Part 2

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

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_

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 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.