly drinking in the words of the old Chinese story-teller as he sat on the streets and told stories for any one who cared to listen and to give him a few pennies. It was getting late, and the sea wind blew roughly through the narrow streets, and made the dear little Chinese noses so cold; but then Ah Chee did not mind, for the old man had been telling them the most wonderful tale,—something about Christmas—the ’Melican Clismas—and he had said something about it being a little Baby’s birthday, and that almost everybody in the world celebrated it. She pondered over it, in her vague little Chinese way, and thought it very queer that they should make such an ado about just a baby.

The old man did not understand it very well himself, but he remembered that when he used to be cook for an American family once, a long time ago, the children had hung up their stockings on this particular night, and had some kind of a tree with beautiful things on it. They called it a Christmas tree, he remembered, and how pleased he had been when there were found to be some packages for him on that same tree. They had told him then that Santa Claus had put them there, and he could never forget the thrill of surprise and pleasure he felt at the thought that this mysterious Santa Claus, whoever he might be, should have remembered him when he had never even seen him.

And now the story was finished, and the old man went on down the street, and entered a shop where he would smoke opium and forget all about Christmas. But little Ah Chee did not forget. She sat scraping her little sandals against the pavement, thinking it all over. Her mo chun was upstairs in the poor little rooms, sewing by the dim light which struggled through the lattice, and wishing that she were not so poor, for she had to work very hard, and often they did not have enough to eat. The rice was almost gone now, and there were only a few leaves of chah (tea) left.

A Chinese mother loves her children very dearly, and always tries to gratify their every wish; so it made her feel badly to think she could not give them embroidered shoms (blouses), and sandals, instead of the plain dark ones they always had to wear. The children had had their rice early to-night, and had gone out in the street to play “hawk catching young chickens,” they said.

She did not know the story-teller had been there, but she would not have objected if she had known, for he was a kind old man, and if she could have spared the time from her sewing she also would have listened; for a Chinese woman is like a child in many things. She had heard some one say this was the American Christmas, but to her all days were alike,—just work, that was all.

Meanwhile Ah Chee was filled with a curious longing to run away from the picturesque Chinatown, just for a little while, to see if she could not find out something more about this wonderful Santa Claus. She would give anything in the world to see him, only—she had nothing to give. All the trinkets the poor little child owned were a mud pagoda and a bit of painted wood she called a doll.

Once during the Chinese New Year her dear mo chun had taken them for a walk outside of Chinatown, and she had seen the wonderful shop-windows of the Americans. How different they were from the Chinese! She had also seen some beautiful things that her mother had said were dolls. She had never forgotten it, and had even dreamed of holding one of these wonderful things in her arms. But it could only be a dream,—no such happiness was for her,—for it was all they could do to get enough rice to eat, without buying American dolls.

“Ah Gong!” she cried, fired with a sudden and bold resolution, “Ah Gong! you likee take a walk with sisteh?”

Ah Gong was at that moment busily engaged in eating a dried herring, which the kind-hearted owner of the shop next door had given him; but that fact did not in the least interfere with his desire to see new sights. His sparkling Chinese eyes fairly danced out of his head at the mere prospect.