Part 7

But wait!--there _was_ something, for old Suey Gong was telling her that the master had received an important telegram from some member of the Quong Duck Tong, which had called him out of the city, and he would not be able to return for two whole days,--two days without being beaten! Perhaps already the ’Melican god had heard. If she could only gain the consent of the old woman she might once more venture on the forbidden balcony. The fates were kind and the opium goddess filled the old woman’s brain with dreams, and held down her eyelids. She slept, but the little girl did not. Garbed in pale lavender silk, she stole noiselessly out on the forbidden balcony. Her slim brown fingers lovingly caressed the Chinese lilies wrapped in red paper to scare away the bad spirits. Just now the bad spirits were not on duty, luckily for the little Chinese maiden. The tang of the sea air was so refreshing to her starved senses. She could look down to-night without fear, for her master would not come to-night, and in a childish, unformed way she breathed a blessing on the unknown highbinder who had sent the message, and although she did not know it was Thanksgiving Eve, a prayer of thanks to the unknown, intangible power who had given her this moment’s freedom went up from her innocent heart.

Everywhere down the streets of “Little China” the big lanterns glowed and swung in the fresh night air. A bell pealed out on the silence, and seemed to speak of peace, and of something different from the life she knew.

Suddenly her eye fell upon some one who did not wear the accustomed queue and blouse,--a big, strong American man with a kind face stood looking up at her. He wore a blue suit and brass buttons, and on his coat gleamed a great shining star. While he gazed upward at the girl a carriage rattled over the cobble-stones and stopped right under the balcony.

And now the big man was saying--could it be that he was speaking to her?--Hello, little one! Would you like to celebrate Che San Yet?” She knew that meant thanksgiving, but the Chinese Thanksgiving did not come until February, and she could not imagine what he meant.

He resumed: “Come with me, you poor little slave, and I will take you to a good, kind home, where they will never beat you, and you will be free.”

Free? She could not take in the meaning of the word. She could not even dream what it must be to be free. “Oh, no! I velly much ’flaid bad spirit catch me; I no can come; you down so low, and I up so high.”

But just then the carriage door opened, and a woman’s sweet face looked out, and a woman held out motherly arms of love toward the high balcony and its lonely occupant.

And old Suey Gong still slept.

A sweet voice called up: “Come and live with me, dear; I will always be kind.”

Pao Chu’s eyes filled with tears. It was the first time in all her life that any one had ever spoken a kind word to her. Before she could reply, the big policeman, who had some way slipped in through the rear, had taken her trembling little form in his strong arms, and hurrying down, placed her in the carriage, where she was clasped in the tender arms of Miss Cameron, Superintendent of the Chinese Rescue Mission.

She could not understand yet that she was free; but when she awoke on Thanksgiving morning and saw all the happy Chinese girl faces around her, and at the bountiful Thanksgiving table was made to understand the reason of it all, she then realized the true meaning of Thanksgiving, and said: “It would neveh have happened if I had not played to the good ’Melican God.”

End of Project Gutenberg's Little Almond Blossoms, by Jessie Juliet Knox