Fortunately for him, he was not the only Chinaman in the country, though at that early day they were few in number. The Queen city of the Pacific was then a city of many sand hills, and a few poor shanties, but it was full of energy, perseverance, and hope.
Ching Chong was a quick, active lad, and soon learned enough of English to procure a situation, and for some time remained in San Francisco.
At night, when his work was over, he would take a look at his divining-rod, and he often noticed it would turn in his hand, till it pointed to the mountain country, awaking all the wild dreams, and eager longings that in the leisure hours of the sea-voyage filled his imagination.
At last he could resist the impulse no longer, and joined a party of prospectors for the mining districts.
For months Ching Chong wandered over the mountains with his comrades, till his shoes were worn out, and his trousers and blue shirt so patched with flour-sacks, that it was impossible for the uninitiated to distinguish the original material.
Still he found nothing, even the divining-rod seemed to have lost its power, save when he was alone.
One night he sat apart from the others, feeling very sad, and wishing he had never left China. The homesick longing to see his native land growing continually in his heart, oppressed him greatly.
The thought of the kind old merchant who had been as a father to him, pursued him, but deeper down in his heart was cherished the memory of the merchant's daughter. The gentle Ah Zore maiden with the almond-shaped eyes, and tiny feet.
Just as he was yielding himself to tender dreams, his wand rested upon his bosom, and there he felt his secret talisman, the divining-rod.