She knew what she wanted more than anything in the world, and she remembered that she had prayed to the rabbit, so perhaps—perhaps—“Oh, dear queen!” she said at last in her piping little voice, “I be so good if only—if only—I could have—a doll, like the one in the shop window; oh, if I could—if I could.”
Her eyes were full of tears as she finished, for it meant so much to her. The good moon rabbit replied: “You shall have your wish, little one, for you are a good child.”
Kon Ying now bade farewell to the queen and all the dear little Chinese people, and jumping into the sedan chair was soon whirling away once more, and in a short while found herself entering the window of her own home, and placing her tired body on the bed. When she awoke the next morning she remembered the queen’s promise, and—what was that on her bed, close beside her? A queer looking package, and on it, written in Chinese letters, “For good little Kon Ying, from the moon labbit.” Hastily tearing open the packet she saw disclosed—the DOLL! She fancied the god frowned when he saw it.
That night, when the narrow Chinese streets were gay with the many lanterns, and sweet with the fragrant almond blossom and lily, and the happy crowds were thronging the streets, the old highbinder passed the door. He smiled as he saw little Kon Ying seated in the doorway, holding the DOLL in her arms, and with rapture unspeakable in her childish eyes.
“Where you catch ’em?” he inquired in a jovial tone.
“Oh, I so happy,” she said. “I went to the moon last night, and the moon labbit did bling me the DOLL.”
And the highbinder smiled.