LITTLE ALMOND
BLOSSOMS

A Little Almond Blossom

LITTLE
ALMOND BLOSSOMS

A Book of Chinese Stories
for Children
BY
JESSIE JULIET KNOX
With Illustrations from Photographs of Chinese Children
in California
BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
1907
Copyright, 1904,
By Little, Brown, and Company.
All rights reserved
Published October, 1904
Printers
S. J. Parkhill & Co., Boston, U. S. A.
This Book is lovingly Dedicated
to
MY MOTHER

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

IN THE LAND OF THE DRAGON

Little Almond
Blossoms

IN THE LAND OF THE DRAGON

CHUNG GOY ran as fast as his little sandals would permit, up the narrow flight of steps which led to the Chinese restaurant, and out on the balcony, where a crowd of Chinamen were watching for the great Procession of the Dragon. His little legs were encased in pale green silk trousers tied at the ankles, and his lavender shom (blouse) gleamed in the light of the many dragon lanterns which were swaying in the night breeze. His hair was in a long queue, and on his head he wore the little round black cap of the Chinese, with a button on top.

Chung Goy was so afraid he would miss seeing the dragon. He had never seen it as yet, for he was not so very old, and now that the long-expected moment had come he fairly trembled with excitement.

His ho chun (father) was on this balcony, which was near their home, and he hurried to nestle up to him, as it was cold, and the wind was always blowing in San Francisco.

It seemed as if the procession would never come; he grew tired watching so many people pass, and perhaps the fumes of the opium his father was smoking got into his brain; but, at any rate, the first thing he

Oh, what a dreadful monster!

knew he saw a great squirming thing approaching him.

It was spitting fire from its eyes and mouth, and at first he felt afraid. Oh, what a dreadful monster! it would surely devour him. He heard himself saying: “Velly bad snake—I no likee; go ’way! I ’flaid.” And then he heard a voice like the muttering of thunder, and the voice came out of the dragon’s mouth, and it was saying in the Chinese language: “Samen jai (little boy), I have come to take you to Dragon Land. Slip away from ho chun, and fly with me.”

“Oh, no!” gasped the trembling boy, “I velly much ’flaid the big dlagon eat me up.” And then the dragon spoke again, but this time his voice was as soft and sweet as music, and the fire no longer came from his eyes and mouth. He had such a kind look on his face too, and spoke in such a persuasive tone, that little Chung Goy ceased to be afraid, and slipping from his father’s arms he ran down the narrow steps again, and out into the street, climbing up on the big dragon’s back. He saw lots of other Chinese boys he knew, doing the same thing. He held on tightly, for the dragon went in such a squirming way that he was afraid he would fall off, and he held on to his little silk cap, too, as the dragon’s speed increased, for it was his best one, and he did not want to lose it.

Oh, this was jolly! He had never thought he would ever ride on a dragon’s back. What a lot he would have to tell his mo chun (mother)

The Chinese children all marched to the music in a row

when he reached home. It was a good thing mo chun did not know it now, he thought, or she would be “velly much ’flaid.”

After squirming through all sorts of queer countries, the big dragon stopped so suddenly that they all fell off his back, and down his slippery sides. Chung Goy rubbed his eyes and looked around him. Oh, how funny! There were just thousands of dragons of all sizes, and this beautiful place was their home. They all had such kind faces, and spoke in such a gentle way, that no one could feel afraid. There were great groves of trees, all full of the tiny Chinese mandarin orange. Chung Goy just loved those “ollanges,” but he had never before picked them from a tree, as his ho chun had bought them from the street-stands in Chinatown. There were trees of lichee (nuts), and long tables just filled with Chinese candy, delicious preserved ginger, watermelon seed, and all those good things so dear to a boy’s heart.

It was night, but the trees were so full of the great dragon lanterns that it made it almost as light as day, and there were no dark corners anywhere. There was a dragon orchestra under one of the trees, playing the loveliest Chinese music. The shrill piping of the flageolets and the beating of the “tom-toms” were indeed beautiful to the ears of Chung Goy and his friends. It looked too funny for anything to see dragons holding the different instruments with their claws. The Chinese children all marched to

Everybody giggled all the time, in their funny little Chinese way

the music in a row, holding each other by the queue.

Chung Goy had never had so much fun in all his little life as he was having now. Just as he was beginning to feel hungry there appeared before his gaze a very long table, just filled with everything a child could possibly want, and all served by cunning little dragons. There were such dainty little China cups without handles, and in them the most delicious chah (tea).

Everybody giggled all the time, in their funny little Chinese way, and no one told them to stop.

While they were sitting at the table the dragons brought them each a big basket of fireworks. Now a Chinese child is even more fond of fireworks than an American child, and so they all kicked up their little sandals with delight, and after each one had been given a lighted Chinese punk, they began to pop them, and oh, what fun it was! There was a delightful noise, with so much popping, and the odor of the punks was most pleasant to their little Chinese noses. It really seemed as if the more they popped, the more they had left in their baskets.

Finally, the big King of the dragons said he must take them home now, or he would not be back in time for the parade, and it would never do to disappoint the people. So each one was allowed to keep his basket, and they squirmed away again, until at last they entered the narrow streets of Chinatown, with its rows of dragon lanterns, and its odor of incense everywhere. Once more Chung Goy climbed the narrow steps, and crept into the arms of ho chun, who had not noticed his absence, and he arrived just in time, for just then there was a great noise of “tom-toms,” and crowds shouting.

The streets were aglare with a strange red light, and looking down he saw the familiar form of the King Dragon, which was spitting fire from its eyes and mouth; but this time little Chung Goy did not feel afraid, for he knew—he knew.

TWO LITTLE CHINESE SISTERS

ONE day during the Chinese New Year, when the sea breezes blew softly through the narrow, blossom-lined streets of Chinatown, and swayed the great red dragon lanterns to and fro, Poon Chew and her little sister, Poon Yet, decided that they would take a walk through the streets, and have a look at all the beautiful things displayed in the windows. Their mo chun had dressed them up in their very best silken robes,—robes she had made for this very week,—and they made a pretty picture as they started out under their gay umbrella. Their blouses were of pink silk, and their trousers of pale lavender. They wore gay head-dresses, and were indeed beautiful to look upon. They would never have started out alone if the little mo chun had not been so busy making the great New Year cake, which was to be served with tea to her guests of the New Year.

“Let’s go see Sai Gee,” said Poon Chew.

“All light,” replied the little sister.

Sai Gee, a little-footed playmate of theirs, lived just a few doors from them, and they had no difficulty in finding her home. Sai Gee was also dressed up in her gayest attire, but her feet were too small to find much enjoyment in running around with the children whose feet were of the ordinary size. But she could

She brought forth from the flute the most wonderful sounds

entertain them, anyway, for Sai Gee could play the flute.

It was really wonderful. She sat upon a stool, over which an embroidered robe had been thrown, and played to them. Her hair was done in a coil back of her right ear, and her little brown face was sweet and wistful as she brought forth from the flute the most wonderful sounds. Sai Gee’s father was very wealthy, and so the little one had everything that money could buy. Poon Chew made up her mind right then that she would ask her father to buy her a flute. Then Sai Gee brought forth some tiny cakes, made of powdered nuts, and some tea, and preserved watermelon; and for each of the little sisters a big slice of New Year’s cake.

“My! but we have good time. I likee make New Yeah call, like mo chun—we go now; good-by,” said Poon Chew.

“Let’s look in window,” the big sister said; and of course the little one, having perfect confidence in Poon Chew, gladly followed, the soft little hand clasped in that of the sister. Oh, the wonderful things they saw! The streets looked like a garden, with the rows of almond blossoms and China lilies, and on every balcony swung in rows the immense dragon lanterns.

They stopped awhile—they thought it only a few minutes—to watch some boys playing a New Year’s game, and then passed on by the stores, where the smell of the good things made them very hungry.

“Oh, how nice the loast pohk (roast pork) smell! I velly hungly,—we go home pletty soon,” said the older sister.

“Yes, we go home pletty soon,” echoed Poon Yet.

The little feet were growing tired, for they had never before been on the streets alone, and they wanted to get all the pleasure they could out of it. How they did wish they had brought some money, as they looked longingly at the great heaps of candied cocoanut and ginger on the street-stands. Their eyes must have said so, for just as they were gazing at the dainties with longing eyes a richly-dressed Chinaman came by, and the first thing they knew he was saying: “You likee candy, ne jai?” (little girl).

It startled them at first, but when they looked up and saw what a kind face the man had, they did not feel afraid, but replied: “Yes—we velly hungly—we no bling money; we catch ’em plenty money at home.”

The man laughed good-naturedly, and having bought them a large package of candy, started on. After they had eaten some of it they noticed the growing darkness. Could it be possible that night was coming on? They had not thought of that; it had seemed so bright when they started, and it did not seem as if they could have been gone long.

Meanwhile, what of the little brown mother at home?

When she finished her cake she called her children. She had made a little cake just for them, and she wanted them to come and eat it.

“Poon Chew! Poon Yet!” she called; but no sound came back through the silence.

“Little one—ne jai, come to mo chun!” No reply.

With wildly beating heart she rushed through the tiny rooms and out to the narrow pavement. She hailed a passing policeman, and in faltering Chinese told him that her little ones were lost, described the pretty clothes they wore, and all the while her heart was wrung with a nameless fear. What would life be without the soft little arms about her neck?—the patter of the little sandalled feet?—the sound of the shrill little voices at play?

This policeman told others, and they were all searching for the two children, who were out making New Year’s calls.

And it grew darker. Poon Chew trembled, as she realized that they were lost. She did not know which way to turn. Some men were lighting the big dragon lanterns on the balcony opposite, so it was really night.

“Oh, little sister, we are lost! I forget; I no ’member the way home. What will we do?” she moaned. She had no idea what direction her home was in, and her eyes were filled with tears; but now through the tears she saw some one approaching. It was—oh, joy! the old nurse Suey, leading the richly dressed little Sai Chong, brother of Sai Gee.

She was greatly surprised when she saw the children so far from home,

It was the old nurse, Suey

and they clung to her neck, weeping and laughing by turns. “Take us home—take us home;” they cried. They had walked so far and were so tired that she got a Chinaman who was standing by to take them all home in his wagon. When they arrived, they found the little mo chun in the greatest distress. She was very much astonished as she saw them all tumble out of the covered wagon, and they all cried and laughed, and never did the little mother receive so many kisses; and four little brown arms clasped her neck all at once, and the little sisters were so very sorry to have been so naughty that they said:

“Mo chun, beautiful cherry blossom—we neveh, neveh make New Yeah calls again without you.”

THE LITTLE HIGHBINDER

IT was the one desire of little Sing Lee to be a highbinder. It must be a fine thing, for his father was one, and so it must be good. It was true he did not have a very definite idea of just what it meant to be one, but he knew this: his father belonged to the Hip Sing Tongs, an order of highbinders in San Francisco, and they were men who kept their promises. At night as he lay on his hard bamboo couch, with the fumes of opium thick around him, he could hear ho chun talking in a low tone to a crowd of men, who were all of the same order of highbinders as his father. “There is Chong Sing,” they were saying; “he has told some of our secrets to a white devil, and he must die; the joss frowns upon him.”

This sounded very discouraging for Chong Sing, and little Sing Lee felt sorry for a moment, for he remembered that one day this same Chong Sing had spoken kindly, and had given him a three-cornered package of lichee (nuts) and candy. He could even yet taste the delicious strips of candied cocoanut, and the dainty citron. Chong Sing had said he would bring him some more another time, and now—he was to die. If he died, perhaps no one else would bring candy or speak a kind word.

Little Sing Lee lay trembling in his bed as they planned the murder of his friend. What could he do? He was only a little boy, and—he had thought to be a highbinder when he was a big man like ho chun; and if he was going to be one, he must conquer all tenderness of heart,—and yet, this man had been kind to him, and it might be that he had little boys of his own at home.

“If I was a highbinder,” he said to himself, “I no kill nice men who bling children candy; I kill bad men.”

Next day he confided his thoughts to mo chun, but she replied: “No! no! my little boy. No use—Hip Sing Tongs heap big—heap stlong (strong). They no care if Chong Sing give lichee; they kill him, allee samee.” But little Sing Lee did not forget. He still thought, however, that it must be a fine thing to be a highbinder, if only one just killed the bad men—men who did not give candy to lonely little children and speak kind words to them. So that very day he went around through Chinatown and organized a society of highbinders among his boy friends.

He succeeded in getting four other boys to join, and they all took their oaths very solemnly. Now that they were really highbinders they must begin to kill somebody. Not ever having killed anybody, they did not know how to go about it, or on whom to begin.

Mo chun noticed the boys carrying on a great deal of private conversation, and she wondered what it could be; so that night, after Sing Lee had burned his punks before the god, and had eaten his bowl of rice with chopsticks, she said to him: “What for you allee time whisper? You no eat—you no sleep; tell me! what you think?”

Mo chun was such a dear little brown mother, and he loved her so, that when she looked at him with her slanting velvet eyes, and asked him to tell her, he just had to, that was all. He was not afraid of her, for Chinese mothers do not punish their children, and anyway—the secret was too good to keep, so why not tell her? She never laughed at him like ho chun. So he crept close up against the warmth of her silken blouse—he could feel her tender mother heart beating beneath it—and he gazed at the polished hair and the pretty mouth as he talked.

“Mo chun—I likee be like big man—like ho chun. I get boys togeddeh; we be highbinders, allee samee ho chun.

“Ho chun velly fine man; he kill heap of people; I likee do that, but, mo chun, my beautiful blossom, I no likee ho chun to kill Chong Sing; he heap good—he bling me candy.”

“What you mean, little boy? How you sabe (know) ho chun kill Chong Sing? Speak!—tell me!”

“Oh, mo chun of mine, I no sleep at night; I no can help—I hear ho chun say Chong Sing must die. I velly solly; he heap good man—I likee.”

Mo chun was sorry too, for she knew him to be a good man, but she knew there was no use to say anything. If they had decided upon his death there was nothing to be said.

The next day Sing Lee set forth with his little band of highbinders to find some one to kill. Mo chun had said: “You must not really kill them, you sabe, just pletend kill.”

Suddenly, as they marched on, a bright thought struck little Sing Lee. “Suppose I tell Chong Sing?—he live near—I know the way, and—he was kind to me.”

He then confided his secret to his trusty men, and they marched on, through the narrow streets, till they came to the home of the good Chong Sing—the man who was to be killed.

It was dark and gloomy where Chong Sing lived, and his two little children, trudging homeward through the narrow alley-way, arrived at the door just before the little highbinders. Sing Lee could see their ho chun as he greeted them, and they clasped their little arms about his neck, while he gazed at them with love in his eyes—and yet—he must die.

Sing Lee’s mind was made up. He marched boldly to the door, and stood under the big Chinese letters which meant happiness to all who should enter there, and he could even smell the incense ever kept burning for the god,—the god who had given no warning to Chong Sing. With a soft sound of sandalled feet the doomed man appeared at the door. His face was beaming with good nature. He carried his little girl in his arms, and by his side stood his son, a manly little fellow.

With his heart throbbing as if it would burst, Sing Lee advanced in front of his men, saying, “I am Sing Lee! You were kind to me once; these are my men—highbinders—” (at this Chong Sing smiled in a very amused way, but the smile was changed to something else when the boy went on) “I no forget you; I velly lonely—you bling me candy; you say good word to me, and now—I pay you back.

“No one know I come to tell you; the Hip Sing Tongs they say you must die. They say you tell seclets to white devil: I no know, I no care, but you good man; I likee save you. I want you to go ’way, acloss the water. You go quick!—I velly solly—good-by.”

The little highbinder did not kill any one that day; he was thinking of a pale, set face, and two little brown arms clasped about a father’s neck. Never mind! he would kill some one next week, or “to-mollow.” Some one who was bad—who did not bring candy.

There was great surprise among the Hip Sing Tongs when their victim was not to be found. Such a thing had never happened before, and they could account for it in no way.

Of course they did not think to ask the little mother or the embryo highbinder. And while they were wondering and searching, away over across the blue sea were the Chinese father and mother, and brown, happy children—safe.

HOW AH CHEE FOUND SANTA CLAUS

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.

“Yes, I likee,” he replied, with his mouth full of herring. “What foh you takee walk? Where you go?”

She took hold of the end of his queue, and pulling him toward her, whispered in his ear the magic words: “We go see Clismas! we catch ’em Sanny Claw.”

This announcement was almost too much for Ah Gong, and his little celestial brain could not take in so much happiness all at once, so he stared at her a moment until he had swallowed the bite of herring, and then gasped out: “But Ah Gong ’flaid Sanny Claw spit fieh (fire) on us; allee samee heap big dlagon.”

Ah Chee had to giggle at this, with her ever-ready Chinese giggle, but putting her long sateen sleeve round him in a protecting manner she answered him in the kindest tone: “Oh, no! ’Melican Sanny Claw heap good man—allee samee joss; we go find him; come along!”

So they started in the growing darkness, with the sweet faith of a child in their hearts. They knew not where to go, nor which way to turn, but only had the one thought—just to find the ’Melican Clismas. When they had disappeared, the shopkeeper believed they had gone home for the night, and gave them no more thought; the tired mother upstairs supposed that they were in the shop, as they often went in there and played until late, because it was bright, and the man was kind to them.

They knew they could not find Santa Claus in Chinatown, so the first thing to do was to get out of the Chinese section, and into one of the great thoroughfares of the city. On they went, past the joss house, where they had once been with their mother to burn pretty candles before the joss, and they looked up with childish admiration at the big round lanterns which hung on the balcony, and tried to read the Chinese letters at the door. Sometime, perhaps when the moon festival came, or the Chinese New Year, it might be that mo chun would take them again, if she had money enough to buy any more pretty candles. The good joss liked pretty candles.

There were many lovely things to be seen in Chinatown, but to-night they were going somewhere else. It did not occur to them that they might get lost, or that their dear mother might be uneasy. They were too much excited over what the story-teller had told them to worry over anything, so they toddled on, their hearts full of expectation. They had no idea what Christmas would be like when they should find it, or whether it would be alive, but they could wait. How very queer it seemed when they had left the narrow crooked streets of Chinatown, with its smell of incense and its balconies and lanterns, and found themselves on a great wide street full of people, so full of people that the heart of the motherly little Ah Chee almost failed her, and she clasped her arm protectingly around the body of her fat baby brother, and whispered words of encouragement in his little brown ear.

Many people, in the hurry of their Christmas shopping, gave a passing thought of wonder that the two little Chinese children should be in the dense crowd alone, but thought perhaps their parents were following them; and so, with a smile at the dimpled tea-rose face and sparkling eyes of the Chinese maiden they passed on, to the brightness and good cheer of their own comfortable homes. There were so many street cars, with bells clanging, carriages dashing past, and so much noise and confusion that they were both frightened. Even the brave little heart of Ah Chee beat violently under the padded warmth of her dark blue blouse, and for a moment she almost feared they would not find Santa Claus. But just then a voice said something, and a big policeman picked her up, and smiled at her, saying: “Where are you going, little one? Where is mamma?”

The timid little voice of Ah Chee replied, “Mo chun, she at home; can you tell me,” she eagerly questioned, “where Sanny Claw is?”

“Why, yes, to be sure; he is in there.”

In there,—could it be possible they were so near the wonderful being and had not known it?

They saw a very large store, with great crowds of people, big and little, jostling each other in their efforts to

“Where are you going, little one?”

get in. So all these people were hunting Santa Claus. Ah Chee in her childish eagerness slipped, and would have fallen, had she not been caught in some one’s arms. The arms belonged to a richly dressed lady, who looked down with indifference at the pathetic picture of the two little children, and was about to draw her skirts aside and pass on, when the little Christ-child must have put a thought into her worldly heart, for she turned and looked again into the wistful little faces.

They must have seen some sympathy in her face, for Ah Chee said hesitatingly, “Oh, if you please, we likee see Sanny Claw; could you show us?”

For a moment she hesitated. What would her aristocratic friends think if they saw her taking two dirty Chinese children into the elegant shop?

“Why didn’t your father bring you?” she said.

“My fatheh—he die; we no got fatheh.”

Something in the pleading little face, and the quiver in the little red mouths, and the despair in the great oblique eyes must have touched the woman’s heart beneath all its worldly coating. With sudden decision she grasped the two little trembling hands, and throwing all her old false pride to the Christmas winds, stepped boldly into the shop, where all was elegance and warmth and light and beauty.

To her it was an old story. She had long since lost the spirit of Christmas, and the old legend of Santa Claus brought no ecstasy to her, for there were no children at her home to hang up their stockings. The little Chinese children were all eyes now, and forgot their poverty and the bleak darkness of their home as they looked for the first time at all this sparkling beauty. At last they found him—the “ ‘Melican Sanny Claw!” To the lady it was nothing,—such an old, old story,—but to the two little Chinese children it was the perfect and blissful realization of a dream, the one beautiful event in two little barren lives. And now—they actually stood face to face with Santa Claus. Little Ah Gong was glad to see that he was not spitting fire, like the Chinese dragon, and felt quite reassured.

Santa was standing by a sparkling tree all covered with pretty candles, such as they had burned for the joss, and on top of the tree was a great shining star.

“What is that?” said Ah Gong, pointing with his chubby forefinger to the star.

“That? It is the star of Bethlehem,” said the pretty lady, with a queer catch in her voice, while for the first time in her life she realized a little of the true meaning of the star.

They did not understand, and clung closer to each other as they neared the wonderful Santa Claus. He must have come from a very cold country, for he was dressed all in fur, from head to foot, and had rosy cheeks and long white whiskers.

“See,” whispered the little girl to her brother, “it is the heap good ’Melican Santa; do you see him?”

“Yes—yes—I see him; I no ’flaid now,” he said, edging closer to him.

The beautiful lady was whispering to Santa Claus—actually whispering. What a brave lady she must be, and they wondered vaguely what she could have to say to him. And, wonder of wonders! Santa came right up to them, and putting out his big warm hand, clasped the trembling little cold hands of the two children, and said: “What do you want me to bring you?”

Was there ever anything so wonderful? That he should notice them, and speak to them? Their eyes almost danced out of their heads at this unexpected question. It had never occurred to their innocent little hearts that he would bring them anything, because they were only Chinese, and the Chinese did not believe in Santa Claus; they only believed in the Moon Rabbit.

As he spoke, visions of wonderful things flitted through their minds,—things they dared not name. The lady said to Ah Chee: “Tell him, dear; he would like to give you something.”

Before the child thought, she had spoken the words: “Could you—oh, could you—bling me—a—doll?”

“A doll? Why, yes; of course you shall have a doll,” he said, as the lady looked at him in a meaning way. And then all the boy in little Ah Gong’s repressed nature broke forth, and he hurriedly gasped: “A knife—I likee knife.”

The lady smiled at Santa again, and he said: “And what else, my little man?”

“I likee led (red) wagon—”

“No—no—” whispered the timid sister, “that too muchee—Santa no likee give so muchee.”

Some more mysterious whispering went on, and Santa produced from his fur pocket a little book and pencil, and wrote down a great many things. Ah Chee did not know what he could be writing—perhaps a letter to his wife at the North Pole, but she did not care; she only knew she was going to get what she had longed for all her little lonely life,—a doll,—and her motherly heart warmed and thrilled at the happy thought.

“And what would your mamma like?” he was saying now.

“Oh,—my mo chun; let me see,—I think she likee wahm (warm) shom (blouse) and—that’s all light; you must not give too muchee; you so good—you so good,” she sobbed.

Her little starved soul was running over with the joy of Christmas—the new joy, which she had never before tasted.

“You shall not be forgotten, neither shall your mother. Good-by, and merry Christmas!” he said; and then, after showing the excited children all the beautiful toys in the shop, the lady went out with them once more into the crowded streets.

The air was full of Christmas cheer, and every one was smiling and happy, as they hurried along with their arms full of mysterious packages and called out Christmas greetings to each other.

“Do you know where you live, children?” the lady now said.

Fortunately Ah Chee remembered the number and place of their home, so the lady put them into a carriage and seated herself beside them. They waited in the carriage awhile, till a man came out of the shop and placed many bundles of various shapes and sizes in with them. It was so dark they could not see them, but at last, after rattling over the cobblestones for a time, they saw that they had entered Chinatown, and once again the odor of the incense greeted them.

Soon the carriage stopped right in front of their door, and they could see the pale face of mo chun peeping from the lattice.

The lady told the driver to wait, while she went with the children up the dark stairway. Mo chun was never so surprised in her life as she was when the excited children rushed in, pulling the lady after them. She had begun to be frightened, and was just going down to the shop to see what was the matter, when they arrived, breathless and happy. She was very much embarrassed to have the rich and beautiful lady come into her poor little home, but almost as much excited and pleased over the gifts as the children, and to see the purse of gold that Santa had brought her. She had not dreamed there was such kindness in the whole big world, or such plenty and happiness.

It was enough to cure any amount of heartaches to note the rapture in the eyes of Ah Chee as she hugged the wonderful doll to her motherly little heart, and to see the boyish delight with which Ah Gong displayed his knife and red wagon. There were many other gifts, yet they had never even thought there were such things in the world. Mo chun did not know how to thank the kind lady, who had, with one gift from her jewelled hands, lifted her and her children from poverty to comfort. She could only make her a cup of delicious Chinese tea, and thank her in her pretty little Chinese way; but in her heart she thanked her, and the beautiful lady understood, and for the first time in her life realized the true meaning of Christmas.

THE MOON RABBIT

Little Priest

IT was the eve of the Moon Festival. The homes and the people of Chinatown were gay within and gay without, and the incense-laden air was full of the holiday spirit. The Moon Festival with the Chinese is something like the American Christmas, only it lasts longer, extending into their New Year.

Kon Ying had not been very happy in her little life, for she had always been made to feel that she was one too many in the home. She had three sisters older than herself, and the Chinese do not like so many daughters,—they would rather have sons; so when she arrived in the small home, it was decided to call her Kon Ying, which means “enough hawks.” After her had come a baby brother, who was petted and spoiled in every way possible, because he was a boy. As he was the only son, the parents soon resorted to a queer Chinese method. They shaved his head and called him “little priest,” allowing him to be adopted by another family. This was done to deceive the bad spirits, and make them think they cared no more for their child than for a despised priest, and had thought so little of him that they had even allowed another family to adopt him.

Little Kon Ying had been left to herself a great deal, and so had thought of many things. Perhaps

She and one of her sisters were on the step in front of their home

she had thought more of the Moon Rabbit than anything else, and wondered in her childish way why it had never remembered her. She and one of her sisters were on the step in front of their home talking about it, when she saw her brother across the street, in front of the joss house. He was richly dressed, and pretended he did not know her.

The streets were beautiful to-night, so, after much persuasion, mo chun had promised to take the children to see the shop windows. Soon the mother appeared at the door, where in a little bowl punks were always kept burning for the god, and in her high-pitched Chinese voice told the children she was ready. Kon Ying was happy for once. She was happy to-night, because she was strong and young, and the Chinese world was beautiful. And, someway, she felt that the rabbit would really remember her to-night.

On they went, one after another, in true Chinese fashion, but never losing sight of the polished hair of mo chun in front of them.

How gay it all was, and how bright! The great irregular rows of big round lanterns looked like a lot of moons, and surely the rabbit’s own moon could not be more beautiful. They could scarcely tear themselves away from the bakeshop windows, which were full of cakes of all kinds. Some were shaped like the moon, and some were made into tall Chinese pagodas, a fish, a horse, or something of the kind. Some had on them the picture of the white rabbit, who is always pounding out rice in the moon. On others were painted beautiful gods and goddesses. Mo chun was telling them that when good little Chinese children were all asleep the mysterious rabbit would come to the shops and purchase the pretty things, to leave in the homes of the children.

Kon Ying was thinking as she pressed her cunning little nose up against the cold glass: “I likee know if I been good enough this time. I help mo chun—I play (pray) to joss heap plenty time; maybe the moon labbit come—maybe, I no sabe” (understand). She only knew that she had done her best, always; but perhaps the wonderful rabbit would not think so. Never mind! she would pray once more to the ugly little old god at home, before she went to sleep.

Soon they came to the toy shops. She felt as if she could stay forever, for there were toys of all kinds, and no one would ever know how good they seemed to a poor little Chinese girl who had never had any toys. The only one she had ever possessed was an old broken doll she had once found upon a trash heap, but she had treasured it as no doll was ever before treasured, and had given it all the pent-up love in her little starved heart. She had even named it “Kin Leen” (golden lily), and pretended that it was a fine aristocratic lady, with “little feet.” She had bound its feet with strips of cloth, and it was to this doll that she had gone with all her troubles; but no one knew this. If her proud brother had known he would have teased her unmercifully.

There were so many lovely pagodas in the window, and some of them were several feet high. She would like one of these, but knew she might as well long for the moon. There was something in the window which she would rather have than a pagoda or anything else, and she longed for it so intensely that a real prayer must have gone out from her little innocent heart. It was a doll!—a Chinese doll, with big slanting eyes, like Kon Ying’s own, and the most gorgeous dress of flowered silk.

Suddenly it dawned upon her what she would do when she got home. Instead of praying to the god on the shelf she would pray to the moon rabbit, and beg and beg of it to bring her a doll. If she could only have one of those gorgeous creatures, with the tuft of black hair on its head, and the wobbly feet and arms, and painted cheeks and lips, she would surely never ask for anything else. There were other dolls in plenty, but none so beautiful. They were only bits of wood, with eyes, nose, and mouth painted on them. If she had not seen the big one she might have cared for those, but now—she would never care for them; she had seen the queen.

She gasped out, in her shrill childish voice: “Oh, mo chun! Why—why—won’t the moon labbit bling me doll?”

Before the mother could reply, a kind hand was laid upon the polished head of the little girl, and a man’s kind voice said: “The moon labbit will bling you doll, and all the little sistehs too.”

Looking up, she saw that the voice came from the lips of a notorious highbinder—a friend of her father’s.

The man had been to their home many times. She had liked him, for he always had a kind word for children, and last New Year he had even brought them some cunning little mandarin oranges, and a package of Chinese candy. He was said to be a very bad man, but he loved children. Speaking a few words of holiday greeting, he passed on into the shop, while Kon Ying and her sisters still gazed at the contents of the windows.

The big doll seemed to be saying: “I am yours, Kon Ying!—take me!” while it held out its wobbly arms in entreaty. Its painted lips seemed as if they might be forming pretty Chinese words of good wishes for the Moon Festival.

Kon Ying’s little celestial heart longed for it with a terrible longing, but the glass was between them, and so—her heart could only ache in silence. It could not happen, anyway. When did anything nice ever happen to her? She had always been in the way, and there were no toys to spare for her—little “Enough Hawks.”

She was so absorbed in gazing at the doll that she did not see the highbinder, away back in the shop. Her nose was pressed against the glass, and her dirty little fingers had left ten marks, but she did not know; she would not have cared if she had known. Suddenly, as she gazed, something wonderful happened. A big blue arm reached into the window from the shop, and slim fingers with long Chinese nails closed upon the doll, lifting it out of the window, to disappear from the gaze of the enraptured children. It seemed to blink its slanting eyes in farewell as it departed.

The pale yellow ivory face of little Kon Ying appeared to grow even more pale as she screamed out, in that little nasal voice of hers: “She gone—the moon labbit no can get her now to bling to me. Heap bad spirit catch ’em doll: I so solly—I so solly.”

It seemed to her that when the doll had gone from her sight it had taken with it the very heart out of her body, and she did not care to linger now, so they passed on, to other sights and sounds.

On a flower-laden balcony some one was twanging on a sam yun (banjo), but even music had no charm for her now, because—the DOLL was gone. She would never see it again; the bad spirits had taken it. Perhaps it was because she had neglected to pray to the god lately. She had even dared, when no one was looking, to make a horrible face at him, and tell him she hated him. She did this because her little heart was so heavy; no one seemed to care for her, and the god never made anything nice happen to her, nor paid any attention to her little prayers. Never mind! she would pray to the moon rabbit after this; perhaps it would hear her prayer. After she had decided upon this course she was anxious to get back to her home. The children were all getting tired now, and their wooden sandals dragged heavily upon the narrow pavements.

“We go home now,” said mo chun; “Maybe moon labbit come to-night.”

At last they reached their home, and the tired children ascended the stairway. Kon Ying set to work to offer her sacrifices, as she was tired and wanted to go to bed. She had nothing to offer the moon rabbit except her old broken doll; so she placed it on a table and burned her incense sticks, and everybody thought she was praying to the god. But she was not; she knew,—and the god knew. At last she laid her tired head on the hard couch.

It seemed to her she had only been there a minute, when there came a great glare of light and the sound of Chinese flutes. The lattice window opened, and in marched a troop of tiny Chinamen, dressed in purple and gold. Each one carried a stick of lighted incense for a torch, making the room as bright as day.

They marched right up to where Kon Ying lay, and the most richly dressed one said: “Kon Ying, our queen has prepared a banquet for you; will your highness please to accept the invitation?”

Kon Ying was frightened at first, but something within her seemed to speak the words: “I shall be pleased to obey the commands of your queen;” and she made a curtsey to the royal messenger.

“Be prepared to go when the time comes!” he said, and vanished with his company.

By and by there was another glare of lights, and the sound of music. The lattice opened again, and there flitted in a crowd of the dearest little Chinese ladies, all clad in pink silk blouses, with lavender trousers, and pretty little golden sandals. They had so many diamonds in their hair and ears that it almost put out little Kon Ying’s eyes. They each carried a tiny Chinese lantern, which shed a soft light.

The most beautiful one now approached Kon Ying and said: “The queen has sent you a royal robe; please put it on, and we will hasten to the moon.”

Again the little girl gasped out: “Your highness’ commands shall be obeyed;” and slipping from her couch she stood shivering upon the floor, while the moon-maidens arrayed her in a robe of palest lavender.

“Our queen heard your prayer, and has sent us to carry you to her kingdom,” they said; and spreading out the wide Chinese sleeves of her gown until they looked just like wings, they told her to come, and away through the window she flew with them.

She felt as light as a feather, and could not resist the pleasure of making one real ugly face at the god as she passed. There stood on the street in front of the house a row of the dearest little sedan chairs, all glittering with gold, and carried by huge white rabbits. Before she could say a word they had opened the door for her, and placing her inside, flew away,—away from the squatty little god and the smell of incense, away from the great shining lanterns of the dragon, and the narrow, crooked streets, and into air that was so pure it seemed like a delicious nectar.

Kon Ying leaned from the window of her sedan chair and gazed at all the wondrous beauty of the sky. As they passed through the milky way some tiny star-fairies handed her a jewelled glass of the richest milk. She was very glad, for it seemed a long time since her supper of rice and tea. She was far away from the lights of the city now, and surrounded by the dazzling radiance of the stars. One very large star seemed to be the queen, and all the little stars bowed down before it, chanting the sweetest melody.

They were getting nearer and nearer the moon now, and, oh, how very large it was! To Kon Ying it had always seemed no larger than a small Chinese lantern, but now, as she came nearer, it seemed greater than the whole world. Soon she could see it no more, and the white rabbits told her that they were already in the moon. It was the most beautiful country. The velvet grass was covered with the sacred almond blossom petals, and their perfume was sweeter far than any incense. They passed through a long avenue of pure white chrysanthemums, which showered their petals upon them like snow. At the end of this avenue the chairs were stopped, and cunning little white-rabbit pages assisted them gently to the ground. A tender light flooded the place, and when Kon Ying raised her eyes she saw before her a throne, draped with the flags of the Imperial Court of China,—yellow silk, with blue dragons embroidered upon them,—and on the throne sat the queen,—the good moon rabbit who had heard her prayer.

This queen was busily engaged in pounding rice, pounding it into a powder, and then sending it down to earth, to be eaten during the Moon Festival and the China New Year. She wore a pink gauze dress all covered with glittering spangles, and as Kon Ying approached the queen was singing:

“The small-footed girl with the sweet little smile,
She loves to eat sugar and sweets all the while;
Her money’s all gone, and because she can’t buy,
She holds her small feet while she sits down to cry.”

It sounded very pretty, as the queen had quite a sweet voice, and Kon Ying soon found herself singing it with all the others. The queen extended one soft white paw in greeting, but kept on pounding rice with the other.

All the dear little Chinese ladies and men now seated themselves around the throne. The white-rabbit pages handed each one a different musical instrument, and there burst forth the loveliest music that Kon Ying had ever heard. She found that she could play quite as well as any of them, which was a great surprise to her, as she had never before even touched a musical instrument.

After the music the queen ordered refreshments served, and they entered a bower of almond blossoms and China lilies, seating themselves at a long table, where they were served by a lot of tiny white-rabbit pages. They ate with ivory chopsticks set with diamonds. The queen sat at the head of the table, and could hold the chopsticks in her paws quite as well as any one. What a feast that was! Yet plenty of funny things happened, even if it was a royal company. The queen forgot herself, and stuck her nose right into a bowl of hot rice, at which there was a general giggle. A page quickly brought a finger-bowl and sponged the burnt nose, so it was all right.

There were all sorts of good Chinese things to eat,—delicious chah (tea) in little handleless bowls, all kinds of pretty moon-cakes, little biscuit made of almond meal; watermelon seed, and many other things. When the feast was ended the queen said that each of them could make one wish, and it would be gratified. Kon Ying did not have to hesitate long over her wish.

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.

HOW SANTA CLAUS CAME TO SUEY HIP

SUEY HIP was a little Chinese girl. She did not have a bright, cheerful home, but lived in a cellar, with steps going down from the street. It was dark and smoky down there, but of course it did not seem so bad to Suey Hip as it would to those who have always had a nice home, because she had never known anything else.

Sometimes the children of a wealthy Chinese merchant would toddle by in their richly embroidered robes, and their feet were so small they could hardly walk. Suey Hip would sit on the top of the steps, and when she wished, play on the pavement in front of her home. And, oh, how she did long for some of those pretty garments! But her mo chun worked very hard to get what she had by sewing for the Chinese stores, and there was no way to get anything more.

Now one day when Suey Hip sat on the step sunning herself, and looking with longing eyes at the people as they passed, there came a little American girl, walking with her papa through the streets. Suey Hip was very bashful, and hung her head, and scraped her little sandals on the pavement as they passed before her.

“Hello, little one,” said the man, in such a kind voice that Suey Hip looked up, and as she did so, caught sight of something in the little Dorothy’s arms that put her little motherly heart all in a glow, and she no longer felt afraid. What was it she saw? Why, just the loveliest big doll, with eyes that opened and shut, and it was dressed all in pink silk. Oh, the wonder and delight that sparkled in the dark eyes as she gazed. It seemed too beautiful to be anything but a dream, and she cried as she looked into the sweet face of little Dorothy: “Oh, what is it? Where you catch ’em?”

Dorothy laughed as she replied: “Why, this is my dollie; Santa Claus brought it to me last Christmas.”

“Sanny Claw? Who Sanny Claw?—what’s Clismas?” eagerly inquired the child.

“Don’t you know what Christmas is?” said Dorothy. “Why, Christmas is the loveliest time of all the year. It is then that we hang up our stockings, and in the night while we are asleep Santa Claus comes down the chimney, and fills our stockings with the loveliest things—dolls and toys and candy, and, oh—just everything.”

All this time Dorothy’s papa stood listening in amused silence, as he thought it best to let the children carry on their conversation in their own way.

“I wish I was you,” said Suey Hip. “Sanny Claw no come here; we no have Clismas; you think he ever come—bling me doll?”

Just then Dorothy’s papa spoke and said: “I tell you what to do. You get your mamma to write a note in Chinese to Santa, and we will come to-morrow and get the note and I will see that Santa Claus gets it. It is now just one month until Christmas, and who knows what may happen in that time?”

“You come again to-mollow?” eagerly inquired the child, and Dorothy said, “Yes—yes, we will, won’t we, papa?”

“Yes, dear, we will come again to-morrow.”

When they had passed out of sight along the narrow streets, Suey Hip toddled down the dark steps into the cellar she called home, and going to her mother, who sat sewing by a tiny latticed window, she exclaimed:

“Oh, mo chun! little ’Melican girl she say Sanny Claw come evvy yeah—bling doll—bling candy, toy, evvything. She say you lite note to Sanny Claw; tell him come bling me doll Clismas.”

After a great deal of explanation she made her little brown mother understand, and although she herself could not really believe that anything so nice could happen to her child, yet she had a mother’s tender heart, and was willing to do all the child asked of her. So she left her work, and went to a little table where there were some odd-looking writing materials, Suey Hip watching her eagerly all the while, and taking up a slender brush-stick, dipped it in an ink-like mixture, and began to make queer Chinese letters up and down the long slip of red paper. After much effort it was finished, and given to Suey Hip. She placed it carefully in a little

Suey Hip was very much dressed up

vase, and went out again to play on the streets.

She was so excited that night that she could hardly eat her supper of rice and tea and little sweetened cakes. She was almost too much excited to burn her incense before the little god in the corner, but she managed to get through with it, and was then put to bed. Next day at the same hour Suey Hip’s face had been scrubbed until it fairly shone, and her thick black hair was pasted down and braided into a long queue. She wore her best trousers and blouse of light blue silk, and little red sandals. Suey Hip was very much dressed up.

The shy little mother, who had also come out on the pavement to watch for the Americans, put her fan up to hide her face when she saw them coming, and quietly as a mouse slipped down the steps again. Suey Hip eagerly handed them the note which was to mean so much to her. Dorothy’s mama had come with them this time, and when she caught a glimpse of the timid little Chinese mother peeping eagerly up at them, she, with her kind woman’s heart, stepped down into the dark cellar, and stretched out both her white hands to meet the little brown hands of the mother who lived in a cellar.

She managed to make herself understood, and there was a good deal of low talking, and mysterious signs between the two mothers, but they understood, as mothers will; and papa pretended he did not see and hear. Dorothy told Suey Hip it was just a month until Christmas, and that would not be very long—just four little weeks, which would soon pass. Then Mrs. Suey shyly asked them to come in and have a cup of tea, which, served in the dearest little bowls, proved to be the best they had ever tasted.

After that there were a great many calls from Dorothy and her mama, and a great deal more of that mysterious whispering between the two mothers, until at last it was announced that the very next day would be Christmas. “Oh, too good—too good,” said Suey Hip, as she toddled around, too delighted to be quiet one minute.

It seemed as if the day would never pass, but after awhile the shadows began to fall on the narrow streets, and the big lanterns were lighted, and made everything beautiful; and Suey Hip knew that she was the only child in all the big Chinatown who would hang up her stocking that night.

The hour had come. She got out her very best pair of cream-colored stockings, and with trembling little fingers hung them securely to the foot of her couch, and was soon in the land of dreams. In the midst of her dream she awoke with a start. She wondered if he had been here yet. It was so dark, but oh—she felt as if she just couldn’t wait. But she knew mo chun was tired, and she did not wish to awaken her, so she crept softly to the foot of the bed, and groped around in the dark, for her stockings. Once she almost fell off the bed, but finally her little hands found what she sought, and she felt the stockings.

They were all lumpy and fat,—what could be in them? In the top of one she felt something large—something with hands and feet and hair. Oh, joy! could it be? But she must wait and see.

Oh, how glad she was when she heard mo chun moving, and saw the first glimmer of the day steal into their cellar home! With one bound she was out of bed, and mo chun was as glad as she, for really and truly, in the dark night, the “ ‘Melican Sanny Claw” had by some means crept down there, and just filled her stockings with good things. The thing with hands and feet and hair was a real doll, with big blue eyes that opened and shut, and yellow hair and a blue silk dress. It had on the dearest little shoes and earrings, bracelets, a necklace, and a nice big hat.

Oh, how she hugged it to her heart, and could scarcely put it down long enough to see what else was there. Not only were the stockings full, but there were lovely things all around. There was the nicest little trunk for dollie, all full of pretty dresses and wraps, and there was doll furniture, and the daintiest set of doll dishes. It seemed to the poor little Chinese girl that she had everything in the world there was to have, and—what do you suppose? Poked in through the little latticed window they found a package, and on it the words—

“FOR MAMA SUEY, FROM
SANTA CLAUS.”

When her trembling hands had eagerly opened it, what should she find but a whole lot of gold money? Oh, how happy she was! Now she would not have to work so hard, and strain her eyes at night by the dim candle. Now, they could have some pork whenever they wished, and they pictured all the happiness it would bring them. When Dorothy’s papa and mama came that day they found the happiest hearts in the whole big city, and when they saw the joy that had come into this little cellar home, they were glad that they had given the note to dear old “Sanny Claw.”

THE EASTER DREAM OF MUN CHEE

She sometimes longed to get out, she and her two little brothers

Mun Chee had a wonderful dream one night. Being a little Chinese aristocrat, she had never played just as the common people’s children play, and in her little heart she sometimes longed to get out, she and her two little brothers, and run wild through the narrow Chinese streets, and to be as free as the winds, just as the children of poor people might do; but she could not do this. So much was due to her station in life, as she was to be a Chinese lady some far-off day. So one night,—just the night before Easter,—after she had fallen asleep on her couch of bamboo, she dreamed a dream as beautiful as a poor child—a child of a coolie even might dream, for dreams are free to all, rich and poor. Perhaps it was because she had gone to sleep wondering if her house would be visited by the Easter rabbit, of which an American friend had told her; perhaps—but then, it does not matter what the reason was, for suddenly she felt some soft little taps on her eyelids, and a warm breath fanned her cheek, and opening her eyes she beheld the dearest, cunningest little rabbit—a white one, with bright pink eyes. It was perched on the edge of her bed, and had awakened her by tapping her Oriental eyelids with its soft white paws. It looked so gentle that she loved it right away, and said: “Who are you?”

It replied in a tiny voice: “If it please your highness, I am the queen of the Easter rabbits; I thought you might like to go with me for a little visit to my realm, the beautiful Easterland.”

“Oh, I likee go,” said Mun Chee. “It must be all light to visit a queen. Yes, yes, I will go, but how?”

“Trust to me, and you shall arrive safely; I will carry you on my back.”

“You? Why, you too small; I such a big girl; you no can cally me.”

“Wait and see!” said Queen Bunny, and with that she began to grow and grow and grow, right before Mun Chee’s astonished eyes, and pretty soon she was as big as a horse.

“Oh, how could you do it?” gasped the little Chinese girl.

“Because I am in league with the fairies, and have all power,” the queen said. “Jump on my back, if it please your ladyship, and we will hasten away.”

She jumped gracefully to the back of the rabbit, and clasped her plump arms tightly around its neck. They bounded up, up, until they were so high in the air that they could not see the world below.

“I neveh knew that labbits could fly,” said she.

“Well, all rabbits cannot fly,” said the queen, “only those of royal blood. There are rabbits and rabbits, you know, just as there are people and people. My sceptre is a white Easter lily, and whoever it touches is at once possessed of unlimited power.”

Now they came to the land of the birds, where they were fairly intoxicated with the beautiful music thrilling from the throats of these feathered songsters. Some of the trees were bright blue, and were filled with all kinds of blue birds; then a yellow tree, something like the acacia, was filled with canaries, making the air fairly alive with song. So they floated on, until the songs of the birds were but an echo.

Then came Candy-land. My! how good it smelled in this wonderful place—all pepper-minty and nice! and what a variety of trees there were—some big, big trees, just full of Chinese preserved ginger! and how Mun Chee did long to put her strong white teeth into some of it! Then there were trees so soft and white that they looked almost as if they were covered with snow; but it really was only white marsh-mallows. Then there were tiny Chinese fairies running all around, pulling bon-bons apart, and squealing with delight when they popped.

Then came Monkey-land, and this was the funniest of all, and even made a little Chinese girl laugh. Some of them were playing a game of base-ball with cocoanuts, and Mun Chee was all the time afraid one of them would get hit in the head; but they seemed to know just how to avoid that. Some of them ran up and asked her to stay to dinner with them, and then, when they thought she was not looking, they made such horrible faces at her that she was glad she had not accepted their invitation. After she had watched several games she hurried on again, looking back once, to see some of the monkeys throwing kisses at her and others making the ugliest faces. That might have been their way of being polite, though she really could not say, as she was not up in the etiquette of monkeys.

Next came the land of bears. There were all kinds,—black, brown, and white. She was scared at first, but the rabbit queen assured her they were harmless, and warranted not to hug. They were dancing some kind of a queer dance, and one silky white one, that looked just like a rug she had at home, came and asked if the little celestial aristocrat would honor him with the next dance. A look from the eyes of Queen Bunny told her she had better accept, and she did so, smiling graciously upon the bear. Around they went, in a giddy whirl, her queue flying in the wind, until it seemed to Mun Chee that everything was going around with them, and she panted: “If it’s just the same to you, I’d rather sit out the rest of this dance.”

“Certainly, your highness,” growled old bruin, and when she was seated he brought her a dish of sweetened snowballs, which were quite refreshing.

When she told them good-by this same bear could not resist the temptation of giving her just a teeny-weeny hug, but it didn’t hurt, and she was quite sure he meant it as a mark of especial favor.

Next came the land of cats. Each land had its queen, and here it was Queen Malta, an immense maltese cat with large, yellow eyes. Such a purring as they made when they saw Mun Chee and Queen Bunny approaching! It was not often they were honored by royalty. The queen approached them, walking on her hind legs, her long silky tail held by a page,—a tiny white kitten, dressed in gauze and spangles.

“In what way shall it please your gracious majesties to be entertained?” said Queen Malta; but to any one else it would have sounded like “Miaouw—miaouw—miaouw—”

Mun Chee replied: “I likee some music.”

Thereupon the queen tapped a silver bell, and there sprang lightly into view a perfect chorus of the most beautiful cats. After curtseying to the royal guests they began the music, and they sang the funniest songs imaginable. Mun Chee laughed till her little sides ached, but when she applauded, the noise scared away all the cats, and they scampered off, regardless of good manners. Queen Malta called them back, and explained matters, however, and the program was carried out without any further commotion. Mun Chee would like to have lingered for quite a while in each of these strange countries, but Queen Bunny told her it was approaching the hour when they were expected at the Easter castle, and so, after a few more swift turns through the air, they began to descend softly, softly, until faint strains of music fell upon their ears.

It was a triumphant march of welcome, and the notes rose glad and high. Soon Mun Chee felt her feet touch the soft grass, and unclasping her arms from about the rabbit’s neck, she stood and gazed about her in a perfect bewilderment of rapture. This was so different from any of the other countries; everywhere the eye rested upon the soft green tracery of leaves and trees, great beds of delicate fern, and flowers of every hue. Through an avenue of tall, waxen Easter lilies she was conducted by two tiny white rabbits, and as they walked, a glorious anthem sounded from all the great Easter lilies, and the golden clappers clanged musically against their satin whiteness.

All the while there was a strange and wonderful perfume filling the air, even sweeter than the scent of the punks burned before the joss in the temple. Some of the lilies bent down and kissed the dear little Chinese maiden as she passed, and their breath was sweeter than any perfume. After being royally entertained in the palace of pure white pearl the child was conducted into the queen’s garden, where a feast was spread under the shade of some tall ferns. Being seated, they were served to delicious tea, in dainty cups, shaped like Easter lilies. Many good things were placed before the little girl, who was very hungry, after her long flight through the air, and nothing in her own home had ever tasted half so good as did these dishes served by the dear little white rabbits.

After much chatting and laughing the strange meal was ended, and the rabbit queen presented Mun Chee with a large basket of pearl and silver, lined with blue and yellow, the colors of the Imperial Court of China, and announced that they would now start out in search of Easter eggs. “Oh, what fun!” said Mun Chee, clapping her hands for joy. A white rabbit page went by her side, and carried her basket. Soon they came to a dense forest of fern, and Mun Chee heard a high, squeaky voice saying:

“Search for the one with long, long legs,
And you may find some Easter eggs.”

“How queer!” thought Mun Chee, “to tell me about it. Well, if it has velly long legs I betteh quit looking on the glound, and look up.” She did so, and away back among the ferns she saw some funny bright eyes peeping at her.

“Why, it is a stok” (stork), she exclaimed.

With that the stork came forward, and extended a long claw in greeting, and, pointing to a large nest artfully concealed among the ferns, he said: “You may take what you see, and welcome.”

“Oh, thank you!” she said, and taking several of the very large eggs, placed them carefully in her basket.