Johnny did not need any urging, you may be sure, and many people in the restaurant were amused to see the two little friends seated at the table with their fire-crackers on a chair beside them. Still more amused was the waiter, who brought them such a mixture as he had never before served for lunch. It was dreadful! but it did not seem so to the two hungry boys, who, with mouths full, were so interested in talking that they did not even see the waiter. Little Ho Chin paid the bill with a kingly air, and they strutted out to pop their crackers for the rest of the day. They were having a fine time,—but what of the little Chinese mother?
When her toilet was completed she inquired for her boy, as she knew he was to have a holiday to-day, and was told that he had breakfasted earlier than he had ever done before, and they had not seen him since. They supposed he had gone to her apartments. She had the whole house searched, and was frightened almost to death. She burned her incense before the god, and murmured: “Oh, good joss! protect my boy, and bring him to me.”
At that moment her boy had just blown off his coat-tail with a bunch of fire-crackers, and it was lucky that he had not been blown to pieces. The mother could only wait till the day wore on, as her husband was not there to advise her, and Chinese women are so helpless.
After this day of delight the dark night fell, and not until then was the little Ho reminded that his mother would be worried, and he must go home. His fire-crackers were all gone, he was tired, and so covered with powder and dirt that one would never have recognized him as the elegantly dressed little boy who had left home in the early morning. “But,” he reflected, “I have had the finest time of my life; I will never forget it.”
It must be admitted, though, that his conscience hurt him very badly as he wended his way home. He wondered if his father could have come home unexpectedly. There was no way out of it; he must go and face it. He almost felt as if he would like to run away to some place where there were no fathers and mothers, and where it was always the Fourth of July all the year round.
He entered the great iron door, and had reached the top of the marble stairway, his heart beating with fear. He almost wished now he had not gone. The silence was so intense that he could almost hear his heart beat—he feared the worst. But now he heard a rustle of silken garments, and there came through the portieres—his mother!
With wide-open black eyes he gazed at her. Oh, what would she do? what would she say?—he stood trembling and speechless; and she?—Why, she was just a mother, after all, and with one great sob she took him in her arms and showered kisses on his handsome but very dirty face. He could feel her tender heart beating through the silken blouse, and she clasped him closer as she murmured: “The good joss has brought him back to me—my brave and beautiful little Ho.”
And he whispered, “Mother—forgive me! but it was all so lovely, and—I just love the Fourth of July!”
And she, being a mother, forgave him.