Twice during the last days of waiting Miss Porter, visiting a friend in the city, came to call upon Kuei Ping. Once the friend, a mission doctor, had accompanied her. This accounted for the stiff white foreign skirt that fluttered before her eyes as Kuei Ping struggled back to a full consciousness of the room and its surroundings.
No joy in anticipation had prepared the young mother for the wonder of the babe as it lay nestled within her arm. Watching with languid eyes the quick deft movements of the foreign woman as she made the bed more comfortable, and beyond her the familiar figure of Chang An lighting the tapers of the Lamp of Seven Wicks to warn disaster from the new-born son, Kuei Ping slipped into a dream in which her child grew up to see both East and West and interpret the best of each to the other.
The months that followed were rich in happiness. Winter melted into spring. Flowers bloomed in the courtyard. Street vendors came each morning with great bunches of long-stemmed violets. On starlit evenings Fuh Tang carried his little son out into the courtyard where they sat talking of their happiness and his future.
It was on a late afternoon when fruit hung ripe on the hawthorn trees, and soft autumn breezes swayed the leaves of the moonflower vine that the sturdy baby made his first attempt to walk. Fuh Tang and Kuei Ping, both leaving him to stand in Chang An’s hands, moved away, a double inducement for him to take his first step. Intent upon the child they did not hear the sound of a guest entering the courtyard gate. Daring at last to make the venture, the baby toddled into Fuh Tang’s outstretched arms, and it was not until he stood holding the child that they perceived their aged father, Chia Sung Lien, looking in upon them.
Fuh Tang, going each day to his duties at the office of the British consul, brought back news of the events of the outside world, but Kuei Ping, her life full to overflowing in her love for her husband and child and occupied with the tasks of making the slender income supply the daily needs of the household, had scarce realized that men outside were at war. The news that the father bore them brought close the realization. Fuh Tang’s only brother, dispatched more than a year ago to fill his place in ignored orders, had fallen in battle under General Tso in a vain attempt to defend the city of Pingyang from the Japanese.
The aged man’s eyes followed hungrily the movements of his sturdy grandchild, while they brought him a chair and tea and offered the courtesies due to age from youth. He took from his pockets gifts to the little son who held out his baby hands, unafraid, to receive them.
When the women and child had retired into the house and Fuh Tang sat with his father alone in the gathering twilight the old man spoke of the need of a man child to carry on the traditions of the Chia household, to give rest to the departed dead and minister to the spirits of those who wandered in the unknown beyond. He spoke almost with fear of the sonlessness of the brother who had gone, and he asked that the little grandson be returned to his rightful place in the family even if his parents must pursue a foolish and selfish desire for freedom.
Bowed with a heavier sorrow than when he entered, with even the shadow of dread lurking in his eyes, Chia Sung Lien turned back from his fruitless errand. Youth with its new spirit of freedom had refused to place upon the altar of old tradition its most precious gift.
Fuh Tang and Kuei Ping, talking the matter over alone, had come to know that each believed that if their ideal for their son was to be realized he must live his life in the freer atmosphere of their own home.
Untouched by the near tragedy in the lives of his elders, little Bo Te played happily with the pearl charm Chang An had hung from a silver chain about his neck.