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 SOUGHT WITH THE INCOME OF THE 
 
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 THE GIFT OF 
 
 CHARLES W. WASON 
 
 CORNELL 76 
 1918 
 

 Date Due 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 mm 2 
 
 9. 1950 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 _ Cornell University Library 
 
 DS 721.A46 
 
 3 1924 023 148 020 
 
The original of tiiis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924023148020 
 
MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
A RELIC OF ANTIQUITY 
 
MY 
 
 CHINESE 
 
 DAYS 
 
 GULIELMA 
 F.ALSOP 
 
 ]ilvs-i'irai*<?dU 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 LITTLE.BROAVN, AND COMPANY 
 
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 vv. oa. 
 
 Copyright, igi8. 
 By Little, Brown, and Company. 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
 Nottoooti ^rcBB 
 
 Setup and electrotyped by J. S. Gushing Co., Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. 
 
 Presswork by S. J. Parkhill & Co., Boston, Mass., U.S.A. 
 
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Eo l®2 JFatijer 
 
PREFACE 
 
 Reaching China in a moment of great dramatic 
 importance, in fact on the very day that the Peace 
 Delegation arrived in Shanghai, in 191 1, I found 
 from the very first all the events and happenings in 
 my daily life and in the lives of those about me 
 charged with a vital significance. 
 
 In the story of Doctor Wilhelmina I have en- 
 deavored to give the impressions and readjustments 
 that take place in a missionary doctor in present- 
 day China. Some of the incidents, in especial the 
 rescue of the slave girls at Kaung Wan, are bor- 
 rowed from the heroism of acquaintances, but the 
 great majority happened under my very eyes. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 ■HAPTEE 
 I 
 
 The Mandarin's Bride . 
 
 
 
 PAGE 
 I 
 
 II 
 
 The Coolie's Wife . 
 
 
 
 13 
 
 III 
 
 Flying Stones . 
 
 
 
 21 
 
 IV 
 
 The Girl from Tunis 
 
 
 
 30 
 
 V 
 
 Glowing Needles 
 
 
 
 40 
 
 VI 
 
 A Romance of the East . 
 
 
 
 51 
 
 VII 
 
 The Business of Life 
 
 
 
 57 
 
 VIII 
 
 The Song of the Coolies 
 
 
 
 68 
 
 IX 
 
 The Warm Grave . 
 
 
 
 79 
 
 X 
 
 The Slave Refuge at Kaung Wan 
 
 
 
 92 
 
 XI 
 
 The Walled City 
 
 
 
 109 
 
 XII 
 
 The Fishing Birds . 
 
 
 
 120 
 
 XIII 
 
 The Brigand's Knife 
 
 
 
 132 
 
 XIV 
 
 The Wives of Li . 
 
 
 
 145 
 
 XV 
 
 The House of the Dead . 
 
 
 
 167 
 
 XVI 
 
 The Sanctuary of the Well . 
 
 
 
 185 
 
 XVII 
 
 Where There's a Will! . 
 
 The Seeking Hand . . . . 
 
 
 
 200 
 
 226 
 
 XIX 
 
 The Flaming Wind . 
 
 
 
 249 
 
 XX 
 
 The River of Silence 
 
 
 
 258 
 
LIST OF PLATES 
 
 A Relic of Antiquity .... 
 The Creek, near Rubicon Road, Shanghai 
 At the Trinket Stall .... 
 A Sedan Chair and Bearers 
 
 The Temple 
 
 A Watergate, Sungkiang 
 
 The Temple Courtyard. A Ceremonial 
 
 The Bird Fanciers .... 
 
 Frontispiece 
 
 FACING PAGE 28 
 
 82 
 
 112 
 
 116 
 
 122 
 172 
 222 
 
MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 THE MANDARIN'S BRIDE 
 
 I HAD been in Shanghai one week and was com- 
 fortably settled in my study and bedroom but 
 my mode of life was still strange to me and I 
 was invariably startled by the appearance of a hand- 
 some, black-haired, blue-gowned man called "the 
 boy", whenever I rang for a maid. The "Ladies' 
 House", as the woman's dormitory was called, was 
 directly opposite St. Margaret's Hospital, where I 
 was to work for the rest of my appointed lifetime. 
 
 St. Margaret's is a Mission Hospital for Chinese 
 women and children. The nurses, too, are Chinese. 
 In their uniforms of light blue trousers and jackets 
 and white aprons, I thought them very neat and 
 jaunty. They are quick and agile, and move with 
 more freedom than our many-skirted women. None 
 of them have bound feet. 
 
 About six o'clock. Doctor Donnellon, the physician 
 in charge, was called out to the country on an urgent 
 case. As she gathered up her wraps, she said to me, 
 "I am sorry to leave you so soon, but I hope you 
 will have a quiet night. If you need anything, 
 
t MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 remember that A-doo is the best nurse. She speaks 
 a little English. You had better sleep in my room 
 in order to hear the night bell." 
 
 "When will you be back?" I asked, following her 
 to the door. 
 
 "I can't say. Some time to-morrow," she an- 
 swered. 
 
 She stepped into her ricksha, and the wild-haired 
 coolie burst into a run and whisked her out of sight 
 around the wall of the compound. 
 
 I went back and finished my dinner with the 
 other women — two evangelists and three teachers. 
 I felt a slight tingling in my veins, as a swimmer 
 does on the brink of a plunge into water of an un- 
 guessable temperature. The desultory talk of the 
 table flowed around me unnoticed ; I was wonder^ 
 ing what the coming night would bring forth, so 
 much of the true physician's attitude had I ab- 
 sorbed in the three years since my graduation. 
 Everything happens at night. 
 
 The hospital was quiet when I made the rounds 
 at nine o'clock. The outlines of the patients were 
 mere formless lumps under their "bi-deus" of 
 padded cotton. I opened windows right and left, 
 pulled the covers from the children's noses, and 
 returned to the house. Overhead, the stars were 
 brilliant and brightly opalescent. The upcurling 
 eaves of the Chinese houses huddling around the 
 compound cut sharply against the steely-blue of 
 the sky. The broad palm leaves clashed softly 
 against each other like cymbals. 
 
 The feeling of the night grew upon me, as I 
 
THE MANDARIN'S BRIDE 3 
 
 crouched on a low stool over the fire. One by 
 one, the other women went to bed. The Chinese 
 servants ceased their chatter. From the street I 
 heard the click of the watchman's castanets as he 
 struck them together on his rounds. Once, a sudden 
 burst of sound leapt out upon the quiet night, like 
 the wild upflaring of a hidden fire, and died away 
 in faint reverberations. 
 
 The gaudy yellow flames that had raced between 
 the irregular lumps of shining black coal changed 
 to dim, flickering wraiths of blue, hovering over 
 crimson embers. I forgot my anticipations in 
 dreams : I fancied the tiny, twisting flames were 
 the imprisoned ghosts of past ages, freed by the 
 devastating fire. 
 
 Suddenly the night bell, a huge, metallic alarm 
 hung over Doctor Donnellon's bed, rang sharply. 
 Half bewildered by its vicious clangor, I started up 
 and threw open the shutters. The two night nurses, 
 in outer garments of fur, and five men, stood on 
 the steps. The bright starlight shone on their 
 pallid faces and dark, inscrutable eyes. 
 
 "What do you want?" I called in Chinese. 
 
 To my relief, a voice answered in pidgin English. 
 
 "Come quick. Makee baby." 
 
 "All right," I answered; almost disappointed 
 that nothing more than an ordinary baby case 
 awaited me. I dressed hurriedly and stole out of 
 the sleeping house. The group on the steps was 
 talking excitedly. 
 
 Merely as a formality, I asked, "Is the woman 
 in the hospital?" 
 
4 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 One of the men stepped forward. He was 
 promiscuously dressed in a foreign felt hat, tan 
 leather shoes, and a blue, brocaded, satin gown lined 
 with lamb's wool. 
 
 "Woman no can come," he explained. "She 
 too muchee sick. Two days, wantchee burn one 
 baby, no can burn." 
 
 "Burn a baby!" I cried, with a start of horror, 
 remembering all the weird tales of Chinese cruelty 
 I had heard within the past week. 
 
 But in a rapid, voluble mixture of pidgin and 
 Chinese, the man explained what he wanted. My 
 heart sank, for I had no relish for the inky black 
 alleys of Shanghai at midnight. 
 
 "More better, bring woman hospital-side," I 
 urged. 
 
 "No can do," the man retorted. "She too 
 muchee scare. She no savvey hospital. You 
 come." 
 
 He laid a quick hand upon my arm and peered 
 into my face. I liked his eyes and his earnestness, 
 and some of my fear evaporated ; I had done my 
 "out" practice work in the polyglot slums of New 
 York and Philadelphia, and knew the night and its 
 calls. Yet I protested. Hospital results are so 
 much superior. 
 
 "Cost very much outside," I answered. "I 
 charge you twenty-five taels outside. Hospital side, 
 only 30 dong-ban a day." 
 
 "Never mind," he answered proudly, "Can do. 
 You come. Woman already eatee too muchee 
 bitterness." 
 
THE MANDARIN'S BRIDE 5 
 
 Turning to the men behind him, he explained our 
 conversation in quick idiomatic jerks. Each man 
 picked up a corner of his satin robe to reach the 
 money pocket in his belt. Between them, in the 
 brilliant starlight, they counted out to me thirty- 
 four silver, Mexican dollars, the equivalent of the 
 twenty-five taels I had charged. 
 
 "Now come," the spokesman said. 
 
 I acquiesced, and sent for A-doo, the best nurse, 
 to accompany me. The surgical bag with its 
 sterile instruments, chloroform, and dressings, was 
 ready. Not five minutes later we left the compound, 
 A-doo and I in the center of the string of rickshas. 
 
 It was about one o'clock in the morning, and the 
 ghostly radiance of a rising moon gave the pointed 
 shadows a palpable blackness. In truly medieval 
 fashion, the Chinese houses were closely shuttered 
 and barred. Once or twice we passed a tailor's 
 shop lit with smoky oil lamps, where twenty or 
 thirty men were bending at work over Singer sewing 
 machines. Out from the tangle of Chinese quarters 
 surrounding the hospital, we burst upon Nanking 
 Road, a glaring gash of modernity cutting across the 
 shrouded, ancient city. We left the international 
 settlement behind us, ran across some bare, ill- 
 smelling fields where the wind nipped the blood, 
 and plunged into " Frenchtown." Here again we 
 soon lost ourselves in an aimless twisting back and 
 forth through narrow alleys. 
 
 Since leaving St. Margaret's no one had spoken. 
 The two men before me bobbed along like specters in 
 an interminable nightmare. I looked back and saw 
 
6 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 A-doo's pale face and her kind, intelligent eyes. It 
 reassured me. I had reconciled myself to riding on 
 for the rest of my life, in a cold and shivering dark- 
 ness, to I knew not where, when we suddenly stopped. 
 The shafts of the ricksha were tilted down, and I was 
 precipitated from my seat. In a huddled throng, 
 we moved to the entrance of a low Chinese house. 
 Several men were seated in the room that opened 
 from the street, and I had a blurred impression of 
 smoke-blackened walls, and solemn, sedate faces 
 pierced with long, gurgling pipes. A-doo and I, 
 following the spokesman, mounted the ladder-like 
 stairs, each step but as broad as the palm of a man's 
 hand. At the head of the stairs we were shown into 
 a small room lit by one candle. One bed, four- 
 posted and canopied, as are all the Chinese beds in 
 Shanghai, occupied most of the room, leaving only a 
 narrow crack between its dirty bulk and a small 
 shelf-like table against the wall. There was no 
 window, and, of course, no water. Three women 
 lay on the bed. 
 
 Then began my initiation into obstetrical work in 
 China. A-doo was a great help. She divined my 
 wants by the instinct of a long experience. She 
 was the buffer between me and the impenetrable 
 wall of Orientalism around me. Eventually we were 
 ready. A-doo gave the chloroform, and I began my 
 work. At the last moment, to prevent interruption, 
 I had shut and barricaded the door. In this small 
 closet, there was only the Chinese woman, her 
 mother-in-law, A-doo, and myself. There was no 
 air, the candle flickered maddeningly, and the sweet 
 
THE MANDARIN'S BRIDE 7 
 
 insidious fumes of the chloroform expanded in the 
 close atmosphere. 
 
 It was a long, hard case. At intervals, my con- 
 sciousness grew alive to the crowded, silent, ominous 
 life about me. I recalled an old hag that had stared 
 at me from the door beyond; I felt acutely the 
 lives of the hostile people of the house pressing upon 
 me. 
 
 "Suppose the mother died? What if the child 
 died?" I thought dully. 
 
 From the room beyond, a low, fitful sound fell 
 on my ears, a sound as of the sudden moan of a 
 strange wind around the corners of a deserted house. 
 As I listened, the sound grew articulate, and un- 
 mistakable. It was a woman moaning. 
 
 My attention to this sound, so insidious and 
 insistent, was sharply snapped by the first cry of 
 the baby. The child yelled in a veritable paroxysm 
 of rage at the misfortune of its sordid birth. As the 
 crying of the infant in the close room rose trium- 
 phantly, there was an utter silence in the house, as 
 if each inmate had held his breath for just that 
 sound. The baby stopped yelling and lapsed into 
 sobbing breaths. The house seemed to relax, and 
 settle back again into the ways and thoughts of 
 ordinary living. I imagined that each of those 
 impassive faces took a long, deep, satisfied pull at 
 the poisoned smoke that gurgled up through long, 
 bamboo-stemmed pipes. 
 
 Out of this sudden calm and relief burst a wild 
 shriek, repeated again and again in an incresisLng 
 agony of intensity. 
 
8 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 "Oh! My love! You are killing me." The 
 voice broke into pitiful sobbing. 
 
 "Oh, God! Oh, God!" over and over again it 
 moaned, in such a helpless fury of petition that my 
 blood curdled. 
 
 A-doo was already washing the baby. It was a 
 cunning little thing, a creamy pink color, with black 
 eyes and soft, downy, black hair. The mother was 
 lying insensible, still half dazed by the anesthetic, 
 and slumberous with the relief from pain. 
 
 While I stood irresolute, a brisk knock came at 
 the door, and an imperious voice called. 
 
 " Is there a doctor in there?" 
 
 "Yes," I answered. "I'm coming." 
 
 I quickly unbarred the door and opened it. A 
 crowd of Chinese men and women pushed past me 
 into the narrow room, but I hardly noticed them. 
 My eyes were fastened on the tall, blond white 
 man who faced me, who started violently when I 
 appeared. 
 
 "It's a woman," he muttered, and half turned 
 away. 
 
 I had heard that remark before and had chastened 
 my spirit to the acceptance of my body; but the 
 privilege of helping I would not be denied. 
 
 "I am a physician," I urged. "Do let me help 
 her." 
 
 He turned back and looked at me queerly. In 
 that moment, as often before, I wished I were tall 
 and broad and imposing. 
 
 "You're only a girl," he said. "You can't help."- 
 
 By his expression, I knew he was wavering. The 
 
THE MANDARIN'S BRIDE 9 
 
 sound of renewed moaning in the next room decided 
 me. I slipped past him and entered. 
 
 In great contrast to the squalor I had left, the 
 sumptuousness and magnificence of the apartment 
 startled me. Pausing a moment on the threshold, 
 my eyes swept the brocaded walls, the rug-strewn 
 floor, the quaintly carved Chinese furniture of red- 
 wood and teak, and fastened themselves on a bed 
 in the far corner. It was a beautiful bed of redwood, 
 with headboard and footboard inlaid with ancient 
 blue and white tiles. The posts were draped with 
 crimson curtains. The room was softly but bril- 
 liantly lit by innumerable candles stuck on all 
 available surfaces. Their sharp, bright, waving 
 flames gave the room a strange significance of things 
 unseen. 
 
 I crossed swiftly to the bed. A young Chinese 
 girl was sitting on it, propped up against crimson 
 cushions. In health she must have been extremely 
 beautiful, with a soft, voluptuous, creamy beauty, 
 but now her face was blanched with horror, and her 
 features distorted with pain. Her eyes hurt me. 
 They looked past me at the white, golden-haired man 
 with the amazed, bewildered reproach of a dog that 
 is struck by its master. 
 
 Instinctively my fingers closed over the young 
 girl's wrist, while I scanned her countenance. 
 From the corner of her mouth a dead-white, leprous 
 streak trailed off across her cheek. Her breath 
 came in irregular jerks and the same, low moan 
 escaped her lips. Her pulse barely fluttered beneath 
 my fingers. With sudden conviction, I leaned close 
 
10 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 and smelt her breath. I caught a full whiff of 
 the dangerous sweetness of carbolic acid. 
 
 I turned upon the white man in horror. 
 
 "Did you do this?" I cried. 
 
 The man looked at me, a flashing, blue glance, 
 and on to the girl on the bed without replying. 
 
 "She will die in horrible agonies," I exclaimed. 
 
 "I know," he said in a queer, quiet voice that 
 made me look at him again and notice how young he 
 was. "I know," he repeated, "but you said you 
 would help." 
 
 Looking at him, my scruples died within me. I 
 knew antidotes were useless ; too much time had 
 elapsed since the swallowing of the poison. 
 
 I ran back to the other room for my hypodermic 
 case. The mother was awake. Every one was 
 happy because the baby was a boy ; they beamed on 
 me. 
 
 I returned to the girl, and after giving the hypo- 
 dermic of morphine, sat on the edge of the bed to 
 watch its effect. Soon the pitiful moaning ceased, 
 and the face of the young girl smoothed itself into 
 all the beauty of her youth. Its soft, oval contour 
 held a subtle charm. The languid flicker of her 
 eyelids revealed her luminous dark eyes. She 
 smiled at me, and putting her hand to her neck, 
 she drew off a finely carved jade figure hung on a 
 thin gold chain. 
 
 "Thank you. It hurts no more," she said softly. 
 
 Then her attention lapsed from me entirely. 
 
 The golden-haired man was kneeling by her bed, 
 covering her hand with kisses. 
 
THE MANDARIN'S BRIDE ii 
 
 "Forgive me, May-ling," he murmured. 
 
 With her last strength, the girl lifted her hand to 
 touch his pale, gold hair. I heard her reply. It 
 and what the man answered have gone on reverberat- 
 ing through my mind. 
 
 "I understand," she said. "So we had arranged 
 it. Love always kills something." 
 
 She closed her eyes. Again in the crowded house 
 a great stillness reigned, not the stillness of 
 expectancy, but that of an end. 
 
 I stood at the window and waited, for what I 
 hardly knew, but I only knew that I could not 
 leave. I wanted to understand. Outside, a dim 
 dawn drew its curtain of light over the peaked 
 roofs of the city. 
 
 The man began to speak to me quietly. 
 
 "You are young," he said, "perhaps too young to 
 understand. Yet I want to justify our act in your 
 eyes, for I cannot bear that any shadow should 
 rest upon our love." 
 
 So far he had spoken calmly. Now he hurried 
 on as if fearful of being stopped by a growing excite- 
 ment. 
 
 "I met her in the interior, up river, in the hills. 
 She was married at twelve to a wealthy Mandarin, 
 who sent her to England to a boarding school for 
 four years. There the soul that has slept for 
 centuries in the Chinese race was wakened and fed. 
 The future spread itself out for May-ling, as for 
 any other maiden, filled with dreams of a prince 
 and a great love. Then the Mandarin, her husband, 
 brought her back and shut her up in his yamen." 
 
12 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 I suppose I was looking at him stupidly, for he 
 suddenly exclaimed vehemently. 
 
 "She felt it as you would feel it — the stifling of 
 her brain, the turning back of her soul, the slavish 
 ownership of her body. Then we met. Oh ! I 
 know how unusual it is ! But her husband was so 
 proud of her foreign learning and English ways that 
 she was allowed to come to a small dinner. One 
 week later we escaped together. We crept down 
 the Yangtse in a common, brown-sailed junk, and 
 we laughed when we saw the swift launch of the 
 Mandarin steam past us. We were happy, as you 
 have no conception of happiness." 
 
 The man paused and almost stopped. 
 
 "Oh, it doesn't matter how it happened," he 
 continued. " Last night the Mandarin found us. I 
 promised May-ling she should never fall into his 
 hands alive." 
 
 He drew himself up regally beside the bed on which 
 the lifeless girl lay. A half smiling tenderness was 
 on his face. 
 
 "Love is the great adventure," he said softly. 
 
 A-doo came for me and we started back to the 
 hospital, in my hands the carved jade talisman, the 
 bringer of love and death, and in my heart the 
 memory of his words echoing : 
 
 "Love is the great adventure!" 
 
II 
 
 THE COOLIE'S WIFE 
 
 FOR a long time I could not tell the nurses 
 apart. Each one seemed a black-haired, 
 blue-gowned counterpart of the next, but 
 after the night the Mandarin's bride died, I knew 
 A-doo. Gradually, one by one, faces grew signifi- 
 cant ; May-li, with a round, smiling countenance ; 
 San-mae, taller and usually worried : Tsung-pau, of 
 the agile legs : and lastly, Ah-tsi. The first day 
 that I taught the English class I noticed her. She 
 was tall and slender, with a straight-boned nose and 
 pale, clearly marked lips. The nurses all wore the 
 regular hat of Chinese women, a band of black satin 
 or brocade, narrow across the forehead and curved 
 out to cover the ears. With this hat, the pale oval 
 of Ah-tsi's face was sharply outlined. She wore 
 earrings, two loops of irregular pearls set in deep 
 blue enamel. In class, and even at her work, she 
 was inattentive and distrait, yet I could not bring 
 myself to scold her because of an inexplicable quality 
 in her smile. 
 
 One evening after I had made rounds, I went as 
 usual to inspect the nurses' quarters and count 
 heads for the night. At once I noticed an air of 
 
14 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 subdued excitement. Ah-tsi was missing. I went 
 to A-doo about it. 
 
 " Do you know where Ah-tsi has gone ? " I asked. 
 
 A-doo shook her head in scared silence. 
 
 Tsung-pau volunteered in her quick, broken Eng- 
 lish : "Evening rice time, go out. Blue satin 
 trousers wear." 
 
 "Was she alone?" I probed. 
 
 ' ' Go alonee. Maybe, by-um-bly meet he, " Tsung- 
 pau answered. 
 
 Further than that I could elicit no information. The 
 nurses, in their blue trousers and jackets, looked like 
 young boys excited over a secret plot. I left word that 
 Ah-tsi should r.eport to me as soon as she returned. 
 
 I walked back slowly to the house. Each night 
 in the short walk from the hospital, I felt plunged 
 anew into the midst of China. The fantastic, up- 
 curling eaves of the crowded houses that shut in our 
 compound like a wall always reminded me that I was 
 in the midst of an alien race that lived by traditions, 
 trailed down the years from antiquity. That even- 
 ing I paid no attention to the menacing rows of 
 Chinese houses, as my thoughts were occupied with 
 Ah-tsi. There were no stars. The night was black 
 and shrouded with fog. 
 
 "Everything quiet?" asked Doctor Donnellon, as 
 I sat down in a chair by the fire. 
 
 "Ah-tsi is out," I answered laconically. 
 
 "That accounts for Kwung-ling's behavior," 
 Doctor Donnellon exclaimed. 
 
 Kwung-ling is the upstairs boy who carries the 
 bath water, and scrubs the floors and makes the 
 
THE COOLIE'S WIFE 15 
 
 fires. He is cross-eyed and timid ; moreover, he is 
 the husband of Ah-tsi. 
 
 "What has he been doing?" I asked. 
 
 "It's not what he has done, but what he has left 
 undone," Doctor Donnellon repHed. "Not a bucket 
 of bath water has he carried up. I've rung for him, 
 but he is not on the premises. Mio-kung (the head 
 boy) says he left at seven o'clock." 
 
 "Ah-tsi left at five," I said. "Perhaps he went 
 after her. I wonder what's up!" 
 
 " A-doo, in a moment of expansiveness, said Ah-tsi 
 had a lover," answered Doctor Donnellon. "He is a 
 man from her own village, Wusih, whom she knew 
 before she married Kwung-ling." 
 
 " I thought such things didn't happen in China! " 
 I cried in amazement. 
 
 "Everything happens in China, especially in 
 Shanghai, where the East and West have met," 
 replied Doctor Donnellon. 
 
 She picked up the poker and began to thrust 
 ruminatively at the bed of coals. 
 
 "Since the Revolution," she continued, "danger 
 to women runs like wildfire. The old restraints are 
 gone, and no barricade of character has been built 
 up behind the demolished strongholds. The women 
 of the coolie class have always had more or less 
 freedom." 
 
 I "It's a real love story!" I exclaimed, with a 
 prospective old-maid's interest. "Ah-tsi seems far 
 above Kwung-ling. He is such a timid, shrinking 
 sort of a man that I don't wonder she doesn'tjove 
 him." 
 
i6 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 Doctor Donnellon looked at me queerly. An 
 intense melancholy lay in her expression. 
 
 "Love, as we know it, probably doesn't enter 
 into consideration," she said slowly. "Ah-tsi is 
 tempted away by the mere physical attraction of 
 the bigger man." 
 
 "Oh! You've seen him, have you?" I asked 
 eagerly. 
 
 "Yes, several times," Doctor Donnellon replied. 
 "He is the Raymonds' cook." 
 
 I easily recalled the man — tall, imposing, arrayed 
 in a long cut- velvet garment, still arrogantly swinging 
 a thick queue to his knees. Mentally, I placed the 
 two men side by side, and I wondered when bodily 
 qualities would cease to be supreme. 
 
 "One of the patients in the prisoner's ward escaped 
 this afternoon," said Doctor Donnellon. "An old 
 woman, about sixty, wrapped herself in her cotton- 
 padded quilt and dropped from the second-story 
 window. I found the comfort folded neatly by 
 the steps. The gatekeeper was having one of his 
 periodical naps, I suppose, when she went by." 
 
 "How did she dare!" I exclaimed. "She was a 
 miserable old hag, and would have been much better 
 off in the hospital." 
 
 "You've not learnt the value of freedom," Doctor 
 Donnellon said. 
 
 I stole a glance at her face. I wondered why 
 every one seemed to think I knew nothing of life, 
 or love, or freedom. I wasn't so young, after all. 
 In fact, a week ago I had passed my twenty-seventh 
 birthday. 
 
THE COOLIE'S WIFE 17 
 
 As if she were able to read my thoughts, Doctor 
 Donnellon said: "Having heard about facts isn't 
 knowing them." 
 
 Miss Reilley burst in with barely a knock. 
 
 "Oh ! Doctor Wilhelmina !" she exclaimed, "Miss 
 Carter has such a bad headache. She asked me to 
 see if you would make her an eggnog." 
 
 "Certainly," I said, rising. "I'm sorry she has 
 another of her attacks." 
 
 To reach the kitchen and the servants' quarters, I 
 had to cross an unroofed alley which divided them 
 from the house. The fog had grown denser and 
 touched my cheeks like unseen fingers. The night 
 was made for tragedy, but in the kitchen all was 
 cheerful and lively. The four regular menservants, 
 plus two "makee learns", the ricksha coolies, and 
 three or four relatives were seated close together 
 around an eating table, busily engaged in shoveling 
 rice into their mouths. Their method of eating 
 fascinated me. Each man held his bowl at his lips, 
 as we would a cup of tea, opened his mouth to the 
 fullest capacity, and, with a pair of chopsticks, 
 deftly poked in as much as his mouth would hold. 
 Between each mouthful, the men put down their 
 bowls and conversed. 
 
 As I stood watching the scene, Kwung-ling entered 
 by the opposite door and sat down with the other 
 men. I looked at him with a newly awakened 
 interest, trying to make his proportions fit those of 
 a hero of the play. Between his gulps of rice, he 
 glanced over his shoulder from time to time, towards 
 the door by which he had entered. Before I had 
 
i8 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 time to move, a figure emerged from the darkness 
 beyond the doorway and jauntily strutted into the 
 room. 
 
 I recognized the Raymonds' cook. He began to 
 speak in a torrent of sibilant words, parading about 
 and swinging his limber pigtail from side to side. His 
 arrival was greeted with utter silence. Mio-kung 
 pulled down the comers of his mouth in a contemp- 
 tuous smile and went on shoveling in rice by the 
 bowlful. 
 
 No one had noticed me. I was in the shadow of 
 the doorway. Looking up quickly, I caught sight 
 of a woman's figure hovering outside. 
 
 In a flash the pretty, trivial scene was rent by the 
 lightning of tragedy. Without any warning, Kwung- 
 ling whirled upon his stool, caught up the carving 
 knife, and cut his rival's throat. He wiped the 
 blade off on a flap of his long coat, and sat down again 
 at the table to finish his rice. His face showed no 
 sign of emotion or excitement, merely a slight 
 satisfaction. 
 
 The other servants leaped up, chattering in a shrill 
 tumult. Only Kwung-ling remained at the table, 
 complacently eating his rice. I sprang forward in 
 a vain endeavor to staunch the spurting blood. 
 
 "Quick! Call Doctor Donnellon," I cried to 
 Mio-kung. 
 
 He hurried away. The other men were jabbering 
 and gesticulating frantically. The man's blood 
 gushed over my futile fingers in warm splashes. 
 
 Out of the darkness beyond the door emerged 
 the slim figure of Ah-tsi, dressed in pale-blue bro- 
 
THE COOLIE'S WIFE 19 
 
 caded trousers and jacket to match. Her high 
 standing collar was edged with soft white fur that 
 lay against her creamy cheeks. Her delicate oval 
 face was slightly tinged with pink. She walked in 
 quickly, with a determined air, entirely mistress of 
 herself. Casting one scornful glance at the fallen, 
 gory man prone upon the floor, she walked up to 
 Kwung-ling and touched his arm. At her touch, the 
 man was electrified. He caught her hand, and 
 together they ran out of the room. We never saw 
 either of them again. 
 
 All of our efforts to save the murdered man were 
 useless. He bled to death in five minutes. Kwung- 
 ling had severed neatly and completely both carotid 
 arteries, and hacked open the windpipe. 
 
 Doctor Donnellon telephoned the police court, and 
 that was the end of the affair. The next morning a 
 new coolie appeared with the bath water. Doctor 
 Donnellon seemed quite undisturbed. 
 
 " Don't you feel shivery about all those men in the 
 kitchen since last night's murder?" I could not 
 forbear asking her. 
 
 " No," she said. "No Chinese servant, or, for that 
 matter, no Chinese, would hurt a foreigner in the 
 settlement." 
 
 "What will happen to Ah-tsi?" I asked with 
 curiosity. 
 
 "Kwung-ling will either kill her or forgive her," 
 Doctor Donnellon answered. 
 
 "Forgive her!" I repeated, mystified. 
 
 "Why not?" replied Doctor Donnellon. "His 
 rival is dead, his supremacy reasserted." 
 
20 MY' CHINESE DAYS 
 
 "But what of the woman's feelings?" I insisted. 
 
 Doctor Donnellon glanced at me and then away, 
 out of the window, to the irregular piece of blue sky 
 cut by the up-curling eaves of the Chinese houses. 
 
 "Ah-tsi is probably satisfied," she answered. 
 
 "And you mean that this is the end of the whole 
 affair?" I exclaimed. "Aren't you going to do any- 
 thing?" 
 
 "Oh ! You are young," smiled Doctor Donnellon. 
 "In a four-year medical course you ought to have 
 learned more philosophy than to be upset over a 
 murder and a betrayal. I have more faith in the 
 body's power to resist microbes than in the soul's 
 to withstand temptation." 
 
 Doctor Donnellon got up and left the room. 
 From the window, I saw her cross the compound 
 and enter the hospital. I couldn't help wondering 
 at her impassivity under this tragedy. She was 
 neither agitated nor shocked, nor yet harshly 
 critical of any of the trio. In my hot-headed 
 youth, I felt the need of taking sides, of punishing 
 the wrongdoers, and rewarding the righteous. In 
 this case, all three, — Ah-tsi, Kwung-ling, and the 
 handsome cook, — seemed equally sinners. 
 
 Suddenly, with a shock of surprise, I grasped the 
 meaning of Doctor Donnellon's attitude. To her 
 and to the Chinese, this tragedy was just ordinary 
 living, and as such to be accepted, not criticized, 
 the offenders to be helped, not punished. 
 
 Ah-tsi's face, with its soft beauty, came to my 
 mind, and her lustrous brown eyes questioned me: 
 
 "Who are you that condemns?" 
 
Ill 
 
 FLYING STONES 
 
 YOU will have to go alone, Doctor Wilhel- 
 mina," said Doctor Donnellon. "A walk 
 will do you good. I am too tired to come. 
 Besides, I am expecting to be called out on that Sey- 
 mour Road case at any moment." 
 
 "I am sorry you can't come," I replied. "I hope 
 you will have time for a little rest before you are 
 called. Good-by." 
 
 Wild horses could not have kept me indoors that 
 afternoon. We had had a week of fine weather that 
 had brought out all the early fruit blossoms. In 
 the gardens the plums and cherries were huge bou- 
 quets of pink and white fragrance. I walked 
 quickly along Hart Road, turned to the right, and 
 struck out across the country. The fields, that a 
 month ago had been barren and brown, were now 
 a vivid green. Through the interlacing branches of 
 the leafless trees, blue sky and floating white cloud 
 puffs chased each other. A string of laden wheel- 
 barrows, holding eight or nine women apiece, hands 
 from the silk mills, passed me. Otherwise the road 
 was empty. 
 
 At Christmas Doctor Donnellon had given me a 
 light, walnut-stained, bamboo cane. I was very 
 
22 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 fond of it and always carried it on my solitary walks, 
 To-day I swung it back and forth jauntily, quite 
 contented with my lot as a missionary doctor in 
 China. In spite of their dirt and in spite of their 
 language, I liked the Chinese. 
 
 In half an hour I came to Soochow Creek and 
 crossed it into the Chapei Native district. At first 
 I did not realize that I was beyond the limits of the 
 International Concession, though I was astounded at 
 the squalor and poverty of the huts that bordered 
 the road. They were merely low, square rooms, 
 made of pieces of matting sewn together, entirely 
 without windows or doors. If any one wished to 
 enter, he pushed aside a loose mat and squirmed 
 in. The children playing about were covered with 
 scabs and ulcers, and the dogs were piebald with 
 mange. I would have turned back but that in the 
 distance I saw the graceful, peaked roofs of a 
 pagoda. 
 
 A little urchin ran after me, grinning and calling 
 "Nga-kok nyung" (foreign kingdom man), "Nga- 
 kok nyung." As my custom was in the settlement, 
 where all are friendly, I turned and smiled and waved 
 my hand. This proceeding scared him half out of 
 his wits. Screaming with fright, the child threw 
 himself on the ground and pounded the earth with 
 his hands and feet. Immediately a crowd collected 
 about him, some soothing the child, some scowling 
 at me. At his cry I had stopped to see if he were 
 hurt, but finding that I was the cause of the trouble, 
 I turned away and walked on. In a few moments I 
 dismissed the matter from my thoughts. 
 
PLYING STONES 23 
 
 The brilliant sun made the brass-tipped eaves 
 of the pagoda glitter like jewels. 
 
 I was walking forward eagerly when I heard the 
 sound of running footsteps behind. Perhaps if I 
 had not turned to look back it might have been all 
 right, but instinctively I stopped and looked over 
 my shoulder. I saw a handful of big boys and one 
 yapping cur running along the road towards me. 
 As I paused, a sudden shower of small stones fell 
 about me. One hit my shoulder, and a faint 
 stain of blood dyed my thin waist. 
 
 At the touch of that hostile missile, a wild wrath 
 boiled up within me. Missionaries are supposed to 
 feel only righteous wrath. I am not sure about the 
 adjective that should qualify my feeling, but the 
 feeling itself I recognized. Very often I realize 
 that I am not fit to be a missionary, and in such 
 moments of humility I try to console myself with the 
 shortcomings of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. At 
 that moment however I didn't stop to justify myself. 
 I turned around and shook my cane at that group 
 with an air of fiendish vindictiveness. 
 
 They wheeled precipitously. The hindermost boy 
 tripped over the dog, and the rest tumbled upon him. 
 I couldn' t help laughing, they were so easily dismayed. 
 
 Again I set my eyes on the gleaming brass peaks 
 of the pagoda and walked on. The sun was almost 
 setting. As the Chinese say, "The sun falls down 
 the hill of heaven." Long level rays shot over the 
 fiat earth and covered the mud huts and green fields 
 with a veil of woven, golden gauze. A faint mist 
 began to rise from the ground. 
 
24 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 A second stone hit me full on the ankle. It stung 
 like fury. Turning, I found that the number of 
 my pursuers had doubled, and a few men hung on the 
 fringe of the group. More stones fell about me, 
 several hitting my head and shoulders. Shouting 
 and beating the air with my trusty bamboo cane, I 
 advanced towards my persecutors. Again, with 
 delighted shrieks, they fled, and once more I set out 
 for the sunlit pagoda. 
 
 But my heart wasn't in it. I didn't care whether 
 the brass gleamed like gold and the eaves slanted 
 upwards. I didn't think that trailing pink clouds 
 made a wonderful background for the century-old 
 wood of the roof. I tensed all my faculties in the 
 one act of listening. I tried to count the number of 
 bare, padding feet scurrying after me. Was it 
 six or twenty or one hundred? Now and again 
 came harsh, taunting cries and the crisp chatter 
 of flying, falling stones. They concentrated their 
 efforts on my ankles. 
 
 How I longed for a Sikh policeman in his handsome 
 blue uniform and crimson turban ! I could have 
 embraced him ! In fact, I would have embraced 
 any foreigner whatsoever, even any respectable 
 Chinaman ! 
 
 I reflected on the number of missionaries stoned 
 and burned yearly. Also I remembered that the 
 Republic was but one year old and anti-foreign 
 feeling still in existence. Fit, or not fit, I seemed 
 to be chosen for a martyr's death. I wondered how 
 St. Stephen felt ! I was mortally afraid. 
 
 I began to run. I set my eyes on that gleaming 
 
FLYING STONES 25 
 
 pagoda and ran for dear life, at first easily and swiftly. 
 The pagoda came nearer by leaps and bounds. As 
 nay tormentors chased me, the flying stones ceased. 
 Suddenly I found my knees were trembling. My 
 throat was dry, and my breath came in great gasps. 
 A cloud floated between the pagoda and my straining 
 eyes. 
 
 I stopped dead and faced about. Because of 
 the pounding of the pulses in my ears, I could not 
 hear the approach of the rabble, but through my 
 tears I saw them magnified into the huge black hulk 
 of an antediluvian monster. With the certainty 
 of doom, my senses cleared, and I grew quite calm. 
 
 Ahead of the nondescript horde ran a lithe youth 
 about sixteen years old. Poised in his upraised 
 arm I saw a large round stone. His still uncut 
 queue flapped behind him. 
 
 I did the only thing that remained to be done. I 
 ran to meet him and broke my futile, vainglorious 
 cane over his shoulder. Then my hands fell to my 
 sides, and I awaited the next assault. 
 
 It never came. The boy, at the snapping of my 
 cane, laughed shrilly but broke off in mid-air. With 
 terrified eyes he stared over my shoulder, then 
 began to back off towards his companions. The 
 group behind him halted, then turned and fled. 
 The cur howled dismally. The boy gave a shriek, 
 whirled around, and raced after his comrades. The 
 large round stone dropped unheeded to the earth. 
 
 I stood petrified. Aid had come, as it always does, 
 at the last, unhoped-for moment. Who or how or 
 what, I did not know, nor did it matter. I had 
 
26 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 been saved. I felt the Lord had sent His Angels 
 to beat the air with their unseen wings and strike 
 terror into the hearts of the heathen. My knees 
 began to shake, and I found it advisable to sit 
 down by the roadside. 
 
 "Are you hurt?" a man's voice behind me asked. 
 
 "No," I gasped. With the assurance of safety 
 and protection I began to cry. I don't at all re- 
 member what the man said or did, but eventually I 
 found myself stuttering out the details of what had 
 happened. 
 
 " I don't know how to thank you," I ended tritely. 
 
 "Never mind that," he answered. "Do you 
 still want to see the pagoda?" 
 
 His question took my breath away. In my heart 
 of hearts I considered myself quite unfit to walk, 
 or take an interest in anything less spiritual than 
 my saved life. He treated my escape in a very off- 
 hand fashion. Well, if he wanted to, so could I. 
 
 "Certainly," I answered in my most sprightly 
 manner. "If it isn't too late." 
 
 "Not at all," my rescuer replied. "The sunset 
 view is especially fine from the top gallery. The 
 custodian is a friend of mine. Shall I help you up ? " 
 
 "I am entirely recovered, thank you," I said. 
 
 Unaided I rose to my feet and once again set out 
 towards the pagoda. I furtively dabbed my eyes 
 and looked at the man beside me as often as I 
 could without being observed. I saw his feet very 
 plainly, neat, trim feet, shod in very stubby-toed 
 American shoes. I also managed to see his ears. 
 They were not red; I was distinctly glad of that. 
 
FLYING STONES 27 
 
 "How did you make the Chinamen turn tail so 
 suddenly?" I asked. 
 
 "This way," he replied, slipping his hand into 
 his hip pocket and drawing out a small shining 
 pistol. " I merely pointed it at them. It was 
 sufficient." 
 
 " I can't begin to thank you," I stammered again. 
 
 "Don't begin, for heaven's sake," he protested 
 with a sound of merriment in his voice. "If I had 
 not happened to come along, some one else would 
 have. You acted as if you shared my philosophy. 
 Help always does turn up at the last, despaired-of 
 moment." 
 
 " It's unpleasant, waiting for that last moment," 
 I answered. "I expected to be stoned to death." 
 
 "I thought you would be," the man replied 
 soberly. "I saw you from the pagoda. When you 
 began to run, I was terrified. You faced them 
 splendidly at the end. You must have hit that 
 fellow a pretty strong crack to break your cane at 
 the first stroke." 
 
 I began to laugh. " It was bamboo," I explained. 
 He laughed aloud in amusement. 
 
 We soon reached the gate of the enclosure sur- 
 rounding the pagoda. It opened to the push. A 
 fat, sleek Chinaman rose from a bench before the 
 gate house and came towards us. My companion 
 left me to speak to him. After a brief conversation 
 he returned and led the way up flights of ex- 
 tremely steep stairs. We emerged on the narrow 
 gallery that was overhung by the topmost roof. A 
 very low parapet of painted tiles ran along the edge, 
 
28 MY CHINESE DAYS ; 
 
 and my companion and I leaned back against the 
 inner wall and let our eyes sweep over the view 
 before us. At the left lay Shanghai, with its foreign 
 buildings and chimneys rising like spars above the 
 floating, sealike mist that thickly covered the whole 
 plain. The waves of the fog heaved and billowed, 
 and were opalescent with sunlight. 
 
 "A beautiful sight," said the stranger, "but 
 deadly. Have you taken any quinine?" 
 
 I smiled at the question. "I am a doctor," I 
 replied. 
 
 He started. "You, a doctor !" he exclaimed. " I 
 can't believe it!" 
 
 "Why not," I retorted with some heat. 
 
 My fitness for medicine was a sore point with me. 
 I boasted a purple seal from the New York Regents, 
 one of the five awarded that spring among five 
 thousand students. 
 
 "I suppose I am too small !" I flung at him. 
 
 "Perhaps," he answered vaguely, adding, "I 
 only wonder you have had the leisure," making his 
 meaning quite obvious by a quick glance from his 
 eyes. 
 
 "I don't Hke men in general," I answered his 
 glance, "nor any one in particular," I hastened to 
 add. 
 
 He smiled as though suddenly pleased at some- 
 thing. 
 
 "Nor I women in general," he replied. "Only 
 one thing draws me — life, in all its wide, strange 
 forms. For about five years now I've been traveling 
 and watching. But, in my search, I have never 
 
THE CREEK, NEAR RUBICON ROAD, SHANGHAI 
 
FLYING STONES 29 
 
 included sampling the sweets. One soul attracts 
 another by infallible sympathies. I have waited 
 for that." 
 
 His eyes were upon me with an intentness of 
 glance that held me silent. He was leaning against 
 the low parapet to face me. The sun lit up one 
 side of his face and hair with a clear light. 
 
 "About a month ago," he continued, " I was in the 
 Temple of the Red-lipped Idols in the Native City. 
 The air was dim and fragrant with rising incense. I 
 was staring overhead at the huge, carven monsters, 
 then at the floor, at 'the kowtowing Chinese. 
 Suddenly, through the fragrant, floating incense, I 
 met a pair of eyes, — soft, intense, brown eyes, — 
 that looked directly into mine. They were your 
 eyes. Do you remember?" 
 
 I nodded and stretched out my hands towards 
 him. For half a minute we faced each other with 
 clasped hands, then, for fear of what he might say 
 next, I quickly ran down the stairs. At the gate an 
 open victoria was waiting for us. The drive home 
 passed like a mirage. I scarcely noticed the huts 
 of flapping mats and the mangy children. At the 
 steps of "The Ladies House" I hesitated a moment. 
 The stranger, hat in hand, was standing waiting. 
 
 "I don't know your name," I stammered, "but 
 won't you call?" 
 
IV 
 THE GIRL FROM TUNIS 
 
 ABOUT seven o'clock in the evening I started 
 out to meet the tender on which the new 
 nurse for St. Margaret's was to arrive. She 
 was to start the new training school for Chinese 
 nurses. Her name was Miss Laurie, and she was a 
 Bryn Mawr girl. So much and no more we knew. 
 Doctor Donnellon and I had been speculating about 
 her. Doctor Donnellon hoped she would have a good 
 digestion, and I hoped she wouldn't be too good to 
 live with. I had put a bunch of violets in an old 
 brass bowl on the dressing table in her room and had 
 lent her my window curtains freshly starched and 
 rufHed. I didn't want her room to look too barren. 
 
 Nanking Road was thronged with Chinese. Two 
 new jeweler shops had been recently opened, and 
 the entire fagades of the two buildings were covered 
 with hundreds of colored electric lights in rosettes 
 of rainbow silk ; and in the fantastic shapes of tigers 
 and dragons and roosters. Opposite their blazing 
 front the street was blocked with gaping admirers. 
 The flare of the light was reflected against the sky 
 in a luminous haze. 
 
 Marching along by the curbing, in groups of twos 
 and threes, followed at a respectful distance by their 
 
THE GIRL FROM TUNIS 31 
 
 ever-watchful amahs, were the satin-trousered 
 night slaves of the east, young girls with spots of 
 scarlet on their eyelids and upper lips. At the 
 debouchment of the cross roads, drab-colored groups 
 clustered and peered enviously at the satin-clad 
 girls that walked the road. Before the new Chinese 
 theater advertising ideographs flashed in changing 
 colors. In my mood of the moment China seemed 
 quite progressive and up to date. 
 
 At the jetty I found that the tender was expected 
 in ten minutes. Standing at the end of the wharf, I 
 scanned the harbor, an indistinct, blue-gray back- 
 ground, against which the junks and launches moved 
 as darker shadows punctuated with light. The 
 black outline of a warship, pierced with innumerable, 
 tiny yellow globes of light, loomed through the 
 gloom. While I was watching her, a junk with a 
 high curling poop and a tall oblong sail slipped 
 between us. Close to the pier, within the radius of 
 its light, rocked a dozen or so small rowboats. On 
 each side of the prows were carved and painted eyes 
 that made the boats look like sea dragons. 
 
 A group of Europeans were waiting at one end of 
 the jetty, and beyond them were Chinese, some in 
 foreign cloth suits and some in native satins. I 
 was struck by the barbaric gorgeousness of one tall, 
 handsome young man. His queue was cut, and his 
 hair had been allowed to grow thick and long over 
 his forehead and neck. Instead of an appearance of 
 femininity, this gave him a look of fierce, almost 
 cruel strength. His short, sleeveless outer jacket 
 was of plum-colored satin, and his long garment of 
 
32 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 slate-blue satin lined with very white and very 
 fleecy lambs' wool. A Frenchman with upturned 
 moustaches and full beard joined them. His appear- 
 ance was shabby and mediocre, and his stature 
 stunted. In no way, except in the nameless flavor 
 of race, could he compare with the splendid specimen 
 of Chinese manhood before him. He was evidently a 
 piece of driftwood whom life was treating badly, yet 
 he thrust out his chest vain-gloriously and spoke in 
 shrill, excited tones. 
 
 " I tell you again and again, she vill gome. Regard 
 me. Am I not her elder broder? Am I not head 
 of my family? Have no fear. She gomes." 
 
 The man's words were easily heard, and they 
 aroysed my curiosity. 
 
 A series of harsh toots announced the arrival of 
 the tender. The passengers were lined along the 
 rail, and I scanned their faces eagerly in search of 
 Miss Laurie. She was to wear an American flag 
 pinned on her coat. In the twilight on the deck I 
 could distinguish no separating badge, but as the 
 passengers stepped gingerly down the gangplank, 
 the familiar colors greeted me from the jacket of the 
 third comer. Miss Laurie was tall and stately and 
 young. As we shook hands, I saw that her eyes were 
 blue and her hair gold. 
 
 "She looks good," I said to myself. "It is 
 fortunate she is blond. Blond holiness is so much 
 less disagreeable than brunette holiness." 
 
 "You must be nearly famished," I said to her. 
 "Doctor Donnellon is waiting dinner. If you will 
 point out your trunks to our boy, he will attend to 
 
THE GIRL FROM TUNIS 33 
 
 bringing them up. What kind of a trip have you 
 had? Was it frightfully hot in the Red Sea?" 
 
 Miss Laurie had come out via Europe. 
 
 "For twenty-four hours it was rather uncomfort- 
 able," she answered, "but I didn't mind it much. 
 The two typhoons we ran into on the way up from 
 Canton were infinitely more unpleasant." She broke 
 off abruptly to hurry after a vanishing trunk. 
 After a short search for her belongings, we were 
 ready to leave. 
 
 "Just a moment more," said Miss Laurie. "I 
 want to say good-by to a charming French girl 
 that I met on the steamer, Ther^se Fleurir. I have 
 been watching for her, but I have not seen her get 
 off. She is coming out to be married. Her elder 
 brother, whom she has not seen for years, has arranged 
 it. Isn't it a hideous method? But she doesn't 
 seem to mind ; on the contrary, she is elated at the 
 prospect and looks upon it as a release. She lived 
 in Tunis and had a position as a stenographer in 
 the French Embassy." 
 
 Miss Laurie hurried up the gangplank, leaving me 
 plunged in dismay. It was painfully easy to fit 
 together brother and sister and to fathom the trap 
 that had been laid for the girl. I wondered if she 
 would mind. You never can tell about "foreigners." 
 The Chinamen were evidently rich. 
 
 As I turned from again staring at the Chinese, Miss 
 Laurie was descending the gangplank. Following 
 her came a slight, shrinking figure dressed in subdued 
 colors, save for two crimson plumes in her soft black 
 hat. The girl was trying to hide behind Miss 
 
34 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 Laurie. Miss Laurie beckoned to me and I hurried 
 towards her. 
 
 "May I bring Therfese to the mission house for 
 to-night?" she asked. "She is frightened and 
 terrified at something she has seen." 
 
 "Certainly," I answered. 
 
 Miss Laurie stepped aside. For an instant the 
 French girl hesitated. An arc light threw its glare 
 over her, revealing a face both delicate and intelli- 
 gent. In that instant's pause, the chance for es- 
 cape unrecognized was lost. The shabby, bearded 
 Frenchman leaped forward. 
 
 "Mon Dieu ! C'est Therfese," he fairly screamed. 
 
 He waved his cane in the air and caught her by 
 the arm, dragging her towards the group of China- 
 men. 
 
 "You see, you see," he cried, hopping about in 
 wild satisfaction. "Behold, I write, she gome. 
 See, is she not beautiful? White skin, like ze so 
 rare snow, a straight nose, and small feet. Ah ! 
 Zay vill not disgrace you, zose feet, nor ze feet of 
 your shildren. May you have only men shildren ! 
 To-night you shall be married. But first you must 
 pay me ze sum you promised, the five hundred 
 taels." 
 
 The man's voice climbed higher and higher till 
 he shrieked the last sentence. During his harangue 
 the girl stood as if utterly dazed. At the end she 
 lifted her eyes to sweep the circle of Oriental faces 
 hemming her in. 
 
 "Salute her," the brother urged, "Hke a gentle- 
 man." 
 
THE GIRL FROM TUNIS 35 
 
 The Frenchman gave the tall handsome youth a 
 vigorous dig with his cane. The boy laughed aloud. 
 
 "Like a foreigner I will salute her," he shouted 
 triumphantly. 
 
 Catching the French girl in his arms, he kissed her. 
 
 The touch stung her to life. She wrenched herself 
 free and rushed to the edge of the pier. I caught a 
 glimpse of a white despairing face under the flame- 
 colored plumes. Simultaneously Miss Laurie and I 
 grasped her intention. Miss Laurie caught her in her 
 strong arms. 
 
 "Let me go," she stormed. "To die now is 
 fitting. So it must be. A daughter of my race 
 cannot marry a Chinaman." 
 
 She struggled wildly, but Miss Laurie held her 
 securely, and I heard her whispering insistently to 
 the girl. I turned to the rabid brother. Like a 
 vexed child, he was dancing up and down with mor- 
 tification and anger. 
 
 "Such an insult! The ingrate! Here, have I 
 found a rich husband who is willing to marry her, 
 marry her legally, I say, and the first moment she 
 meets him, she insults him. Listen, Ther^se," he 
 called, edging nearer the girl. "Remember your 
 life of drudgery, no pleasure, no fine clothes, no 
 jewels, no pastries. Consider it well. He will give 
 you everything. Regard him. I say that he is 
 rich." 
 
 At this point the Chinese broke in stormily. 
 From their conversation I gathered that the bride- 
 groom's family had already paid down five hundred 
 taels for the girl and that five hundred more were 
 
36 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 to be handed over upon her arrival. Fearing to 
 lose both money and face, they were furious and 
 insisted upon possession of the girl. 
 
 I was at my wits' end. Whatever happened to- 
 night would be irrevocable, either the Chinaman 
 would get Therfese, or we would rescue her. Save 
 for a gang of coolies unloading cargo, we were alone 
 on the jetty. I longed for a man, and, above all 
 other men, for Edward Stevens, my pagoda man. 
 My wish was a prophecy. Looking up the road, I 
 saw him walking briskly toward us. I ran to him 
 and broke into breathless explanations. 
 
 "You want to take the French girl with you 
 to-night; is that it?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes," I answered. "Arrange for to-night, now. 
 To-morrow we can settle matters." 
 
 Edward stood a moment scrutinizing the group 
 of Chinese, then he selected the oldest man dressed 
 in foreign clothes and addressed his remarks to him. 
 
 " I understand that you wish to obtain in marriage 
 for one of your family a foreign-born maiden and in 
 all things to follow the foreign custom," he said 
 courteously. 
 
 Edward's clear, incisive words held their attention. 
 The shabby brother, with his cane still poised in mid- 
 air, stopped in the midst of a sentence. Even 
 Therfese checked her sobs to listen. 
 
 "It is not according to 'Old Custom' to take the 
 maiden to your house to-night. To-night she must 
 lodge with her friends and to-morrow the bride- 
 groom may seek her there. I will give you my 
 address, and you can call in the morning." 
 
THE GIRL PROM TUNIS 37 
 
 Edward took out his visiting card and handed it 
 to the old man. 
 
 The" Frenchman expostulated. "Do not listen to 
 him; it is not so." 
 
 Edward turned on him with subdued anger. 
 "Shut up ! " he whispered fiercely. " I am managing 
 this affair now." 
 
 The fellow cringed. He disgusted me, but he 
 looked as if he had been half fed for years, and I 
 was sorry for him in spite of myself. 
 
 That was the end of the affair. Edward's presence 
 calmed every one. The Chinamen dispersed, the 
 shabby outcast slunk away. Edward put Miss 
 Laurie and Therese into a cab, and we got into 
 another. 
 
 I smiled at him. "Edward to the rescue again," 
 I said gratefully. "If you stay in Shanghai much 
 longer, Mr. Stevens, I shall grow to be quite 
 dependent on you." 
 
 "Nothing would please me better," he answered. 
 
 "How out of date you are," I replied. "Now- 
 adays, men like self-reliant girls who carry their 
 own suit cases and who don't need to be seen home 
 in the evenings." 
 
 "If that is your idea of modern men," Edward 
 answered, "I am thankful you class me among the 
 ancients." 
 
 "How do you like Shanghai?" I asked. 
 
 "Only fairly well," he answered. "As a place 
 for courting it has certain advantages. It provides 
 medieval situations of 'Fair Damsel in distress' 
 and 'Gallant Knight to the rescue.' However I 
 
38 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 do not know whether such episodes are not too 
 dearly bought by the lack of woods and trees and 
 streams and wild flowers." 
 
 "The moon and the stars are still left," I sug- 
 gested. 
 
 "Too remote," Edward objected. 
 
 "How did you happen to come to meet Miss 
 Laurie?" I questioned. 
 
 " I didn't 'happen to come'," he replied ; " I came 
 because you wanted me." 
 
 "I never once thought of you," I exclaimed. 
 " First I was thinking about Miss Laurie and then 
 about the French girl." 
 
 For reply, Mr. Stevens looked at me strangely. 
 I don't know what to do when he looks at me that 
 way. I feel as if a door in my brain had opened to 
 him, and he knew all my thoughts. 
 
 "I should have said, I came because I was think- 
 ing of you," he corrected himself. "My thoughts 
 led my footsteps." 
 
 When a clever man is gracious, he is really very 
 attractive. I was in a yielding mood, and such 
 places are dangerous. But being a woman of years, 
 I was discreet. I leaned back in the corner of the 
 seat and changed the subject. 
 
 "What will become of the poor child Therfese?" I 
 asked, 
 
 "I will go to the French consul in the morning 
 and have the matter put straight," Mr. Stevens 
 replied. "That scoundrelly brother will have to 
 fork up his five hundred taels and make all the 
 amends he can. As for what will become of the 
 
THE GIRL FROM TUNIS 39 
 
 girl, you women will have to decide. After all, 
 when she grows used to the idea, she may be willing 
 to marry the Chinaman." 
 
 We had reached the steps of the mission house, 
 where Doctor Donnellon was receiving the two girls. 
 
 " I can believe it was a shock to her," Mr. Stevens 
 continued, "as she was evidently expecting some- 
 thing very different." 
 
 " It's quite too much of a shock to contemplate 
 marrying at all, no matter how nice the man," I 
 said, as I sprang out of the carriage and followed the 
 others. 
 
GLOWING NEEDLES 
 
 THERESE clung to Miss Laurie piteously. 
 The next morning after her arrival she had 
 absolutely refused to see or write to her 
 brother, and as Mr. Stevens had given the China- 
 men only his own address, the fellow had no means 
 of tracing his sister. The affair was fixed up 
 amicably with the Chinese. The brother produced 
 the money already paid over, and the incident was 
 closed. To all intents and purposes, Ther^se Fleurir 
 was swallowed up in the Orient. For days she was 
 afraid to stir out of the house, but eventually she 
 found a position to teach in one of the schools in 
 Frenchtown. The salary was not large, but it was 
 ample for clothes and board. Doubtless, sooner or 
 later, Therlse would marry, so the incentive to 
 save for a rainy old age was removed. The principal 
 of the school, a rich widow, took a great fancy to 
 her, and after two weeks invited Ther^se to live 
 with her. Miss Laurie received an enthusiastic note 
 from the child. 
 
 "The house is beautiful, so large and so much 
 marble. My bathroom has white tiles. And, 
 moreover, Oh, joy ! the cuisine is French. Come, 
 
GLOWING NEEDLES 41 
 
 my friends, and taste and see and enjoy. Madame 
 Rounger has urged me to invite you. The time is 
 next Thursday for dinner at eight. Adieu, I live 
 only till we meet." 
 
 Miss Laurie smiled over the exaggerated wording 
 of the letter, but nevertheless she was pleased. A 
 "community dinner" is a distracting event in a 
 missionary's life. 
 
 When he heard of Ther^se's position, Mr. Stevens 
 shook his head dubiously. 
 
 "It is too good to be true," he said. "I am 
 afraid Thertee has leaped from the frying pan into 
 the fire. Anyway I hate to have you over in 
 Frenchtown at night. I'll call for you with a 
 carriage at ten o'clock." 
 
 "That is much too early," I cried. "Dinner will 
 hardly be over." 
 
 "Four women can't eat for two hours," Edward 
 objected. "I shall be there at ten." 
 
 "Exactly, 'Just four women'!" I retorted, 
 angered. "You needn't come for those women at 
 all, Mr. Stevens. They prefer to do as they please 
 rather than to ride in a carriage at a man's dictation." 
 
 "Firebrand!" muttered Edward. "I wonder 
 what you will set alight!" 
 
 "You?" I flung at him tauntingly. 
 
 For answer, Edward looked at me in that dis- 
 concerting way of his which makes me feel there is 
 no use pretending. I like Edward, but I don't 
 like men's attitude toward women. Men are 
 handy, that's all. I stiffened and refused to relent, 
 though Edward harped again on his favorite subject 
 
4i MV CttlNESE DAYS 
 
 of souls akin. Men and women are too different 
 to be akin. They are like the banks of a river, 
 gashed apart. Often and often Doctor Donnellon 
 lectured me on my man-hating attitude. "Don't 
 you know men like girls who hate them ?" she would 
 say. At that I always fled. I did not see Edward 
 again before the night of the dinner, and Miss Laurie 
 and I made arrangements to keep our rickshas all 
 the evening. 
 
 Madame Rounger's house stood in a large garden 
 and thoroughly came up to Ther^se's description. 
 Our dilapidated old rickshas seemed very in- 
 significant, rolling in under the high porte-cochfere. 
 At the ignominious moment when the coolie put 
 the shafts on the ground and tilted me suddenly 
 forwards, as if I were descending from a camel's 
 back, a luxurious automobile panted up behind us. 
 Four gentlemen in evening dress got out of the car. 
 Being continental, they raised their hats and said 
 "Good evening." An extremely handsome Chinese 
 footman, dressed in full European uniform, opened 
 the door to us, and we entered a hall, the entire 
 height of the house, running from east to west. In 
 the center, on either side, were doorways hung with 
 heavy velvet portieres leading to the salon and the 
 dining room. 
 
 Ther^se came demurely down the stairs to meet 
 us, and led us up to her room, chatting volubly all 
 the way. 
 
 " It is to be a big dinner," she announced at once. 
 "A man apiece." 
 
 "Pooh, I would not have come if I had known 
 
GLOWING NEEDLES 43 
 
 there were going to be men," I exclaimed, provoked 
 in spite of myself. 
 
 "Silly," said Ther^se lightly, "you needn't be 
 afraid. You look very pretty to-night. I love 
 that turquoise gown of yours. It makes the brown 
 of your eyes and hair deeper. Besides, the food will 
 be better because the men are coming." 
 
 Ther^se, in cerise chiffon, was an effective contrast 
 to the pale, gold beauty of Miss Laurie, who was 
 in absolute white. 
 
 "Chdrie," cried Ther^se, turning to Miss Laurie, 
 "I am so glad you are not wearing a black velvet 
 bow in your waist or a narrow black band around 
 your throat ! Only blonds pass6 and wicked, wish- 
 ing for innocence, do that. You are innocent." 
 
 "You funny child!" answered Miss Laurie. 
 "Because my skin is white, must my soul be white 
 too?" 
 
 For a moment the young girl's face fell into the 
 cast of tragedy so facile to the Latin race. 
 
 "Yes, yes," she replied quickly. "See me — I 
 am stained." 
 
 When we entered the salon we found Madame 
 Rounger surrounded by the men. She was a 
 handsome woman of prepossessing appearance, skil- 
 fully dressed in black. She evidently wished to 
 be considered young, and I wondered that she 
 tolerated any one as truly young as Therlse near 
 her. As soon as the introductions were over, 
 Madame Rounger drew me aside. 
 
 "Ther^se says you are a physician, though it is 
 hard to believe. You look about eighteen. 
 
44 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 Nevertheless, she assures me it is so. Pray forgive 
 me if^I trouble you. Just a moment ago, my table 
 boy came to me in great consternation, saying that 
 his only son was having a convulsion. I ordered 
 him to immerse the child at once in a hot mustard 
 bath. May I beg you to come to see him ? I shall 
 feel more comfortable through dinner." 
 
 "Certainly," I answered. "I shall be very glad 
 to see the child." 
 
 Madame Rounger excused herself from the guests 
 and led me from the room, through the back hall, 
 along a covered corridor, to the semi-detached 
 servants' quarters in the rear. On the second floor 
 the doors of a row of cell-like rooms opened upon a 
 narrow porch. From the corner room came the 
 sound of confused and excited talk. The small 
 space was crowded with jabbering women and boys. 
 The sick child, a boy about ten, had just been taken 
 out of the mustard bath and put to bed. 
 
 "Let us turn them all out but his mother," I 
 insisted. "The child must be kept quiet." 
 Madame Rounger and I pushed the women out by 
 their shoulders. We got them as far as the doorway, 
 where they massed themselves, following my every 
 motion with their beady, curious eyes, as I made a 
 quick examination of the child. Madame Rounger 
 was able to supply me with the simple remedies 
 that were needed, and after half an hour's work, I 
 left the child sleeping quietly. As Madame and I 
 left the room, the Chinese squeezed in behind us like 
 an irresistible tide of water, eddying and fiooding 
 the land. 
 
GLOWING NEEDLES 45 
 
 The dinner was delicious. Afterwards we 
 scattered through the wide salon to drink our 
 coffee, the men still with us, smoking cigarettes. 
 Ther^se, opposite me, was smoking too. 
 
 "Charmante," murmured Monsieur Armand, an 
 old, white-haired gentleman beside me. "Do you 
 not also smoke?" 
 
 "No," I answered simply, "I am a missionary." 
 
 "Ah, Mademoiselle, that is no answer," he said, 
 spreading out his hands and shrugging his shoulders. 
 "Smoking is not a deadly sin." 
 
 "But there are prejudices," I objected. "It 
 would never do for a missionary to smoke." 
 
 "Anglo-Saxon!" he blurted out. "Incomprehen- 
 sible people ! They permit their young women to 
 come, unprotected, halfway around the world to a 
 heathen, Chinese city, but to smoke a delightful 
 little cigarette after dinner, at home with friends, 
 Ah, no ! Mon Dieu ! That is scandalous ! Dangers 
 they allow you, but no pleasures." 
 
 "But I don't care to smoke," I answered. 
 
 "Ah, no! Of course not. You are like a little 
 saint, a medieval saint who stood away off in a 
 stained-glass window and smiled on the world with 
 sweet, pensive eyes and her smile was a blessing." 
 
 "I'm not at all like that," I contradicted sadly. 
 "I'm not up in any cathedral window. I'm here, 
 working in China; I've come, as you say, halfway 
 around the world to work here. Nor am I pensive 
 or sweet: I wish I were. I'm not really good 
 enough to be a missionary ; I'm just like everybody 
 else." 
 
46 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 The Frenchman looked at me as if I had been his 
 daughter. I grew red and wondered why I had 
 been so outspoken. Instinctively, I had relied 
 upon his ready sympathy and understanding. 
 
 "You do not know yourself, Mademoiselle," he 
 replied. "You cannot see the soft, gentle light in 
 your brown eyes. Yet, you are making a mistake. 
 I am not so old-fashioned as to think all women 
 should be mothers — some are too hard and cruel, 
 some too unstable and melancholy, some too stupid 
 and dull. But you, you ought to be a mother." 
 
 I sat speechless before Monsieur Armand. I was 
 astonished that I was not angry, but for the moment 
 I was as simple and unaflfected as he. 
 
 "And leave my work?" I exclaimed. 
 
 "To find your work," he answered. 
 
 In the pause that followed a shrill scream startled 
 us. I sprang to my feet. "The little boy," I cried, 
 and ran from the room. Scream after scream filled 
 the air, the wild terrified screaming of a child in 
 sharp pain. I ran quickly along the corridor and up 
 the stairs. The door of the child's room was blocked 
 with figures. I pounded at the shoulders of the 
 nearest and pushed at them till they moved aside and 
 let me pass. For half a moment, frozen with horror, 
 I paused on the threshold. 
 
 The child, naked, was lashed to the bed with his 
 arms outstretched along the footboard. His head 
 was thrown back, and his eyes glared wildly at the 
 people. Trickles of blood were running down the 
 calves of his legs and dripping from his forearms. In 
 the air was the nauseous odor of burnt flesh. An 
 
GLOWING NEEDLES 47 
 
 old priest in a hideously dirty robe sprang up frorh 
 the floor and thrust a red-hot needle through the 
 child's leg. The boy writhed and screamed with 
 pain. 
 
 I ran to him and jerked the burning needle out of 
 his flesh and began pulling out the other needles 
 which were stuck at random in his arms and legs. 
 The Chinese behind me pulled at me and tried to 
 catch my hands. The old priest broke into a torrent 
 of threats and insults. The needles I had plucked 
 out still glowed, red-hot, on the floor. I faced the 
 Chinese angrily. They began to remember I was 
 a foreigner, within the settlement, and they, only 
 tolerated aliens. One by one they slunk away, till 
 only the priest was left bending over the charcoal 
 fire, muttering maledictions on the white woman. I 
 cut the thongs and loosed the child. He seemed to 
 know I was his deliverer, for he clung to me in frantic 
 terror, sobbing and screaming. 
 
 Madame Rounger and Monsieur Armand appeared 
 in the doorway. Madame Rounger turned out the 
 old priest without ceremony and scolded her servant 
 energetically. 
 
 "You shall go if you have any more of your 
 heathen practices in my house," she said. "How 
 often have I told you you cannot do such things. 
 You are not fit to have a child !" 
 
 "But, Madame," stammered the terrified servant, 
 "the devil have catchee my son. Must makee 
 drive away. No can lose one only son. Must 
 makee drive away, must piercee with burning 
 needles. No can help. Must do." 
 
48 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 The Chinaman began to cry. He was torn be- 
 tween a thousand fears of the evil spirits, of the 
 strange white woman, of the burning needles. I 
 soothed the child in my arms, and looked up at 
 Monsieur Armand who stood beside me. 
 
 "How can you ask me to give up a work like 
 this?" I asked. 
 
 He answered slowly, stroking the little boy's sleek 
 black head that lay against my shoulder. 
 
 "If you had loved children enough, you would 
 have guessed beforehand what these heathen Chinese 
 parents would do." I wondered if he were right. 
 
 Edward called for us with an auto. Miss Laurie 
 had decided to spend the night with Therfee, so 
 he and I were alone in the tonneau. 
 
 "Do you want to go directly home?" Edward 
 asked. "Let us first go to the point and back." 
 
 I acquiesced. I liked the drive to the point along 
 the river bank. The night was clearly lit with 
 stars. Two junks were creeping up the river, their 
 huge sails looming, in the twilight, like the out- 
 spread wings of a gigantic bat. The air from the 
 water was fresh. 
 
 "Now I am going to tell you about the first time 
 I saw you," said Edward. 
 
 "You have already," I answered. "It was in 
 the Temple of the Red-lipped Idols." 
 
 "No," he said. "It was exactly one year earlier. 
 There had been a heavy snowstorm in Philadelphia, 
 and the sleighing was good. I had hired a team of 
 horses and a small sleigh and had gone for a long 
 night ride. No wonder Ludwig of Bavaria was 
 
GLOWING NEEDLES 49 
 
 wild about snow at night ! It is the most wonderful, 
 the most fairylike sight on earth. I came back 
 through Fairmount Park along the Skuylkill and 
 down Diamond Street. It was after midnight, and 
 this part of the town was silent and soundless as a 
 desert, rows and rows of small brick houses exactly 
 alike, with lights out and shutters closed. At the 
 crossing of Twenty-third and Diamond an arc light 
 sputtered brightly. The horses were galloping softly 
 on the thick snow. The bells on their collars made 
 the only sound in the stillness of the sleeping city. 
 
 "At the corner, I looked up, suddenly and swiftly. 
 In a third-story window knelt a girl in a white gown 
 with a mass of soft brown hair loose upon her 
 shoulders. Our eyes met. She drew back, startled, 
 and the horses whirled me past. Like a knight of 
 old I have come searching for that girl. In that 
 lightning glance her spirit called to my spirit." 
 
 Edward turned and looked at me. "Do you 
 remember it?" he asked softly. 
 
 Mute with astonishment, I nodded. 
 
 "I had come home from the theater," I explained 
 later. "I had seen Mansfield in 'Peer Gynt', 
 and the spell of the play was still on me. I could 
 not go to bed, so I knelt at the window and waited. 
 I watched the electric light sparkle on the snowflakes. 
 The city was intensely still. Then, far off in the 
 remoteness, I heard sleigh bells. They seemed to 
 be what I had been waiting for. I had listened to 
 them for several minutes before the sleigh dashed 
 past, yet when you looked up, I was startled. I 
 drew back and knelt there, barkening, while the 
 
so MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 sound of the bells grew fainter. After I could hear 
 them no longer, I still knelt at the window, listening 
 and watching the light sparkle on the snow." 
 
 Edward's hand closed over mine. 
 
 "Though you fled halfway around the world to 
 escape me, you could not," he said. 
 
 I left my fingers in his. The air from the water 
 was cool and fresh in our faces. The gliding junks 
 were out of sight — only the wide, slow stream 
 crept along the bank. 
 
VI 
 
 A ROMANCE OF THE EAST 
 
 I WAS amusing myself and incidentally the chil- 
 dren by distributing a stack of old Christmas 
 cards in the ward. My explanations were some- 
 what crude and simple, as my Chinese vocabulary 
 was still limited. Doctor Donnellon and Miss 
 Lancaster came in. Miss Lancaster has charge of 
 the municipal orphanage for city waifs, and her sick 
 children are taken care of at St. Margaret's. 
 
 "I've just had a most embarrassing experience," 
 said Miss Lancaster, laughing at me. "I came to 
 take the 'Blue Moon' back with me, but she won't 
 come. She said the 'Summertime Doctor' (which 
 is my Chinese name) had given her two pennies, 
 and that if I would let her stay a little longer perhaps 
 the doctor would give her another." 
 
 "You are spoiling these children," said Doctor 
 Donnellon, shaking her finger at me. "A moment 
 ago the matron sent for me to see the owners of 
 'Weeping Willow', who wished to take her home. 
 The youngster was making a terrible rumpus, and 
 begging to be allowed to stay. What do you suppose 
 she said? 'Please, Foreign Healer, let me stay and 
 be the little slave of the hospital ! Here, when the 
 amahs beat me, their hands are light.' " 
 
52 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 "Poor little kid," I said, "I wish we could keep 
 them all." 
 
 "Even the little slave girls are better off than my 
 waifs," said Miss Lancaster. 
 
 A sudden commotion in the courtyard startled 
 us. Running to the nearest window, I saw four 
 men bringing in a long wicker couch, upon which lay 
 a figure closely covered with blankets. A dozen or 
 more men and women surrounded the couch. A 
 nurse came flying upstairs. 
 
 "She has eaten opium," she cried excitedly. 
 
 "Another one of those tragic cases," said Doctor 
 Donnellon, as we hurried down. "So often the 
 family only bring the victims to us as a last resort 
 when it is too late to save the patient." 
 
 Before coming to China I had never known that 
 eating opium was the favorite way of committing 
 suicide, nor had I imagined the alarming frequency 
 of such attempts. 
 
 The bearers had deposited the couch in the empty 
 clinic room. Some one uncovered the girl's face — 
 pale and tranquil as the face of one already lying in 
 the shadow of death. Its serene beauty fascinated 
 me. It seemed almost sacrilegious to begin artificial 
 respiration and energetic stimulation. Among the 
 group gathered round two figures stand out in my 
 memory. One was that of a woman who stood close 
 beside the young girl, looking at her fixedly. Now 
 and again she put out her hand and laid the back of 
 it against the girl's cheek. She neither cried nor 
 spoke. The other was a man dressed handsomely in 
 satin, who stood aside talking to the matron and 
 
A ROMANCE OF THE EAST 53 
 
 Doctor Donnellon. Now and again he glanced at 
 the girl, yet in his impassive face I could see no 
 trace of emotion. The rest of the group shrieked 
 and talked wildly and could not be quieted. Doctor 
 Donnellon gave her orders with the surety of 
 long experience. Slowly, rhythmically, we raised 
 the girl's arms above her head and crossed them 
 over her chest. There was no answering tinge 
 of color in her lips, no spontaneous flutter of her 
 breath. 
 
 "It's a hopeless case," said Doctor Donnellon. 
 "She ate the opium about ten this morning but 
 was not discovered till four this afternoon. Then 
 they brought her right around." 
 
 "Why did she take it?" I asked. "Was she a 
 slave?" 
 
 "No, she is a second wife," Doctor Donnellon 
 said. "That man is her husband. She has been 
 married about six months." 
 
 " I don't wonder she ate it," I exclaimed. " Prac- 
 tically she was a slave." 
 
 "Oh, no," Doctor Donnellon answered. "If the 
 first wife has no children, a Chinaman marries a 
 second, and if she bears him children, she is honored 
 above the first. In this case the Great Wife, as the 
 first is called, was very fond of this girl. The hus- 
 band also valued her highly. She was not at all 
 mistreated." 
 
 "Then why?" I asked again, raising my eyes to 
 Doctor Donnellon. Her face, beside that of the 
 immobile Chinese woman, had the same expression 
 of submission to fate. 
 
54 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 "She must die," interposed the Chinese woman, 
 again touching the girl's cold face. 
 
 "Because she was forced to leave her mother." 
 Doctor Donnellon answered. "This woman is her 
 mother." 
 
 I looked at the mother and daughter and pondered 
 upon the strange love that had held them together. 
 
 The woman touched Doctor Donnellon's arm. 
 " It is enough," she said. "The spirit is already gone. 
 Permit me now to take my daughter home and light 
 the red candles and offer the food that everything 
 may be fitting for the journey of her spirit." 
 
 Doctor Donnellon ceased her labor. Quiet, with 
 the strange, sure repose of death, the girl lay upon 
 the couch. Suddenly, some one began to laugh, and 
 immediately the entire group were laughing loudly. 
 I turned away. That sound of laughter as a greeting 
 to death always curdled my blood with horror. I 
 had heard it before in the wards when a patient 
 died, and the rest sat up in bed and laughed aloud. 
 Doctor Donnellon followed me out of the room. 
 
 "Doesn't it make you shiver?" I asked. 
 
 "Yes," she said, " I can't get used to it. It seems 
 heartless, but no one can accuse the Chinese of that. 
 Their loves are not our loves, but they are great 
 loves. Think of this young girl. She made one 
 early attempt to run home and was brought back. 
 Then she bought morphine, and the first wife found 
 it. This time she had been buying it little by little 
 for months and hiding it in her money belt till she 
 had enough for a fatal dose." 
 
 I was silent, considering what seemed to me a 
 
A ROMANCE OF THE EAST 53 
 
 childish, morbid, uncontrolled affection. Doctor 
 Donnellon must have read my thoughts. 
 
 "All great nations have their own peculiar 
 romance," she said. "In ancient times romance 
 lay in the friendship of man for man, in the David 
 and Jonathan sort of relationship. Later on, in 
 the feudal ages, romance dwelt in the service of a 
 vassal to his king, and loyalty was the great romance 
 of life. In our modern American world the love 
 of a man for a woman is the great romance." 
 
 I caught Doctor Donnellon's idea. "Not the 
 relationship, but the romance, is indispensable," I 
 said quickly. 
 
 ' ' Exactly, ' ' Doctor Donnellon replied. ' ' At home, 
 there is a new romance growing up, the friendship of 
 woman for woman, that parallels the ancient friend- 
 ship of men. But in China all romance centers in 
 the relation of parent to child. Marriage is no 
 more to them than an ordinary business enterprise." 
 
 We had reached the steps of the house during our 
 philosophizing, and Doctor Donnellon turned to 
 face the hospital. Its many windows and wide 
 verandahs gave it a comfortable, inviting appear- 
 ance. On the second-story porch, a group of waifs 
 were playing. The sun was low, and the sky 
 above the buildings burned a deep, golden yellow. 
 Already, close over the ground, a faint, misty veil 
 hung. With a quick, spontaneous motion. Doctor 
 Donnellon threw out one hand towards the hospital. 
 
 "There lies my romance," she said abruptly. 
 
 As if regretting her frankness, she turned quickly 
 and walked into the house, I sat down on the 
 
S6 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 steps and propped my elbows on my knees. A 
 profound sense of melancholy enveloped me, and 
 the tragic death of the young Chinese girl filled me 
 with sadness. Twilight fell while I brooded. One 
 by one the stars came out, and each one made me 
 lonelier than before. Then Edward came. 
 
 "What is the matter with you, Wilhelmina?" he 
 asked. "You look as if some one had hurt you." 
 
 I looked up at him gratefully. I was thankful 
 for his mere presence. 
 
 "Life in general hurts, doesn't it?" I answered. 
 "Everything goes wrong. All love is wasted and 
 lost." 
 
 I recounted the events of the afternoon, shivering 
 a little as I retold the story. 
 
 "I believe you are cold," Edward exclaimed. 
 "Put this on." 
 
 He wrapped the coat which he had been carrying 
 over his arm around my shoulders. "You don't 
 even know how to take care of yourself. You need 
 a man to look after you. The trouble with you 
 modern women is that you are all sensitiveness and 
 no strength, no endurance, no robust optimism. A 
 man knows it will all come out right, for he is so 
 delightfully conceited that he trusts his own powers 
 to right the whole world." 
 
 Edward seated himself beside me and shamelessly 
 put his arm around me. The strength of it com- 
 forted me, and I dropped against him, my head on 
 his shoulder. The words of the wise old psalmist 
 came to my mind : "A man shall be as the shadow of 
 a great rock in a weary land." 
 
VII 
 
 THE BUSINESS OF LIFE 
 
 WE will have to hurry if we expect to be 
 ready by eleven o'clock," said Doctor 
 Donnellon, as we started across the 
 compound after breakfast to the hospital. "The 
 carriage is coming at that hour." 
 
 "I'll begin the dressings right away," I answered. 
 "I am quite eager to see what a Chinese wedding 
 feast is like." 
 
 "This will be a modified festival on our account," 
 replied Doctor Donnellon. "Nevertheless it will 
 give you some idea of the Chinese customs." 
 
 At the hospital we parted. Doctor Donnellon to 
 make medical rounds, and I to do the surgical 
 dressings. One of the head nurses was also invited 
 to the feast, as the old lady whose son was being 
 married had been treated in the hospital. They 
 were a very modern family. The old dowager 
 sent her daughters-in-law to the hospital for their 
 babies. 
 
 At eleven o'clock Doctor Donnellon and I were 
 dressed and ready. I had consulted Doctor 
 Donnellon as to what I should wear and was 
 accordingly dressed in shirt waist and skirt. She 
 wore her brown fur coat and cap. 
 
S8 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 "Probably we shall have to wait an hour or so 
 before the carriage comes. Chinese have no idea 
 of time," said Doctor Donnellon, settling herself at 
 her desk. "A Chinese feast is a reluctant duty 
 for me." 
 
 "Oh, I think it will be quite exciting," I answered. 
 
 "It's all very well for you," Doctor Donnellon 
 replied. "You are new and fresh. Even managing 
 chopsticks will amuse you. But Chinese feasts are 
 old stories to me. Wait till you have tried it, three 
 hours at table with Chinese women, and no real 
 conversation at all ; besides that, there will be at 
 least thirty dishes to sample. Let me warn you, child, 
 do be careful. Choose what you eat and only eat a 
 little. The cooking is savory, and most foreigners 
 are apt to overeat." 
 
 "I'm glad I don't know much Chinese," I said. 
 "I will only have to smile and eat, and eat and 
 smile." 
 
 "As a continuous performance, that is not as 
 easy as you think," said Doctor Donnellon. 
 
 Mio-Kung announced the arrival of the carriage. 
 The eldest daughter-in-law, mother of three sons, had 
 come in a ricksha to escort us. It was then almost 
 twelve, and we still had to wait while A-doo finished 
 dressing. When she joined us, I was astonished at 
 her fine appearance. She was dressed in plum- 
 colored satin and wore a quantity of jewelry — two 
 gold rings, a beautiful jade ring, and a long jade 
 hairpin. A-doo and the daughter-in-law rode in 
 rickshas, while we rode in the carriage. I had hardly 
 recognized the daughter-in-law in her best clothes 
 
THE BUSINESS OF LIFE 59 
 
 of black satin lined with turquoise blue, and her 
 many gold bracelets and pearl ornaments. The 
 carriage crossed Nanking Road, drove around the 
 Race Course, and took the road to the Native 
 City. 
 
 " I had no idea they lived so far away," exclaimed 
 Doctor Donnellon. "I imagined they were just 
 around the corner." 
 
 "I thought there were no carriage roads in the 
 Native City," I said. "The other day we saw 
 nothing but alleys." 
 
 "These horse roads are new and have been cut 
 through since the Revolution," answered Doctor 
 Donnellon. "When I first came out, a carriage in 
 the Native City was an unheard-of thing." 
 
 We entered by the New North Gate cut through 
 the wall a year ago. A three-storied temple with 
 ancient casement windows of leaded glass clung to 
 the inner side of the wall. The road, though wide 
 enough for our small coup6, barely allowed a ricksha 
 to squeeze past us, while it would have been quite 
 impossible to turn or to pass another vehicle. A 
 footman ran at the horse's head shouting and clear- 
 ing the way, "The horse carriage comes, The horse 
 carriage comes." As we penetrated the city more 
 deeply the road narrowed till the wheels of the 
 wagon scraped the walls of the houses. Suddenly 
 we were stopped by a Chinese policeman. The 
 footman and coachman and policeman had a heated 
 conversation, which ended by the footman dashing 
 on ahead. 
 
 "I suppose that driving through this street is 
 
6o MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 against 'Old Custom'," said Doctor Donnellon, 
 "and the footman has gone on ahead to collect 
 enough money to bribe the policeman." 
 
 We became at once the center of a closely packed 
 crowd, very good-natured and laughing but intensely 
 personal. Men with youngsters perched astride 
 their shoulders, women with baskets of food, and 
 numberless children clustered around us. 
 
 "See, the outside-kingdom woman wears her 
 clothes inside out," laughed a young girl, pointing 
 at Doctor Donnellon's coat which was made with the 
 fur on the outside. 
 
 "She, I think, is the Elder Sister," continued the 
 loquacious one, "while the small one is the Little 
 Sister. The Little Sister has no earrings, but she 
 has round pieces of gold in two teeth. I myself 
 prefer gold in the ears." 
 
 "What a pity she has such a very big nose," 
 remarked an old woman, peering at me over the 
 young girl's shoulder. "I am sure her feet are 
 large too." 
 
 "Really, this is awful, Doctor Donnellon," I said 
 desperately. "I never imagined I would mind it, 
 but it grows embarrassing after a while. You never 
 know what they will say next." 
 
 "They say anything they please," said Doctor 
 Donnellon, "and it never ends. They keep on and 
 on, and it grows worse and worse. At a new station 
 in the interior, the Chinese just swarm over the 
 mission-house like ants in an ant hill. They line 
 the dining room wall to watch the missionaries eat, 
 they enter the bedroom to see the quality of the beds, 
 
THE BUSINESS OF LIFE 61 
 
 and they often try to watch the novel and dangerous 
 process of bathing, immersed in a tub." 
 
 Doctor Donnellon leaned out of the window and 
 began conversing with the crowd. 
 
 "From where has she such clear words?" I heard 
 the old hag exclaim. "Her doctrine is truly good to 
 hear, but her clothes are very ugly to look upon." 
 
 Her attitude astounded me. Would I ever be 
 able to foretell the Oriental point of view? 
 
 After a half an hour or so of waiting, the footman 
 returned, the policeman was appropriately mollified, 
 and we proceeded unmolested on our way. 
 
 The bridegroom's house opened directly upon the 
 street. A wide gate in a high wall led into a shallow 
 courtyard which was separated by a few steps from 
 the main guest hall. This was a high, raftered room 
 whose walls were hung from ceiling to floor with 
 banners of scarlet satin. Heavily embroidered gold 
 characters ran up and down the banners, proclaiming 
 "Long Life and Happiness" and many other 
 blessings in the shape of riches and sons. In the 
 center of the wall facing the door stood a polished 
 redwood table on which were placed the ceremonial 
 candles and offerings. The seats of honor for the 
 Chinese guests were placed along the sides of the 
 room, a table and a chair, a table and a chair, in strict 
 and orderly sequence against the wall. Each table and 
 chair was covered with a cloth of crimson satin also 
 heavily embroidered with threads of gold and black. 
 Thesideof theroom facing the court was entirely open. 
 Four slender, round columns supported the roof. 
 Dwarf peach trees and mimosas in ancient porcelain 
 
62 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 flower bowls of blue and white stood in the corners 
 of the court by the shallow steps. Standing on the 
 threshold to greet us was the sprightly old dowager 
 and her four handsome sons, all sumptuously dressed 
 in brocaded Chinese satins. 
 
 It was a scene of bygone days of splendor, of the 
 ancient, clannish, patriarchal life of the forgotten 
 past. The gorgeousness and harmony of the picture 
 took my breath away. I could not have imagined 
 anything more effective than that wide, open room, 
 with its high, sloping ceiling and its riotous crimson 
 and gold walls. 
 
 Doctor Donnellon looked at me triumphantly. 
 
 "I thought you would be pleasantly surprised," 
 she said. "Wait till you have seen the bride's 
 trousseau." 
 
 A host of household servants, coolies, amahs, and 
 children, were constantly coming and going. We 
 were ushered into a small reception room to rest 
 and refresh ourselves. Sweetmeats were placed be- 
 fore us — sugared lotus buds, and watermelon seeds, 
 and puffed rice candy. We sat about the little, 
 marble-topped tables and nibbled the sweets and 
 made the conventional inquiries. Then we were 
 led to the bride's apartment. She had arrived the 
 night before. 
 
 We entered a long room in which a young girl was 
 standing alone. One arm hung at her side, and the 
 other was stretched up along the parted curtains of 
 the nuptial bed. She was immaculately dressed and 
 rouged and bejeweled. Her oval face, with its high 
 cheek bones and low-bridged nose, gave that illusive, 
 
THE BUSINESS OF LIFE 63 
 
 Oriental appearance of calm. She gave me an Im- 
 pression of immense isolation. Yet she was utterly- 
 composed and knew exactly what was expected of 
 her in the traditional position of bride. The dowager 
 mother-in-law, the three other daughters-in-law, 
 and numerous young granddaoghuters accompanied 
 us. 
 
 "Don't be afraid to look at everything. Touch 
 and examine things," Doctor Donnellon said to me. 
 "They will be disappointed if you don't. Think of 
 what your very best manners are and then do the 
 opposite." 
 
 Thus emboldened, I turned towards the bed 
 where the young girl was still standing immobile. 
 It was of deeply glowing redwood, lovely as the 
 loveliest mahogany, carved and hung with silken 
 curtains. On one side the curtains were looped 
 back with heavy silver chains, the hook shaped like 
 a hand with clasping fingers. Many bright-colored 
 balls and fantastic ornaments hung from the curtain 
 rods. 
 
 "What a comfort it is to be so frankly mate- 
 rialistic," Doctor Donnellon said, "and not to have 
 to pretend one only cares for the giver of a present." 
 
 "Yes, it is simpler," I laughed. 
 
 The old mother-in-law proudly displayed the bride 
 to us, her ruddy cheeks, her health, her many pearl 
 ornaments and gold bracelets. The bride, immobile 
 and silent, suffered it all. Along one side of the wall 
 from floor to ceiling were piled her trunks, handsome 
 boxes of polished wood with hoops of beaten brass. 
 Over each keyhole was a beaten brass butterfly 
 
64 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 with spread wings whose body moved aside to dis- 
 close the keyhole. 
 
 "What is the meaning of the shiny balls hanging 
 along the bed?" I asked. 
 
 "They are all best wishes for the safe arrival of 
 sons," explained Doctor Donnellon. " I suppose you 
 think it is a little early to think about sons, but sons 
 are the one thought and aim of a Chinese marriage. 
 The bride knows it as well as the groom. Getting 
 married and having children is the business of life, 
 and they set about it in a most business-like, matter- 
 of-fact way." 
 
 Of course I had known all this before, but I 
 realized it more acutely when I saw the young bride 
 standing by the bedside in the house of her husband. 
 I felt a sudden revulsion against this brutal Chinese 
 attitude. Materialists, sensualists, I called them to 
 myself. When we left the bride's room, she was 
 standing again by the curtains of the bed, gazing 
 after us with her inscrutable eyes. During our 
 entire visit she had not spoken a word. Was she 
 merely a living image, a symbol of an ancient rite, 
 or a young girl, aquiver with life, curbed by the 
 iron custom of years into that attitude of strange 
 impassivity ! I wanted to speak to her alone, to 
 touch her hand, to make her smile. I wondered 
 if endearments and caresses would change her back 
 into something quick and responsive, or would she 
 always remain so, silent, motionless, gazing at us 
 with her soft brown eyes. 
 
 Of course I never spoke to her. I had no chance. 
 The old dowager carried us off to show us the rest 
 
THE BUSINESS OF LIFE 65 
 
 of the house, and she was left there alone, standing 
 by her bedside, in the quiet of the empty room, 
 waiting till the next visitors came to look her over. 
 She haunted me. While I looked at all the beautiful 
 things that were shown to us, I kept on thinking of 
 her. How strange are our fates ! If she bore sons 
 she would be happy ! There she waited the test 
 of life. Did she think? Did she feel? Or was 
 she concentrated in merely waiting? I never saw 
 her again. 
 
 At last the feast began. The old dowager and 
 her two eldest daughters-in-law ate with us. The 
 men ate in a room apart. 
 
 "Where are the bride and groom?" I asked. 
 
 "For one month they have the privilege of eating 
 alone together in the bride's apartment," the dowager 
 replied. 
 
 My mind leaped upon that reply. What would 
 the young girl find to say to this man she had never 
 seen before, she who had never spoken to a man alone 
 in her whole life ? How mysterious everyday events 
 are! 
 
 "What beautiful ivory chopsticks," Doctor 
 Donnellon exclaimed, much to the delight of the 
 family, who wished everything to be effusively 
 admired. I watched Doctor Donnellon enviously. 
 She used her chopsticks as if born to them. Mine 
 wobbled around hopelessly in my fingers. Fore- 
 seeing such a contingency, a silver fork, made like 
 a hairpin with an extra prong for a handle, was given 
 to me. I speared the morsels on it and nibbled from 
 them as daintily as I could. 
 
66 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 The feast was indeed marvelous. All the well- 
 known dishes were served — the meat and vegetable 
 salad called "The Mandarin's Hat", "The Eight 
 Precious Pudding" with its dates and raisins, in- 
 numerable small omelets, meat patties, pigeon eggs, 
 wild duck, fried batter, and last of all rice and tea. 
 
 "I really and truly can't eat another mouthful," 
 I said in despair to Doctor Donnellon. 
 
 "Never mind, you don't have to eat the rice," 
 she said. "It is quite polite to leave it, as that 
 shows that the feast has been so ample and delicious 
 that you do not need the rice to complete your meal." 
 
 As a sign that she had finished. Doctor Donnellon 
 waved her chopsticks in the air and laid them down 
 across her bowl of rice, uttering the customary 
 phrase of Chinese etiquette, "Use slowly", to the 
 rest. The old dowager lifted the chopsticks from 
 across the bowl and placed them on the table as a 
 sign that Doctor Donnellon was urged to eat more, 
 saying insistently, "Eat plenty." After this cere- 
 mony had been performed by each member of the 
 party and the tea drunk, the feast was over. The 
 family, the children, and their servitors all crowded 
 into the great guest hall to see us off. The gate 
 man bolted the door in the wall behind us, shutting 
 in the splendor of the crimson-hung room, and we 
 were again in the narrow, muddy alley in the Chinese 
 City. As we passed along by the windowless walls, 
 I wondered what strange spectacles were to be seen 
 behind their jealous doors, and I fell to dreaming 
 about the hidden, mysterious life going on so remorse- 
 lessly and stealthily behind those closed gates. 
 
THE BUSINESS OF LIFE 67 
 
 Doctor Donnellon roused me by a sigh of relief. 
 " I'm glad it's over," she said. " It is a tremendous 
 strain to be polite according to Chinese etiquette 
 for four hours." 
 
 On Nanking Road I saw Edward striding along 
 briskly towards St. Margaret's hospital. 
 
 " If you don't mind, I'll get out and walk with Mr. 
 Stevens," I said. "I feel like a stuffed pig." A 
 few minutes later Edward and I were swinging along 
 together, and I had launched into a full description 
 of the feast. 
 
 "I wish I had been there," exclaimed Edward 
 enthusiastically. "They must be a pretty rich old 
 family. I delight in the frank pleasure these old 
 codgers take in their possessions. They are far 
 more sincere than we." 
 
 "I didn't feel that way," I said. "I was op- 
 pressed, weighed down, by their evident worship 
 of things. Their accumulation of objects stifled 
 me." 
 
 Edward smiled one of his wise smiles, and I felt 
 myself blushing, for I had spoken with some heat. 
 
 "You are betraying one of your handicaps in 
 life, Wilhelmina," he said, looking at me with ten- 
 der eyes, "your spirituality. Spirituality is, in all 
 truth, 'other worldliness. ' People with a love for 
 things have a firmer grip on the life of this everyday 
 world. Now, take me, for instance ; I would make 
 a good anchor for you." 
 
VIII 
 
 THE SONG OF THE COOLIES 
 
 YOU might as well marry Edward Stevens 
 at once and be done with it," said Doc- 
 tor Donnellon. 
 We had made evening rounds together and were 
 standing on the wide second-story verandah over- 
 looking the compound. Behind us on the porch was 
 a row of beds containing the cases of bone and gland 
 tuberculosis. Before us lay the brief breathing space 
 of the compound's grass plot, walled in by a mass of 
 Chinese houses. Their peaked roofs cut across the 
 purple, silver-spangled sky in fantastic outlines. As 
 we stood by the railing listening, I heard the palm 
 leaves softly rattling against each other. From a 
 near-by alley came the weird, insistent song of a 
 "carry coolie" : 
 
 i 
 
 =t 
 
 IE 
 
 ^E 
 
 =t 
 
 Flung out into the night the notes dominated the air. 
 
 "Well, why don't you?" Doctor Donnellon 
 repeated. fS 
 
 Without turning my head, I answered. "I don't 
 want to marry at all. It's quite another thing for a 
 
THE SONG OP THE COOLIES 69 
 
 man. It is no deprivation, no loss, merely a gratifica- 
 tion, and an expansion. For women it is different. 
 Marriage is the fundamental self-sacrifice. It means 
 the giving up of conscious, individual life ; it means 
 wilfully stepping out of the wild, up-rushing, tingling 
 current of modern activity to merge oneself into the 
 slow growth of the race. I can't do it," I cried. 
 
 1 won t. 
 
 "Marriage is the function of woman," insisted 
 Doctor Donnellon. 
 
 "Not of all women," I objected. 
 
 " Making babies is their one perfect art," she added 
 softly. 
 
 "If more women refused to expend all their 
 vitality in making babies, they would have enough 
 left for art," I retorted. 
 
 "Is art more necessary than babies?" Doctor 
 Donnellon asked. "Is any work of art as perfectly 
 beautiful as a new-born babe?" 
 
 We stood in the silence of the evening. Not a 
 sound of civilization struck our ears. Then, the 
 coolie's cry, which had ceased a moment, began 
 again. I listened till it grew fainter and fainter in 
 the distance. His was the song of the burden 
 bearers. 
 
 "Do you remember Wadsworth's Lucy poems?" 
 I asked, suddenly turning to Doctor Donnellon. 
 "'Whirled round with rocks and stones and all 
 inanimate, insensate things in the mighty cosmic 
 circle.' I think of marriage like that." 
 
 Doctor Donnellon laid her hand on my shoulder 
 and stooped to peer into my eyes. 
 
70 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 "Try it, child," she said. "We are all torn by 
 the ineradicable desire." 
 
 As I followed her silently down the ward, I recalled 
 my surprise when I first saw a ward in a Chinese 
 hospital. Whiteness had grown so identical with 
 cleanliness in my mind that the many-colored 
 ward startled me — black bedsteads, blue quilts, 
 pink walls. To-night, this color scheme seemed 
 to me the most natural in the world. Besides, I 
 liked it. I found myself liking everything in the 
 hospital with a strange intensity, as one does who 
 will soon leave. 
 
 About a week later Edward and I went off for a 
 long walk through the winding paths between the 
 fields. The rape was ripe and covered the whole 
 earth with its golden blossoms like a cloak. 
 
 "You ought to get out more often, Wilhelmina," 
 said Edward. "You are very pale." 
 
 "You mean 'as sallow as a duck's foot'," I 
 answered, laughing. "But really I get out at least 
 one afternoon a week, which is more than I could 
 be sure of at home." 
 
 You can't compare America with China," Edward 
 answered. "In America, the air itself is electricity. 
 It's a penalty to loaf. Here, it's an insidious leth- 
 argy that makes all work double the effort. No one 
 can work here as he does at home. It's pre- 
 posterous." 
 
 "No one does," I answered wistfully, remember- 
 ing the merry days when I too was a part of the 
 giddy whirl. 
 
 "Americans are the only busy people on the earth," 
 
THE SONG OF THE COOLIES 71 
 
 continued Edward, well launched on a favorite 
 hobby of his. 
 
 I walked ahead on the narrow footpath with 
 Edward close behind me. I heard his voice dreamily, 
 hardly noticing the words, or their import. My 
 eyes wandered idly over the wide plains, studded 
 here and there with a low hut encircled in black 
 cypresses. At one small group of houses we found 
 the women out hanging up cotton thread to dry. 
 They stretched it on a series of T-shaped sticks, 
 several of them working together. The children, 
 sociable and jolly, played around their skirts. 
 Little streams meandered by, and we crossed them 
 on ancient, primeval stepping-stones made of great 
 slabs, rude and strong enough for the days of the 
 Pharaohs. Now and then a wolfish cur ran out at 
 us. The chimneys of Shanghai were but a smudge 
 on the horizon. We were plunged in hoary antiq- 
 uity. It was not only due to the different land- 
 scape and the clothes and occupations of the people, 
 but more than anything else it was due to the look 
 on their faces. They were utterly different, alien, 
 soaked with the life of the earth, quick with the 
 change of the seasons, strangely happy. I looked 
 at them wonderingly, marvelling at their happiness. 
 So far apart were we thrust by. the centuries that 
 our minds could only touch at the elemental points 
 of bodily sensations. I wondered if I too could 
 drop back, could forget the present and touch, as 
 they did, the strange, illusive, subtle forces of 
 nature. Edward's voice startled me out of my day 
 dream. 
 
72 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 "Here we are at the Creek," he said. "Shall we 
 hail a boat and float down instead of walking back ? " 
 
 We had emerged at a ferry landing. Smooth 
 stone slabs supported on wooden piles led from the 
 high bank to the water. I suddenly felt tired. 
 
 "Yes," I answered simply. 
 
 "Sit here," said Edward, folding his coat into a 
 cushion. "We may not be able to get a boat at 
 once — one clean enough, I mean." 
 
 He ran down the steps to parley with the ferryman. 
 From the rape fields behind me came the faint, 
 distant "song of the coolies", growing clearer and 
 sharper. Soon five men emerged from the path, 
 carrying baskets of cabbage slung on bamboo poles 
 across their shoulders. I watched them file down 
 the stone stairway and step carefully on to the 
 ferry. The ferryman, a boy of about sixteen, poled 
 them across. A cool draft of air was wafted up 
 from the yellow-brown water. Beside me was a 
 battered temple in which sat a forsaken Buddha in 
 his attitude of eternal calm, with knees crossed and 
 smiling vermilion lips. A pervasive mystery exuded 
 from this decayed temple, from the swaying rape 
 seed, and the swiftly flowing river. For ages and 
 eons of time it had been the same. I seemed to 
 sink into this universal life, to be swallowed up by it. 
 
 "Here comes a cleanish junk," called Edward. 
 
 I ran down the flight of stone slabs and stepped 
 on the ferry. It poled out to midstream and drew 
 up alongside the chosen junk, and we easily jumped 
 across. The boat, long and narrow, was taking 
 garden truck to the Shanghai markets. The 
 
THE SONG OF THE COOLIES 73 
 
 vegetables were piled in a sunken cradle in the 
 center of the boat. Two men were working side by 
 side at the long stern oar. 
 
 "This is much cleaner than most of them," said 
 Edward. "We were lucky." 
 
 I made no reply ; I was tongue-tied. In silence 
 we seated ourselves in the prow of the boat. I felt 
 more and more unreal, as I watched the house boats 
 tugged up stream, each boat accommodating one or 
 two families in its one small cabin. The faces 
 that looked out at me were strange, like the faces 
 seen in a fantastic nightmare. 
 
 "What's the matter, Wilhelmina?" Edward asked. 
 " I believe you are completely tired out. In the 
 name of thunder, why won't you marry me? I 
 would make of my love for you a wall to protect 
 you from all weariness and sorrow. Why won't 
 you understand ? " 
 
 Edward leaned closer, and his face too became as 
 one of the dream faces. 
 
 "It's you who don't understand," I whispered. 
 
 The junk swept around a bend in the stream. The 
 link with the past was snapped, and the present, 
 with all its immediate urgency, rushed upon us. 
 Just as we turned the corner we saw a house boat 
 with a pretentious, enclosed cabin slowly and 
 sedately turn turtle. 
 
 Our rowers dropped their oars and rushed for- 
 ward, shrieking wildly. Several other boats began 
 to float around aimlessly, while their occupants 
 screamed and yelled. In the midst of the stream the 
 overturned, flat-bottomed boat floated serenely. No 
 
74 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 sound came from within it. I wondered if the im- 
 prisoned family were screaming. 
 
 "Make the idiots stop yelling, can't you, Wilhel- 
 mina," said Edward. "We must get there at once 
 and chop those fellows out." 
 
 "Won't the boat turn back?" I asked. 
 
 "It can't," Edward answered. "The roof must 
 be caught in the muddy bottom." 
 
 My lethargy dropped away. I shouted at the 
 coolies in dialect, and they pushed our boat beside 
 the upturned hulk. From a second junk Edward 
 got an ax. Leaping upon the boat, he began to 
 chop at the wooden planks. Up and down the creek, 
 the hollow sound of the falling ax echoed and re- 
 echoed. 
 
 "Confound the wood," Edward growled. "It 
 must be teak. It's as hard as stone." 
 
 Two Chinese sprang across from a junk that had 
 just arrived, they and Edward took turns chopping. 
 Their faces grew red from exertion, and streams of 
 water dripped from their hands. 
 
 "We'll be too late," Edward cried. "She's filling. 
 I feel her settle." 
 
 As if to answer his fear, a cry penetrated the 
 wooden walls of the cabin and floated up through 
 the water. The next crash of Edward's ax cut 
 an air hole through. After the first opening was 
 made, the wood splintered in all directions. Edward 
 plunged in his hand and caught a Chinaman's arm. 
 While the other men continued ripping and tearing 
 at the planks, Edward pulled the fellow out through 
 the hole. I shall never forget the sheer fright 
 
THE SONG OF THE COOLIES 75 
 
 depicted on his face — eyes rolled upwards, lips 
 blue, and every inch of hair on his close-cropped head 
 standing erect. 
 
 "How many more inside?" I called to him. 
 
 He held up two fingers. 
 
 No sooner were his feet out of the hole than a 
 second Chinese face appeared. This man was fat. 
 After he had poked his head and shoulders through, 
 the rest of his body stuck. At the sight, the 
 spectators began to laugh uncontrollably. Edward 
 threw down his ax and held his sides with laughter. 
 The fat, terrified man, hanging by his armpits, made 
 a ridiculous figure. Suddenly I remembered there 
 was a third inside. 
 
 "Hurry, Edward, pull him out," I cried. "There 
 is another one inside. Don't waste so much time. 
 The last one will drown." 
 
 The two Chinese began tugging at the out- 
 stretched arms of the fat man. A sound of loud 
 ripping and tearing of cloth rewarded their efforts. 
 The next instant they jerked out a comparatively 
 thin man, leaving his cocoon of padded garments 
 stuck like a cork in the opening. He promptly 
 collapsed upon the roof. Edward and I tore away 
 his clothes and peered into the hole. At first we 
 could distinguish nothing, but as our eyes grew 
 accustomed to the semi-darkness, we saw that about 
 three feet of air space remained above the surface 
 of the water. Stools and tables and eating bowls 
 were floating about, bobbing against each other. 
 
 "I see no one," said Edward, drawing back. 
 
 ' ' How many inside ? " I again asked the rescued men. 
 
76 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 Simultaneously they each held up one finger. 
 
 "Must catchee one piecee woman," said the first. 
 
 "Never mind. Belong second wife," added the 
 second. 
 
 As Edward caught their meaning, he quickly began 
 taking off his coat and shoes. While I watched him 
 prepare to dive into that submerged room, I suddenly 
 knew that I loved him, and the knowledge filled me 
 with a strange terror and a strange pride. 
 
 Edward let himself down feet foremost. A 
 moment his fingers clung to the opening, then they 
 too disappeared, and I heard a dull splash in the 
 cabin. I knelt at the hole. I believe some one 
 held my feet to prevent my falling in. I stared at 
 the heavy darkness till my eyes blinked with tears. 
 At last, when I could scarcely see, I realized that 
 Edward's head had appeared at the surface of the 
 water. The next moment he raised himself shoulder 
 high and dragged up the form of an unconscious 
 woman. 
 
 "I can't lift her," he called. "I am standing 
 on a stool on a table, and it's very shaky. Throw 
 me a rope. Quick. I am afraid she is too far 
 gone. She was lying on the bottom covered by 
 the bed." 
 
 "A rope! A rope!" I called to the Chinese. In 
 despair I wondered where I could find a rope in the 
 middle of Soochow Creek. But I had forgotten 
 the ways of the river. A boy shinned up the mast 
 of the next boat and deftly detached the tow rope 
 from its summit. The tow-man on the shore 
 stepped out of his harness, and in a second a long 
 
THE SONG OF THE COOLIES 77 
 
 strong rope was ready. The men lowered an end 
 to Edward. 
 
 "Ready, pull," he called, but be careful. She is 
 unconscious." 
 
 When the men had drawn the woman out, I too 
 was sure she was dead. But "once a doctor, always 
 a doctor." My hypodermic case, as usual, was in 
 my wrist bag. After an injection I began artificial 
 respiration. Before I knew it, Edward was beside 
 me, helping with the rhythmic, swinging motions of 
 her arms. I was oblivious of all but the unconscious 
 woman lying on the planks of the upturned boat. 
 Her face was immobile and pallid as a death mask, 
 but her heart was still beating. Gradually a 
 faint pink tinge spread over her lips and finger tips. 
 Then my attention relaxed, and I suddenly became 
 conscious that our boat was the center of a closely 
 packed flotilla of junks from which hundreds of 
 bright brown eyes scrutinized us with interested 
 curiosity. Coolies, with their burdens resting at 
 their feet, were ranged along both banks. In the 
 distance the song of approaching coolies grew more 
 and more distinct. 
 
 Never till I die will I forget that song of the coolies, 
 monotonous, insistent, throbbing with a hidden 
 power, the song of the burden bearers of the earth. 
 At that moment I merged myself with them. 
 
 The girl drew a hesitating, fluttering breath. The 
 bystanders gave a triumphant shout. I straightened 
 myself and walked back to our hired boat. Slowly 
 the impacted mass of junks wormed itself apart. 
 Once again Edward and I, sitting on the prow of our 
 
78 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 boat, drifted down stream towards Shanghai. I 
 was tired and leaned against Edward's shoulder in an 
 abandonment of content. 
 
 "Do you love me?" he murmured into my ear. 
 
 " I don't know," I answered. "But I am glad it's 
 decided. The rest doesn't matter." 
 
 Along the shore path, the coolies hurried back and 
 forth, carrying their ceaseless burdens, singing ever 
 the same, weird, monotonous song, the Song of the 
 Burden Bearers of the East. 
 
IX 
 
 THE WARM GRAVE 
 
 COURTING is just as happy a time for a 
 girl in China as anywhere else under the 
 sun. All the world seemed to aid and abet 
 us. If Edward so much as called for afternoon 
 tea, as soon as the tea was drunk everybody would 
 fade away from the room, leaving Edward and me 
 together. I found it a little strange at first, but I 
 must confess that I liked it. On the whole it was an 
 excellent plan. It seemed as if all the world were 
 pushing us together — not only the people, Doctor 
 Donnellon and Miss Laurie, but all the inanimate 
 Chinese things about us. 
 
 My importance was greatly heightened in the 
 eyes of the nurses. "When will you be married?" 
 I was asked a dozen times a day. I always said 
 I didn't know, which surprised them very much. 
 As soon as a Chinese girl is betrothed, her mar- 
 riage month is set. Once I heard them whisper- 
 ing among themselves. "Astonishing! Is it not 
 strange? She does not know when she is to be 
 married." 
 
 But I didn't want to know. The world suited 
 me to a T. I didn't want it changed one iota. 
 Loving Edward seemed to make a great difference 
 
8o MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 in me. It seemed somehow to make me more a 
 part of the rest of the world, even more a part of 
 China, as if I had suddenly found a key to under- 
 standing. Before I had only looked through a 
 peephole at life ; now I was inside. 
 
 One evening Edward came to take me driving in 
 one of the small Chinese victorias. It was well 
 along in June, and the days and nights were both 
 warm. All our woolen things had been hung out 
 on the second-story porch long ago to sun, before 
 the willow fuzz began to fly, and then had been 
 carefully put away in camphorwood or tin boxes 
 for the summer. Even in the evenings we only 
 needed a light silk scarf. The Chinese men had 
 discarded all semblance of upper garments for the 
 summer, and the women on the street wore trans- 
 parent gauze skirts over their thin summer trousers. 
 Punkahs and electric fans waved during meals, and 
 at night we slept out on the upstairs porch on bam- 
 boo couches without any covers. In the daytime 
 we rested when work was over. Only at night could 
 one enjoy motion. 
 
 I never get over a feeling of opulence when I lean 
 back in a victoria, no matter how shaky the vehicle 
 or how shabby the driver. 
 
 "Don't keep her out too late," warned Doctor 
 Donnellon. "We have a hard operation to-morrow 
 morning, and we must all be fresh for it." 
 
 "We won't be long," said Edward. "We are 
 going out along Soochow Creek and back by the 
 Rubicon Road." 
 
 The Rubicon is the last outlying ribbon of foreign 
 
THE WARM GRAVE 8i 
 
 influence around Shanghai. Across it lie the path- 
 less fields of China itself. 
 
 On the shafts of the carriage hung two large, 
 illumined, paper lanterns, shedding a fitful colored 
 light on the ground at the horse's head. The streets 
 were a mass of rickshas and people. Children, 
 amply dressed in a red handkerchief, played by the 
 roadside. At the doorways of the houses sat little 
 family groups, the father mayhap with the youngest 
 baby perched astride his shoulder. Here and there 
 a man was playing the primitive violin of the people. 
 Its wailing, plaintive notes hung like a subtle en- 
 chantment on the air. We passed a boy blowing a 
 flute, driving home to the stables a herd of unwieldy 
 buffaloes. Their huge, humped, black • silhouettes 
 were unreal in the night. We turned down Myburgh 
 Road and out on to the thoroughfare of Bubbling 
 Well. There foreign motor cars mingled with the 
 rickshas. A handsome Sikh policeman saluted me 
 as we passed. 
 
 "How do you know him?" asked Edward. 
 
 "Oh ! I know half the policemen in town. First 
 of all, they bring their wives to St. Margaret's for 
 treatment, and secondly they bring in a lot of 
 municipal cases. But this man is a special friend 
 of mine. He thinks I saved the life of his wife." 
 
 Edward smiled at me, and I felt a warm rush of 
 happiness tingle through me. 
 
 "I had such a queer sensation when he came to 
 take her away. She was standing in the hospital 
 court with her baby in her arms. They were both 
 dressed in some gaudy color and wrapped up to the 
 
82 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 eyes. The Sikh, very tall and imposing in his 
 municipal uniform of blue serge, said something 
 rapidly to the woman that I couldn't understand. 
 She nodded her head. The next moment he was on 
 the ground, kissing my feet. I felt humble and 
 elated at the same moment. The homage woke up 
 a primitive feeling of delight in power over people. 
 I was rather scared to find how much I enjoyed it." 
 
 Along the road, the houses stood wide open to the 
 fragrant night air. We could look right in and see 
 groups of men and women in white on the veran- 
 dahs. Opposite the Burlington Hotel, a long row 
 of plastered Chinese houses was overflowing with 
 Chinese children. An eat-shop next door was 
 doing a good business. Then we left the city behind 
 us and drove out rapidly into the country. We 
 passed through Zau-Ka-Doo, where the silk filatures 
 were silent for the night, and came out beside Soo- 
 chow Creek. At once the air blew cool and damp 
 in our faces. The lights of the city and houses 
 gone, the world seemed to grow in immensity and 
 stretch away infinitely under the moon. I imagined 
 it stretching away and away till it touched Russia 
 and America, joining hands across the continent. 
 Down the silent river the junks, with their tall, 
 oblong sails, floated mysteriously. Now and then 
 the creak of an oar came to our ears, or the harsh 
 call of the ferryman. Willows grew along the bank, 
 and a pale silver moon hung in the sky. 
 
 " I'd like to go on and on along this road, Edward," 
 I said. "I don't want to turn off from the Creek. 
 The fields without the water are meaningless. I 
 
H 
 W 
 
 3 
 
 H 
 
 H 
 
 w 
 
 H 
 H 
 
 <; 
 
THE WARM GRAVE 83 
 
 feel that if we could only go on, we would come to 
 some secret. I've always had to turn back and 
 go home. Some day I want to just go right on and 
 never come back." 
 
 "Some day you shall," he promised, "but not 
 to-night. In spite of all the wisdom tucked away 
 inside your head, I know a thing or two you haven't 
 found out yet. Life has no secrets just around the 
 corner. All the secrets of life are inside us." 
 
 "No, it's not that kind of a surprise I want," I 
 replied. "I want something to happen to me from 
 the outside. I don't want to have to evolve it 
 from my inner consciousness." 
 I A carry coolie along the roadside passed us, 
 going in the other direction, humming his strange 
 two notes beneath his breath. It is a sound that 
 always takes my breath away. 
 
 "Never mind, dear," I said, "I'm satisfied." 
 
 Junk after junk moved past us noiselessly. 
 Phantoms they were, coming from the unknown, 
 going to the unknown, all palpitating with life. 
 Tree toads sang along the road, and their soft, 
 throaty gurgle filled me with a strange unrest. One 
 sleepless "Sau-Sau-Man-Hau" bird cried out across 
 the plains like the sudden night call of a loon. We 
 came to the bend in the road where it leaves the 
 Creek and turns back towards Shanghai through 
 the fields. This road is a small, winding road, sup- 
 posed to be kept in repair by the municipal council. 
 A run of water, edged with steep banks, borders 
 one side. Across that run is China, un-foreignized, 
 eternal, just as it was centuries ago. I remember, 
 
84 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 when I was little, going to the circus in Madison 
 Square Garden and seeing a man ride two horses 
 at once. He stood with a foot on each and galloped. 
 When I wanted to think of something thrilling, I 
 remembered that ride. Missionaries in China are 
 like that, one foot in the twentieth century and one 
 in the ages B.C. Only that little run of clear water 
 separated the two. And we on our side that night 
 looked back to the past and caught our breaths in 
 wonder. 
 
 Quite a lot of people were going along the road, 
 both men and women, and of course children. They 
 chattered and gesticulated. Their lanterns of red 
 and yellow, hung on the ends of slender, bamboo 
 canes, bobbed up and down as they walked. A few 
 were well dressed, but for the most part they were 
 of the coolie class and clad in the blue clothes of 
 the workers. 
 
 "I wonder where they are all going?" 
 
 "Ask the driver," suggested Edward. "I am 
 curious too." 
 
 "Why for all these many people," I said to the 
 driver in pidgin. 
 
 "Me no savvy," he answered. 
 
 "Ask, ask, find out," I ordered. 
 
 He called out to a tall man hurrying by, who 
 answered in quick jargon, unintelligible to me. The 
 driver twisted around on his seat to answer with 
 evident excitement. "One father, he die. Belong 
 one very good man. Son, good man too. To-night, 
 he warm his father's grave." 
 
 "What?" I cried. J 
 
THE WARM GRAVE 85 
 
 "Missey come look see," he answered. 
 
 We followed the crowds about a mile down the 
 road. They then crossed the run on a bridge of 
 flat stepping-stones and vanished into the silvery 
 darkness of the field beyond. The coachman turned 
 around eagerly. "Missey come too?" he said. 
 
 At first Edward wouldn't go. He said he was 
 afraid for me, though why he need be afraid for 
 me, I don't know, when I am never afraid for 
 myself. Men are incomprehensible creatures ! For 
 a while I really thought he wouldn't let me go. I 
 didn't want to quarrel, but neither did I want to 
 sit there in that carriage and not see what was 
 going on, on the other side. My old feelings of 
 rebellion began to perk their heads up, but they 
 weren't needed. While our carriage waited at the 
 roadside, we saw a procession of lanterns coming 
 down behind us. When they drew near, we saw 
 that they were a company of priests in long gray 
 robes, carrying drums and short sticks which 
 they struck together like castanets. One by one 
 the priests crossed the little run on the century- 
 old slabs of stone, then they too vanished into 
 the silvery mistiness of the field beyond. But 
 now the meadow was not silent. It vibrated to 
 the rhythmic throb of the drums and the stick- 
 like castanets. 
 
 The driver wriggled about on his seat. "Missey 
 no come?" he inquired. "Never mind. Can do, 
 Missey, Master, come look see." 
 
 He jumped down from the box, and I followed 
 suit. By this time, I think that Edward's natural 
 
86 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 curiosity had overcome his scruples. Without a 
 word of objection he followed us. 
 
 I climbed down the steep bank to the water's 
 edge and stepped out, across, on the flat stones. 
 They were solid as the very earth itself, Druid- 
 like and ancient. Across them countless farmers 
 and country folk had crossed the Rubicon into 
 Civilization. I tried to put myself into their minds, 
 to grasp the wonder and daring of thus rashly 
 venturing out of the snug past into the wild wonder 
 of the present. I tried and I failed. My own point 
 of view rushed back upon me. Here was I, a 
 modern as I liked to think, stepping back into the 
 untold ages of antiquity. After all it was as 
 wonderful as their stepping out. And one thing 
 I had gained, in that one particular I was ahead — 
 I was quivering with consciousness. O ! I don't 
 mean of myself, but of the world. I suppose a lark 
 mounts and sings from an inner, sublime instinct, 
 but if a man were thus to mount and sing, it would 
 be with an ecstasy of joy. I felt that these silent, 
 shadowy folk were as primitive as the birds of the air. 
 
 I crossed the little stream and went up the opposite 
 bank by a narrow footpath into the rice fields beyond. 
 As soon as we had gained the level of the field, we 
 saw the people like a dense shadow near a circle of 
 cypress trees at the farther end of the meadow. The 
 field was thickly studded with grave mounds, little, 
 lonely ones of babies and family groups of twos and 
 threes. "Tsing Ming" was but lately past, and 
 the tops of the graves were bare of grass. At 
 "Tsing Ming" the families go to the graves of their 
 
THE WARM GRAVE 87 
 
 ancestors and pull off all the grass that has grown 
 during the past year, leaving only a little tuft on 
 the top, so that the grave shall look fresh. On the 
 peak of the grave thus made bald, the offerings of 
 food and paper money are placed. The group of 
 cypresses towards which we were making our way 
 surrounded a pretentious family burying mound. 
 
 "Makee quick," urged the coachman. "Want- 
 chee look see." 
 
 He broke into a soft run, and I hurried after him. 
 
 The cypresses grew up straight and slender around 
 a group of three mounds. The people were clustered 
 close around the edge of the enclosure. The priests 
 were grouped at one end. A fresh grave was just 
 dug. The earth lay piled up at one side in a moist 
 brown heap. Two coolies, still sweating and wiping 
 their eyes, stood at one side beside their shovels. 
 We joined the crowd unnoticed ; the priests were 
 already chanting. Out on the misty, silvery quiet- 
 ness of the night floated their ancient incantation, 
 the prayer for a blessing for the dead. The lighted 
 lanterns glowed in splashes of red and yellow light. 
 With intense interest the crowd watched the priests. 
 Heathen and ancient as the human race itself was 
 this prayer for the dead. And if Our Lord has said 
 that not one sparrow falls to the ground without His 
 compassion, so must His love flow out over this 
 heathen grave. I ceased to feel alien and strange, a 
 spectator ; rather I felt I was a part of the mourning 
 crowd. 
 
 Little rustlings of the night wind crept through 
 the knee-high rice stalks. The clouds seemed to 
 
88 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 lean close and whisper as they rushed across the 
 moon, now throwing the scene into sudden light, and 
 now hiding it in dusky gloom. The priests chanted, 
 and the acolytes beat their drums and wooden 
 sticks. The sound seemed to be arriving at a 
 frenzied climax. 
 
 Then I suddenly saw that all eyes were directed 
 toward a young man who stood a little before the 
 rest at the very edge of the grave. He wore the 
 unbleached sackcloth of a first mourner. An old 
 woman stood near him, holding a small child in her 
 arms. 
 
 The music came to an end, and the high priest 
 said a few words. I didn't catch their meaning, but 
 a thrill ran through me, as the tones of his voice 
 vibrated commandingly over the company. The 
 moon rushed behind a thick cloud. Some of the 
 lanterns had burnt out, only two or three still 
 glowed through their fragile paper frames. A 
 weird, ominous stillness fell on the group. I too 
 held my breath, and a sudden terror and horror 
 filled me. I put out my hand and caught Edward's. 
 His fingers were warm and felt comforting to my 
 cold ones. 
 
 The young man whom everybody was watching 
 suddenly knelt on the ground before the priests 
 and struck his head against the earth thrice. I 
 had no idea of what was to follow. When he rose 
 he turned toward the open grave and jumped 
 swiftly into its depths. A shuddering sigh, almost 
 a stifled laugh, swept through the crowd. The 
 chanting of the priests broke put again. The 
 
THE WARM GRAVE 89 
 
 people began to stir about, as if their paralyzed 
 limbs had suddenly come to life. Here and there 
 one lighted a new candle in his lantern. A few 
 stragglers started off back across the fields. The 
 priests wound three times around the grave with its 
 living human occupant, then off across the zigzag 
 path through the rice field. Most of the people 
 followed. The woman carrying the baby and an 
 amah nurse or two accompanying her, still lingered. 
 The voices of the throng which had crossed back 
 over the Rubicon to the outskirts of the foreign 
 settlement floated out clearly on the night air. 
 The woman leaned over the edge of the grave. 
 
 "Are you all right," she called. "Is it cold in 
 the grave?" 
 
 "It's very cold. I feel the chill of death creeping 
 over my bones. However, it is of no importance. 
 I will warm the grave for my father's body. He shall 
 never feel the chill of death. I will warm it with my 
 warm blood. Go home, Great Mother, and sleep 
 till dawn. I will be waiting for your coming with 
 the sunshine in the morning. Lift up my son, my 
 first-bom, that he may see the filialness of his 
 father and remember." 
 
 The voice from the grave ceased. The woman 
 at tlie edge of the grave lifted up the child and held 
 it out over the hole in the earth. Its baby eyes 
 wandered away and up to the pretty moonshine 
 above its head. It refused to look down into the 
 grave. 
 
 "Till to-morrow, with the sun," said the voice of 
 the Filial Son. At last the mother and her little 
 
go MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 cortege filed away across the fields. We stood alone 
 under the shade of the cypresses. It seemed too 
 terrible for every one to go away to warm beds and 
 hot tea and leave that young man out there in the 
 silent rice field, shut in by the high walls of the 
 freshly dug grave, all alone in the darkness. 
 
 "Come," said the driver, tugging at my sleeve. 
 "Missey must come away. It no belong good 
 custom for any one to stay by the warm grave. 
 It no belong proper." 
 
 "But suppose something should happen to him," 
 I cried. 
 
 The coachman shrugged his shoulders. "What 
 thing can happen?" he asked in scorn. "No man 
 touchee he. He belong one piecee very holy son. 
 Never mind ! Come away. No can stay by warm 
 grave. The devils can catch." 
 
 "What devils," I asked. 
 
 "Oh, any devils, bad devils ! No likee son warm 
 grave. Go round and round on the outside to 
 catch son if he get up too soon. Hear." 
 
 The man held up his hand and poised his head to 
 listen. The night wind was rising and moaning 
 through the stiff branches of the cypresses. 
 
 " I hear the devils already," he stammered. 
 " Missey makee quick. Come away." 
 
 He caught at my dress and pulled me along the path. 
 
 "It's useless to stay, Wilhelmina," said Edward. 
 "It's dangerous to interfere with the native customs. 
 Besides, there is no real danger to the fellow, not 
 any more than to any soldier who sleeps on the 
 ground all night." 
 
THE WARM GRAVE 91 
 
 Edward caught my hand and hurried me along, 
 back to civilization, through the twisting path in 
 the rice fields, over the brook by the Druid stones 
 and into our bit of modernity, the diminutive 
 victoria. 
 
 "Drive back chop chop," thundered Edward. 
 "It will be midnight before we get back, and it will 
 create a scandal in the mission." 
 
 His orders were unnecessary to the Chinese 
 coachman. At full gallop we tore down the river 
 road, nor did he slacken his pace till we were well 
 within the lights of the settlement. As I lay in 
 my warm, white-sheeted bed that night, I couldn't 
 sleep. My thoughts ran away with me. I seemed 
 to float out of myself and stream out over the little 
 run at the Rubicon, over the rice field, and pause 
 under the black wings of the cypress trees. The 
 moon shadows flickered over the open grave where 
 the son lay warming the cold earth for the bones of 
 his father. The baffied devils whispered in the 
 cypress needles, and from the edge of the stream 
 came the sleepy croak of the tree toads. I wondered 
 was He listening too ? And was it very cold in the 
 grave ? So dreaming, I fell asleep at last. 
 
X 
 
 THE SLAVE REFUGE AT KAUNG WAN 
 
 THE rebellion was in full sway. For three 
 days the rebels had been bombarding the 
 arsenal. All our Christians from The 
 Native City and all the patients that were too sick 
 to go home from the West Gate Hospital had crowded 
 into our compound. Mattresses were hauled down 
 from the attic and stretched on the floor between the 
 beds. Families brought their bedding and spread 
 it in the yard and slept. Children slept two by 
 two, feet to feet in the cribs. All our dearly beloved 
 law and order vanished. We simply took in every- 
 body we could, and in the midst of it tried to do the 
 most needed medical work. But everybody was 
 demoralized. In the midst of a dressing, the nurses 
 would pause to listen to the patter of distant shots. 
 Now and then the very earth seemed to tremble. 
 Doctor Donnellon and I went about among the 
 crowds, saying continually, "Do not fear; do not 
 fear." I believe if we had been suddenly wakened 
 from our sleep we would automatically have said, 
 "Do not fear." Fortunately the weather was 
 pleasant. We heard that a bullet had gone right 
 through the wall above the head of the Doctor 
 at West Gate. It whizzed across the room 
 
THE SLAVE REFUGE AT KAUNG WAN 93 
 
 and buried itself in the opposite wall. "Loo-I- 
 Sung", as the Chinese call her, was in danger, and 
 our little band of refugees was tormented with fear 
 for her. She refused to leave the hospital, as there 
 were still a few patients too sick to be moved. After 
 it was all over I dined with her in the room still 
 riddled with bullet holes. But here at St. Margaret's 
 we were safe. A wild shot or two flew overhead, but 
 none fell in our compound. 
 
 One evening — it was the third day of the bom- 
 bardment — we were sitting on the verandah, listen- 
 ing to the far-off patter of bullets, when the telephone 
 rang shrilly. Edward rose to answer it. 
 
 "It is no use your going," I said. "It's sure to 
 be some one asking about a patient, and I might as 
 well go at once." 
 
 "Very well," said Edward. 
 
 It was Miss Judson at the Door of Hope. She 
 wanted some one to go down to the Slave Refuge at 
 Kaung Wan to relieve Miss Fairchild, who had come 
 down with dysentery. The orphanage for the 
 younger girls was at Kaung Wan near the Woosung 
 forts. Up till now all the fighting had been about 
 the Arsenal at the west of the settlement. Miss 
 Judson thought the children would be perfectly 
 safe with their Chinese teachers, but she didn't 
 like .to feel there was no one in charge in such 
 uncertain times. Did I think any one could be 
 spared ? 
 
 "I can come," I answered. "I was supposed to 
 go away on a vacation, but no one can get away just 
 now. We aren't able to do any proper medical 
 
94 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 work, but spend our time dosing out sedatives. 
 I'll love to come." 
 
 So it was arranged, and I went down the next 
 day to take charge. The building is a square, 
 barrack-like affair of gray brick, standing alone 
 in a field of grave mounds. To the south lies the 
 stream of the Whangpoo, meeting at right angles 
 the vast yellow flood of the YangTse. On the fork 
 of land between the two rivers stand the Woosung 
 forts. All the shipping to and from Shanghai sails 
 up the Woosung. The new railroad from Shanghai 
 to the Point runs between the house and the shore. 
 Inland the ground stretches towards the horizon in 
 billowing, grave-humped fields almost concealing 
 the groups of bamboo houses and the scattered 
 villages. 
 
 I soon began to feel at home with all the little waifs. 
 They were as clean as a new day and obedient and 
 well behaved. When they found I liked to play 
 games when lessons were over, they took to me at 
 once. I had no real duties. The Chinese teachers 
 took care of all the regular lessons. I looked over 
 their scalps and eyes and ears while I had opportunity 
 and sat at the long table with them at meal times. 
 And at night I made rounds through the bare, 
 open-windowed rooms, seeing that each little tot 
 was in her appointed cot of the double-decker tiers. 
 Sometimes we played hide and seek around the 
 grave mounds, and sometimes we stood at the wide 
 curtainless windows and watched the sails on the 
 river. I'd tell them stories about each boat that 
 went by, about the gray warships, or the ancient 
 
THE SLAVE REFUGE AT KAUNG WAN 9S 
 
 junks with their yellow eyes at the prow and their 
 tattered sails of matting. 
 
 The days passed swiftly. Edward came down 
 daily. Miss Fairchild improved steadily, and I 
 was soon expecting to return to the hospital. Then 
 came the sudden shifting of the seat of warfare 
 from the Arsenal, at the southwest of the settlement, 
 to the Woosung forts at the north. I remember that 
 morning perfectly. It was August thirteen, and I 
 stood at the head of the long breakfast table and 
 said Grace with no thought in my head but of the 
 day's usual routine. With demure orderliness the 
 little girls, all under twelve, seated themselves on 
 their stools and began their bowls of rice. The 
 first few moments were always devoted in silence to 
 the rite of eating, but as the bowls were replenished 
 for the second time, the children began their eager 
 talk. On either side of me sat my two best teachers. 
 As the conversation broke out, one of them leaned 
 towards me and spoke in low tones. 
 
 "Doctor Wilhelmina," she said, "the boy from 
 my father's house came early this morning with a 
 letter from my father, urging me to return at once 
 to Shanghai. He writes that the city is full of 
 rumors of an attack on the forts. He fears for my 
 safety." 
 
 I was filled with consternation. "You must go, 
 Dong lung," I said. " It is only right that any one 
 who can should go. I will dismiss all the teachers 
 and servants this morning. I don't want any one 
 to take any risks. As for myself, I don't believe 
 there is any real danger. Miss Judson would have 
 
96 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 told us if there were, or Mr. Stevens would have 
 come out." 
 
 "Will you go? Will the children go?" asked 
 Dong lung. 
 
 " If there is real danger, of course we will go," I 
 answered. "But we must not let ourselves be 
 driven away by a foolish panic. It is hard to find a 
 home at a moment's notice for one hundred and 
 eighty little girls." 
 
 "There are the refuge camps," suggested Dong 
 lung. "Father says that bread and soup is being 
 distributed free every morning in the marketplaces 
 in Shanghai." 
 
 "That would never do," I cried aghast. "I'm 
 really not worried, for Miss Judson will let me know 
 in time if we have to leave." 
 
 "If you stay, then I will," answered Dong lung. 
 She started to her feet impetuously. 
 
 "I'd like to keep you," I said. "You are a great 
 help to me, but since your father has sent for you, 
 you must go." 
 
 Dong lung shook her head. "I'm not a slave 
 any more," she asserted. "I earn my own living. 
 My duty is the same as yours. You cannot make 
 me a coward. I will not run away." 
 
 She looked so very slim and boyish and determined 
 as she drew herself up in her trousers and jacket that 
 I almost yielded. 
 
 "Where is the boy?" I asked. 
 
 "He is waiting in the kitchen," Dong lung 
 replied. 
 
 "Send him to me in my office," I said. 
 
THE SLAVE REFUGE AT KAUNG WAN 97 
 
 Dong lung went to give my message, and I 
 walked across the hall into the tiny, white cubbyhole 
 which was Miss Fairchild's office. On the wall hung 
 a picture of Christ blessing little children. One big 
 desk stood across the wall opposite the door. There 
 were two chairs, one for Miss Fairchild and one for 
 a visitor. Dong lung came in, followed by a boy 
 in the long, white, regulation upper garment of a 
 Chinese house servant. Breaking into rapid Chinese, 
 he began his story. I| caught his meaning well 
 enough, but I wanted to be sure. 
 
 "What does he say?" I asked Dong lung. 
 
 "He says," she answered, "that orders have been 
 issued to close the river to all incoming and out- 
 going craft, that all the government war boats are 
 steaming towards the point, and that the bombard- 
 ment will begin at 2 p.m. The rebels are expecting 
 reinforcements by evening." 
 
 If true, that was bad news indeed, but we had 
 been fed by so many unreliable rumors that I did 
 not let myself worry too much. I knew that Miss 
 Judson and Edward would let me know in time, if 
 anything really dangerous threatened. Still I dis- 
 missed all the paid teachers and servants and sent 
 them home till further notice. There was a good 
 deal of excitement among the children, for though I 
 forbade any one explaining the cause of the sudden 
 holiday, still the news leaked out. The servants 
 and teachers rushed about wildly, packing up their 
 belongings and taking tearful farewells. In an 
 incredibly short time the little cavalcade was ready 
 to start for the station a quarter of a mile distant. 
 
98 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 Dong lung was the last to leave. She clung to my 
 arm weeping. "Come too," she urged. "You 
 don't know Chinese soldiers. First they fire the 
 place, then they loot. Pretty women first." 
 
 The girl clung to me in real terror. Almost she 
 shook my resolution. Suppose the news were really 
 authentic this time. Miss Judson and Edward 
 would not have time to reach us before the bombard- 
 ment began, and the Refuge was in the direct firing 
 line. If there hadn't been quite so many children, I 
 believe I would have gone, but No ! It was im- 
 possible. My trust in the others reasserted itself. I 
 knew they would not forget us. Probably at this 
 very moment they were perfecting a plan for our 
 benefit. While I hesitated, the 'phone rang. It was 
 Miss Judson herself. 
 
 Dong lung paused in the doorway to hear her 
 message. It was short but reassuring. "It's all 
 right," I said, feeling that a weight had been lifted 
 off my heart. "The fighting is not to begin till 
 to-morrow afternoon, and in the- morning Miss 
 Judson is bringing out a special train to take all the 
 children away to West Gate, which is now the safest 
 place." 
 
 "Then I shall stay too," said Dong lung. 
 
 "No, indeed," I said. "Your father has sent 
 for you and go you must." 
 
 I gave her a little shove and shut the door behi|nd 
 her. I had a pang of loneliness after they all left, 
 and I wondered why Edward had not come down to 
 stay with us. It seemed, if there ever were a fitting 
 time to have a man in the house, this was it. I 
 
THE SLAVE REFUGE AT KAUNG WAN 99 
 
 felt I belonged with the little outcasts, the poor 
 little tots who had been beaten and tortured and 
 starved little slaves. We were all forgotten and un- 
 wanted. It is a horrible feeling. Fortunately for 
 me, the children would not let me alone. They 
 clustered around me, wanting to know what it all 
 meant. A few of the older ones stood quiet and 
 solemn. They were all quite demoralized. Of 
 course I could not let that go on. I divided them 
 up into their usual classes and called each older 
 girl by the name of a departed teacher. Only give 
 a Chinese a part to play, and you have given her 
 an absorbing interest. Real dramatic ability seems 
 to lie around loose anywhere among them. The 
 veriest beggar off the streets can act a part. The 
 accustomed routine calmed the children, and by 
 afternoon no traces of unusual excitement were to 
 be seen. Only, when playtime came, I kept them 
 indoors, and we went upstairs to the attic. I stood 
 at the window and watched the Whangpoo River. 
 It looked very clear and gray, winding between its 
 willow-fringed banks. On the opposite shore the 
 low houses of Pootung were half hidden in trees. 
 Around the forts, in a menacing semicircle, clustered 
 a score or more Chinese men-of-war. Ultra-modern, 
 painted in hungry gray, or medieval survivors with 
 high, curling poops and painted yellow eyes on the 
 bows, the vessels loomed sinister through the 
 gathering dusk. Beyond their lines in the river lay 
 three or four foreign gunboats, and at the mouth of 
 the YangTse was a foreign liner waiting to come up 
 to Shanghai. So near they seemed, as if I could 
 
loo MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 put out my hand and touch them. They were 
 soundless, motionless ; they lay like phantoms on 
 the water. The low bamboo houses along the 
 bank, the willows bending in the wind, a wheel- 
 barrow trundled along in blissful leisure — these 
 were the real things, not those inconceivable shapes 
 conjured up by some evil imagination. Yet over 
 the forts, in flaunting arrogance, floated the flag 
 of the rebels. I stood at the window a long time 
 watching those motionless monsters. 
 
 Night fell. I put the children to bed in their long 
 rows of double-decker cots. Then I made the 
 rounds of the Refuge, bolting windows and barring 
 doors. At last I had done everything I could think 
 of. I went to my room and undressed for bed, but 
 I couldn't sleep. It was no use lying staring at the 
 ceiling, so I got up and put on a wrapper and went 
 out on to the verandah outside my window. The 
 stars were shining peacefully. One, more brilliant 
 than the rest, cast a glittering drop of gold reflection 
 in the water. The men-of-war were hardly visible ; 
 not a light shone on them. The night was very still, 
 not a cricket chirped, not a leaf stirred. 
 
 I almost went to sleep in my long chair on the 
 porch. Indeed, I must have dozed off, for I was 
 awakened by a red flash" of light and a deafening 
 noise. The gunboats had opened fire on the forts. 
 Siau-Noen, the baby of the institution, began to 
 cry. I picked her up and held her in my arms. A 
 few of the children stirred and cried out in their 
 sleep, but most of them slept through the bombard- 
 ment. For an hour or more the boats kept up an 
 
THE SLAVE REFUGE AT KAUNG WAN loi 
 
 active bombardment of the fort. A pallid search- 
 light played incessantly on its walls. In its light I 
 could see the holes torn through the masonry. 
 Once, when the wind veered, I fancied I heard the 
 cries of men in pain. Then the firing ceased, and 
 again the night was starred in silver peace. The 
 tall grasses on the conical grave mounds waved 
 gently, a cricket chirped, Siau-Noen slept soundly in 
 my arms. I sat on the verandah till dawn. I 
 watched the first, utterly forlorn, gray light that 
 streaked the sky, watched till it quivered in a vibrat- 
 ing purple and suddenly burst into rose and yellow. 
 The crows began to fly back to the fields behind 
 Shanghai for their day's feeding. I always loved 
 to watch them go, soaring past in twos and threes, 
 with an occasional lazy straggler by himself. Often, 
 when I had come in early from a night case, I had 
 seen them winging their way countr5rward across the 
 red dawn. At evening they came back to the shelter 
 of the city to roost. When I saw the crows, I was 
 reassured. Day had come, and we were safe. Soon 
 Miss Judson and Edward would appear, and my 
 vigil would be over. Lifting the baby in my arms, 
 I went in and put her down in her crib. Then I flung 
 myself across the bed and went to sleep at once. 
 
 Suddenly some one was shaking me and calling 
 to me in terror. "Wake up, wake up. A bullet 
 has come through the dining-room window." 
 
 Another child burst into the room, crying, "Three 
 bullets have come into the eating room." 
 
 "One fell into my bowl of rice," sobbed Ah-Me, 
 casting herself into my lap. 
 
I02 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 The room was rapidly filling with frightened, 
 crying children.' 
 
 "My finger is hurt," wailed one of the smaller 
 youngsters, pushing her way through to me, cupping 
 her bleeding finger in the palm of her other hand. 
 
 " May-Li has fainted on the floor in the hall," some 
 one announced. 
 
 "They are shooting at us from behind the grave 
 mounds," said A-Doo, the first arrival. "Lots of 
 men." 
 
 I ran to one of the back windows. It was as the 
 children had announced. Little villainous puffs of 
 pale smoke floated out continually from behind the 
 grave mounds which made a series of natural 
 breastworks and effectually hid the assailants. 
 
 "Why?" I asked of myself. The children were 
 crowding about me again, some of them hysterical 
 and many crying. "Don't be scared," I said. 
 "See, I'm not scared at all. We'll just pretend they 
 aren't there at all, and sing our favorite hymn." 
 
 I began the old, old song, "There is a happy land 
 far, far away." The words of it were the first 
 Chinese words I had learned and now came as easily 
 to my tongue as the English. The children joined 
 me, at first falteringly but soon with more force 
 and volume. Still singing, I marched off to the 
 kitchen at the river side of the house. The rhythm 
 of the tune and the shuffling of the children's feet 
 drowned the ominous patter of the bullets on the 
 roof. I made them sit down in a kindergarten circle 
 in the kitchen and sing songs. The children grew 
 quieter. They began some of their favorite games. 
 
THE SLAVE REFUGE AT KAUNG WAN 103 
 
 Crash ! A shell burst through the roof and 
 splintered the chairs and tables in the dining room. 
 A jagged crack yawned in the wall between. The 
 children screamed with terror. 
 
 For a moment, I was paralyzed. We were caught 
 like rats in a trap, to be shot to death before help 
 could arrive. We were all alone! Miles from 
 Shanghai ! Separated from our friends ! The children 
 huddled about me, and I felt their little hands, cold 
 with fright, clinging to me. Then I remembered 
 the telephone. I called the older girls to me and 
 tried to instill into them some courage. Anyway 
 I made them all stop screaming and started them 
 again on "There is a happy land." I told them to 
 see how many verses they could sing before I got 
 back from the telephone. • Then I dashed down the 
 hall. The telephone was in the vestibule on the 
 land side of the house. Everjrwhere were signs of 
 the effectiveness of the rebels' fire in broken windows 
 and charred splinters. I had to wait a little, while 
 Central got Miss Judson. I listened to the patter of 
 the bullets against the walls and roof of the building. 
 The children's voices came to me faintly through 
 the closed doors. Miss Judson's voice was the most 
 welcome sound on earth. 
 
 "We are being fired on. Miss Judson," I said. 
 "The rebels, hundreds of them, crouch behind the 
 grave mounds. Yes, several children are hurt 
 slightly. One shell burst in the dining room. No 
 one is killed. There must be some mistake. 
 Perhaps they think the house is a barracks. You'll 
 be down soon? I don't see how you can stop it, 
 
I04 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 but I know you will. We are all right. Don't 
 worry. Good-by." 
 
 Reluctcuitly, I hung up the receiver. I wanted 
 to keep her talking to me ; I felt more courageous 
 while she was talking. She had promised to organize 
 a relief party immediately and come down in a 
 special train for the children. Miss Judson hadn't 
 mentioned Edward, and I had half a mind to call 
 him up, but I didn't. I knew it would worry him 
 so. He might do something rash. I began cal- 
 culating how soon they would be here. Calculate 
 as. I would, allowing for no delay, they couldn't 
 reach Kaung Wan under two hours. 
 
 Two hours ! 
 
 A bullet tore through the glass of the vestibule 
 and grazed my cheek. It stung a little, and a few 
 drops of blood fell on my hand. The hideous cry 
 of a shell shrieked overhead. It fell into the yard 
 beyond, casting up a cascade of dirt. How fantastic 
 it was ! An army of men storming a home for little 
 children ! 
 
 My mind seized upon the idea that there must be 
 some mistake, that the rebels did not know. Surely 
 if they knew, they would stop. In that moment of 
 terror but one solution presented itself to me, quite 
 simple, as most solutions are. It was merely to 
 open the door and walk out and show myself a 
 couple of times. When the rebels knew that a 
 foreign woman lived in the house, surely they would 
 stop firing. And then the children and I would be 
 saved. I saw it with startling clearness. Just 
 open the door and walk out! But suppose the 
 
THE SLAVE REFUGE AT KAUNG WAN 105 
 
 rebels didn't stop firing? Suppose they dashed 
 forward and surrounded me. With ghastly vivid- 
 ness, I remembered the tales of the Boxer atrocities, 
 of other women tortured in the slaying. A panic 
 swept over me. I was deathly afraid, afraid for 
 myself and for the children. I knew the rescue 
 party would be too late ; if we were to be saved we 
 had to be saved now. I was in a blue funk. I 
 thought of the Chinese men, of their horrible, 
 bloody hands and their imperturbable, grinning 
 eyes. They were inhuman ; they had no respect 
 for women. If they touched me I must die, and if 
 I died the children would be left alone. The fate of 
 these little rescued slave girls would be a thousand 
 times worse than before their rescue. Chinese 
 soldiers spear babies on the ends of their bayonets. 
 
 I believed the rebels thought troops of the Republic 
 were hidden within, waiting the opportune moment 
 to sally forth and repulse the attack. If they knew 
 there were only children, girl children, at their 
 mercy, would they stay their hands, or would they 
 rush the building and begin their malignant pillage 
 and loot? 
 
 A deadly weakness overcame me. I thought I 
 was dying. The one remaining thing to do my 
 body refused to do. I could not open that door 
 and walk out in the face of the raining bullets. It 
 would be foolhardy, reckless. And yet, therein lay 
 the only chance of safety for the children, the one 
 last slim chance for life. I was trembling in a 
 very passion of terror. 
 
 Another shell burst overhead. In a fresh access 
 
io6 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 of fear, the children screamed aloud. The end 
 grew inevitable. 
 
 A quiet, emotionless calm fell on me. I loosened 
 the fastenings of my white duck skirt and slipped it 
 off, standing in a white petticoat. I unbolted the 
 heavily barred door and stepped out on the terrace, 
 waving my white skirt above my head. I was like 
 a person in a trance, without a quiver of fright. 
 Once, twice, three times I paraded the length of the 
 terrace, waving my white flag of truce. The bullets 
 kicked up the ground about me and struck little 
 bits of plaster and stone from the walls. I fancied I 
 felt the heat of their flying. 
 
 A dreadful sickness began to creep over me. The 
 fields reeled and grew black. The grave mounds 
 became tall peaks, spitting fire. The bullets flew 
 faster than ever. I groped for the door, found it, 
 pulled it to behind me, and slid to the floor in a 
 little heap against it. I think I must have fainted. 
 I seemed to live a long time with the raining of 
 bullets echoing through my brain. 
 
 A-doo awoke me. "They have stopped," she 
 cried. "They have stopped for almost a half an 
 hour. We were worried about you, so I came out to 
 find you." 
 
 I just put my arms around her and cried. "Thank 
 God, we are saved." 
 
 "How did God save us?" asked A-doo. 
 
 A flood of happiness rushed over me. God had 
 used me to save them ; He had given me a chance to 
 help. I wasn't tired any more, I felt as gay and 
 light-hearted as a lark. 
 
THE SLAVE REFUGE AT KAUNG WAN 107 
 
 "Let's get the noontime rice," I said. 
 
 We had a gay time getting lunch. The children 
 seemed to catch my good spirits. As for me, I was 
 only too thankful that I had been given strength to 
 rise to my chance. In the midst of the meal the 
 rescue party surprised us. Finding the door open, 
 they had come right in. I looked up to see Miss 
 Judson, followed by the American consul and Doctor 
 Richards, the head of the Red Cross, standing in 
 the doorway. Over their heads I saw Edward. 
 There was a look in his eyes I had never seen before, 
 a look of deadly anxiety. 
 
 "For the last two hours I have lived in a purgatory 
 of expectation," said Miss Judson. "I expected to 
 find the house in flames, half the children burned to 
 death, and the other half slain, while you, my dear, I 
 never expected to find at all. And here you are 
 eating tiffin as quietly as if Shanghai were stormed 
 daily." 
 
 "How did you manage to get here so soon," I 
 asked. 
 
 "I 'phoned the consul at once. He got official 
 permission to use the Red Cross flag of truce and 
 bring away the children. There is a special train 
 waiting at the station to take them all back 
 to Shanghai. When we reached Kaung Wan, it 
 was as peaceful as a graveyard." 
 
 "It might very well have been a graveyard," said 
 the consul, "but for Doctor Wilhelmina's presence 
 of mind and bravery." 
 
 But I looked past him to Edward for my approval. 
 The light I saw shining in his eyes was my reward. 
 
io8 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 Each child made a bundle of its night clothes, and 
 we marched them down to the train, two by two. 
 On either side were drawn up the ranks of the soldiers, 
 rebels and government troops facing each other, and 
 as through the stemmed-back waters of the Red 
 Sea, the little children of the Lord walked in safety. 
 As the train pulled out of the station, the deadly pop- 
 ping of the bullets began again ! 
 
XI 
 
 THE WALLED CITY 
 
 EDWARD insisted that I accept an invitation 
 that came for me from Soochow a few days 
 later. Doctor Donnellon also wanted me to 
 go, and it was my regular vacation time. Around 
 Shanghai the government troops were victorious, 
 and the panic was subsiding. One by one the 
 refugee families returned to the Native City, and 
 the hospital began to take on its usual appearance 
 of order and quiet. In the afternoons after tea it 
 became a fad to ride out to the Arsenal and pick up 
 spent bullets for souvenirs. Miss Chase at Jessfield 
 had two tall conical shells on the mantelpiece which 
 she had picked up after a riot. Always when I 
 visited her my eyes returned to those unexploded 
 shells on the mantelpiece among the vases of blue 
 and white plum blossoms. One of the men said 
 they might explode some day. They were to me 
 symbolic of life in China, so smooth and shiny and 
 symmetrical, yet with a deadly power hidden 
 within. Here and there through the settlement, 
 broken windows and tiny round holes through the 
 solid wood doorways testified to the excitement of 
 the past weeks. But otherwise it seemed all over. 
 Up the river however the rebels were drawing near 
 Nankin. 
 
no MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 I hated to admit it, but I found myself rather 
 shaky after the episode at Kaung Wan, and I was 
 glad enough to accept my Soochow invitation. So 
 far I had not been out of Shanghai ; I had been too 
 busy. As the wide pathless fields of the country 
 around Shanghai had caught my imagination, so 
 my first sight of a walled city rising on the plain 
 was to take my breath away. 
 
 Edward came to the station to see me off. "I 
 wish you were coming with me," I said. " I 
 suddenly feel that I am going to be homesick." 
 
 "For me?" asked Edward. "That is the first 
 real sign of devotion on your part that I have seen." 
 
 "I know you pine for the clinging vine," I said 
 to tease him a little. 
 
 "No, I don't," he said. "I only pine for you. 
 Set a date and set it soon, and we'll go off and take 
 a lovely honeymoon all over China, and you shall 
 see all the world." 
 
 "It sounds like a famous temptation," I said. 
 
 "Well?" he questioned. 
 
 "I can't decide right here, all in a moment," I 
 said. 
 
 "But I thought you had been deciding at your 
 leisure all these last weeks. You said you were 
 deciding. I want you." 
 
 The guard came along, clanging to the carriage 
 doors. The vendors of food, of eggs boiled in tea, 
 of soggy dough balls, of bottled TanSan water, 
 moved away reluctantly from the carriage windows 
 and lost their interest in this particular trainload 
 of people. 
 
THE WALLED CITY ni 
 
 "Good-by," said Edward, holding my hand 
 through the open window. ' ' Don't forget I will want 
 an answer when you come back." 
 
 Off we went. It took only a few moments to leave 
 Shanghai behind and to run out into those limitless 
 plains that had so allured me all winter. It was 
 unbelievable ! Like some dinosaur, huge and crush- 
 ing, the train streaked through those fields of the 
 past. On each side they stretched, quiet, waving 
 with groves of fresh green bamboo grasses and the 
 lush green of the new rice. The planting season was 
 over, but here and there a few farmers were thigh 
 deep in mud, transplanting. Lazy buffaloes browsed 
 between the cultivated patches, guarded each by 
 an urchin. The little boys lolled side-saddle on 
 the wide backs of the huge animals and switched 
 at the flies with a leaf-tipped branch. No fences, 
 no walls, no dividing partitions of any kind were 
 in sight. Around the clan-like family dwellings 
 grew groves of bamboo and camphor and an oc- 
 casional sycamore. Through the leaves I caught 
 glimpses of the pointed, thatched roofs of the houses. 
 The walls were of plaited bamboo branches. Of 
 course there was no paint anywhere, and the houses 
 seemed as much an integral part of the fields as the 
 trees. Between the fields meandered little rills of 
 muddy water. Across the fields I suddenly saw the 
 slow, stately sails of junks. The hulls of the boats 
 were invisible ; only the billowing brown sails moved 
 along over .the fields like cloud shadows. It was 
 Soochow Creek off there, below its banks, winding 
 down from the interior to the shore. "The In- 
 
112 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 terior", "Up River", are magic words to the dweller 
 in Shanghai. They represent the unknown and its 
 magic. I took a little quick breath of delight. Here 
 was I too going to "the Interior", voyaging back 
 fathoms deep into the unconscious past of the race. 
 
 My friend. Doctor Grace, had been a college mate 
 in Old Philadelphia. I had met her at the wharf 
 when she came out, but I had not seen her since. She 
 had said in her letter that she would meet me at the 
 station if she could get through with clinic in time. 
 If not, she would send the hospital boy. I had only 
 a suit case for my short visit. 
 
 The two hours passed like two minutes. With 
 startling suddenness I saw the walled city rise on 
 the horizon quite distinct and clear. It must have 
 been visible several minutes before I saw it, because 
 when I first turned, there it was, battlemented and 
 hoary and romantic, like any Maxfield Parrish 
 picture but a thousand times more real. Around it 
 swept the wide brown moat, a real moat full of water 
 and busy with rowboats and junks. The walls 
 were great, high, massive structures. I saw people 
 walking on them. Turrets marked the octagonal 
 corners. Ramparts of green sod ran up to the edge 
 of the walls, and tangled masses of vines with delicate 
 white blossoms cascaded from the top. I couldn't 
 take my eyes from the sight. 
 
 At the station a crowd of coolies, sedan-chair 
 carriers, and donkey men clustered around the exit, 
 crying their fare to the city of Beautiful Soo, for the 
 railroad station is outside the city and across the 
 moat. I looked in vain for Doctor Grace. Not a 
 
THE WALLED CITY 113 
 
 familiar face was in sight. I picked up my suit case 
 and followed the rest of the passengers out of the exit 
 gate. A tall coolie waved a piece of paper at every 
 foreigner who passed him. I saw them looking. at 
 the paper and shaking their heads and passing on. I 
 was curious about the paper. I walked in line so that 
 I too should have a chance to look at the strange 
 writing on the paper. The man before me had 
 passed on. The coolie thrust the paper in my face. 
 I gasped in sheer surprise, for on that mysterious 
 paper that had been presented to each passenger who 
 had descended from the train was my name. 
 
 "For Doctor Wilhelmina," it said in Doctor 
 Grace's familiar handwriting. What a primitive 
 method, yet how simple and effective ! At my smile 
 of recognition, the coolie nodded as if relieved, 
 grabbed my suit case, and led me out of the station 
 towards the stand of sedan chairs. Like waiting 
 palanquins, they were ranged along the path with 
 their groups of bearers, sometimes two by the poorer 
 chairs, more usually three, and occasionally four, 
 if the chair was meant for a fat man. Some were 
 ancient affairs with closely drawn curtains; some 
 more modern, of wicker, with their gay curtains 
 looped back. All around me was the bustle of 
 people making bargains and stowing away their 
 belongings. Just before me a portly Chinaman 
 with several bundles done up in silk handkerchiefs 
 got into a sedan chair. The little bearers stooped 
 into position under the shafts. One gave a guttural 
 grunt as signal to the man behind. With a sideways 
 lurch they rose to their feet and swung off down the 
 
114 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 path at a brisk walk. Fascinated, I was standing 
 watching them. 
 
 "Take care," shouted the hospital coolie at my 
 elbow. I jumped aside to let a string of donkeys 
 pass. Astride each little fellow dangled a China- 
 man, their long legs quite able to help along by 
 giving the ground a kick. : \ 
 
 Then I got into my first sedan chair. The hos- 
 pital coolie tucked my suit case under my feet and 
 then disappeared. I supposed he had given ample 
 instructions to the bearers. With a simultaneous 
 swoop, they crawled into the shafts which are closed 
 with a crossbar before and behind. This bar rests 
 on the back of their shoulders across the neck. They 
 have rags that they roll into a bundle and stick 
 under the crossbar, much as a violinist sticks a 
 handkerchief under his chin. The shafts, that 
 stick out before and behind the chair, are about four 
 feet long. Swung aloft in the air like a veritable 
 queen we started down the rough path. I had 
 three bearers. They walked with a rhythmic jerky 
 movement, and at every twenty paces or so one of 
 the bearers gave a different grunt. The third man, 
 who had been walking alongside mopping himself, 
 eyes and chest and abdomen, would spring into 
 place. There would be an infinitesimal halt while 
 the exchange was made from shoulder to shoulder, 
 and on we would go. Over it all streamed the 
 yellow sunshine, and on my left rose the green 
 ramparts and lichen gray walls of the ancient city. 
 
 At the edge of the moat I was put down, and we 
 all boarded a ferry. On the opposite side I got in 
 
THE WALLED CITY 115 
 
 again. With a whoop they caught me up and off 
 we went, up and up, through the side gate in the 
 walls, and into the city itself. Never will I forget 
 that first ride through Soochow. Perhaps the fact 
 that I was alone, with no one to talk to, and that I 
 was a stranger, going I knew not where, lent me a 
 sense of adventure. However it came about, I felt 
 transported into the land of Aladdin and the forty 
 thieves. All the sights that met my eyes were 
 fantastic and bizarre, out of shape and proportion 
 with modern life. Great jars of tea stood at the 
 corners of the streets, out of which any one who 
 thirsted dipped a cup of brown tea in a pale, sand- 
 colored, wooden dipper. I watched the carry-coolies 
 set down their burdens, wipe the sweat from out their 
 eyes, and lift up a dripping dipperful of tea to their 
 mouths. Each jar stood in a wooden stand under 
 a bent roof, like the shelter one sometimes sees over 
 old-fashioned gates. Each one was big enough to 
 hide a man. 
 
 The curtains of my chair were looped back, for 
 was I not a bold, foreign woman who looked at the 
 passers-by ! I saw hardly any women on the streets, 
 — now and then a coolie woman carrying a kettle of 
 boiling water which she had bought at the nearest 
 cook-shop for a few cash, or an old hag sitting in a 
 doorway. The streets were like the alleyways of 
 Venice. At any moment I could put out my two 
 hands and touch the houses on either side. The 
 Soochow Creek entered the city and ran through the 
 town in a network of canals. The beautiful arched 
 bridges of China spanned the crossings at every 
 
ii6 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 turn. Without warning, up we would go, over high 
 flights of irregular steps. At the summit of the 
 bridge I would look up and down the canal and see 
 the houses built like a solid wall along its edge. 
 Some of the streets were empty and deserted, and 
 again we traversed the thoroughfares of the town. 
 We went along the Street of the Weavers. In each 
 low, open room I saw the looms on which were 
 stretched wondrous fabrics of flowered brocade, 
 palest pink and baby blue and bridal crimson. I 
 wondered how they were kept so clean in such 
 darkened houses. From the Street of the Weavers 
 we turned into the Street of the Jade Cutters. Here 
 the whirring sound of the wheels filled the air, and 
 the cutters stood stooping over their ancient revolv- 
 ing grindstones. We came out on the market square 
 before a huge temple. The air smelt faintly of 
 incense and the sound of temple bells hung over the 
 place. 
 
 On and on we went. A sense of unreality stole 
 over me. We weren't going anywhere in particular, 
 we were just going on and on, as I had always 
 wanted to, seeing all the wonder of the whole world. 
 I felt that this ancient, walled city contained every- 
 thing in the world. 
 
 After an hour and a half of this wild, silent carrying 
 into the unknown, I began to feel that I was being 
 carried off in earnest. I wasn't really scared, but I 
 felt pleasantly thrilled. Should I presently have to 
 call out to a chance passer-by to rescue me? Did 
 these silent, jogging men know where they were 
 going, or had they become hypnotized by the regular 
 
THE WALLED CITY 117 
 
 motion? We were passing along an empty street. 
 A wide stream of water ran at one side, and beyond 
 it rose the walls of a house more pretentious than 
 most. It was two stories high. Small grilled 
 wmdows as big as a napkin overlooked the stream. 
 A heavy wooden door studded with brass nails 
 opened on to a steep flight of steps that led to the 
 water s edge. The fringes of two black cypresses 
 tipped the walls that ran down the side of the stream 
 from the house. The water itself was sluggish, and 
 a faint, iridescent green scum floated on its surface. 
 Two or three helpless brown leaves were caught in 
 this green mesh and lay listless and motionless. We 
 were the only people in sight. A queer, dank smell 
 pervaded the place. In the ooze between the house 
 and the water, a large green toad with purple spots 
 blinked its protruding eyes. 
 
 "What man live this side?" I asked in Chinese. 
 
 At the sound of my voice, the front bearer turned 
 around in surprise. This threw the back bearer out 
 of step, and they both stopped. They sat my chair 
 down and began mopping their brows. The third 
 bearer joined the one in front. 
 
 "Ah! Teacher knows to speak Middle Kingdom 
 speech," the man exclaimed in surprise. 
 
 "A little, little," I said. "Who lives in that big 
 house?" 
 
 "A very rich man, oh Teacher, born before. But 
 very sad. He has no sons. He is now old in years, 
 already sixty and very venerable. He has four wives, 
 but they all bear daughters. Only one year ago 
 he married a young and beautiful wife. There was 
 
ii8 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 great rejoicing in the whole house. She will soon 
 bear a child. All year he and all his wives have 
 prayed daily at the temple that the child may be a 
 son. The Small Wife was carried out herself daily, 
 so devout was she, but now she goes out no longer. 
 They are all awaiting the great day." 
 
 I looked at the silent, barred house with added 
 interest. In what frame of mind was the young girl 
 waiting within? A boy would mean the road to 
 happiness. She would be the old man's favorite, 
 the darling of his eyes. The Great First wife would 
 no longer look down on her and lord it over her. But 
 a girl meant despair. And as I looked at the house, 
 a face appeared at one of the small, barred upper 
 windows in the second story, at one of those windows 
 no larger than a napkin. It was the face of a girl, 
 and her eyes looked across at me, riding so brazenly, 
 so jauntily through the streets of the strange city, 
 in my outlandish clothes, with big feet. I wondered 
 did she envy my freedom, or did she shrink from it ? 
 Did she think I was a "foreign devil" with bold, 
 forward manners, or did she think I was the fore- 
 runner of a like liberty for the girls of China? I 
 couldn't tell what she thought, but I felt her eyes 
 calling to me. She held the bars that spanned the 
 window in her fingers and pressed her face closer 
 and closer against them. Her hands looked very 
 slim and transparent, and her eyes held a look 
 of appeal. 
 
 I smiled at her and waved my hand. She looked 
 at me a moment, then she too smiled. Some one 
 appeared over her shoulder and drew her away. 
 
THE WALLED CITY 119 
 
 "Good to look upon," said the bearers with a sly 
 smile. "The first wife is fierce come death." 
 
 They picked me up again and started off at the 
 never-tiring dogtrot down the street. 
 
 "This house, call itself how?" I asked. 
 
 "The House of Li," they answered. 
 
 In about fifteen minutes we reached the com- 
 pound. The mission had bought land on both sides 
 of the street long years ago and had planted rows of 
 trees. Frame cottages that reminded me of New 
 England stood on both sides. More pretentious 
 brick buildings, the girls' school and the boys' 
 college, stood in their own campuses. Sweet peas 
 looked at me over the low fence, and a mass of 
 petunias covered the posts of the porch. A wonder- 
 ful sense of peace and cleanliness and busy activity 
 pervaded the place. I heard the clear voices of 
 children at play and the thud of a falling ball. 
 
 In the round stone gateway, the entrance to the 
 hospital, which was built in Chinese style, stood 
 Doctor Grace to receive me. 
 
XII 
 THE FISHING BIRDS 
 
 I NEVER got over my feeling of enchantment 
 in Soochow. It has always remained for me 
 a place of marvels, yet the people who lived 
 there took it all as a matter of course. The con- 
 trast between the community of missionaries and 
 the Chinese was sharper than in Shanghai. Each 
 was more individual, more remote from the other. 
 And to me the strangest thing about the situation 
 was that the ultimate point of contact was not ma- 
 terial but spiritual. Each separate race held fast to 
 its own customs of eating and sleeping and dressing. 
 The Chinese women saw our unbound feet, and, 
 though some daring ones followed suit, the great 
 mass of the women were satisfied with small feet, 
 were still even proud of them. And we saw the 
 freedom of the daintily trousered Chinese women, 
 yet none of us adopted their custom, much as some 
 of us wanted to. No, it was not on the plane of 
 material things that the two races touched, it was on 
 that utterly essential plane of things spiritual. The 
 whole human race is forever groping with out- 
 stretched hands towards the light, and these groping, 
 unseeing hands touch in the darkness. That common 
 
THE FISHING BIRDS 121 
 
 need and common desire was welding the two com- 
 munities, the ancient Chinese of the Walled City 
 and the Modern American missionaries, into one 
 community. 
 
 The mission had made itself a beautiful home at the 
 extreme end of the town up against the inner moat. 
 A lane paved with bricks, wider than the city streets, 
 ran through the center of the compound. On one 
 side was the university with a campus of its own for 
 the boys, and on the other side was the girls' school 
 and the woman's hospital and the nurses' training 
 school. The trees in the lane had been planted long 
 ago by those heroic, pioneer missionaries who came 
 into the unknown when a voyage to China was like 
 a voyage to another planet, and China seemed as 
 far away from home as Mars. When I think of 
 them, they seem a different race from us. They 
 were heroes and martyrs, while nowadays it's only 
 a joy to be a missionary. 
 
 That evening after supper Doctor Grace and I 
 walked up and down the shady lane with our arms 
 wrapped around each other's waists in the fashion 
 of long ago. We talked of everything under the 
 sun, of Philadelphia and all the girls we had known 
 there. One had gone to Persia and had married a 
 minister and had a daughter. Another had gone 
 to Mexico, had married, and had had to leave the 
 country during"~the revolutions. Still another was 
 in India. I had recently met a nurse from the old 
 hospital who had gone to Syria. Her surgery over- 
 looked the deep blue waters of the Mediterranean. 
 We talked them all over, marveling at the strange 
 
122 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 destinies of people once so near together in daily 
 work, now scattered to the end of the world. 
 
 The city was very still. The water gates are 
 closed at sundown, and the cumbrous, iron-toothed 
 portcullis lowered into the water. We walked to 
 the end of the lane and stood at the top of a flight of 
 stone steps that led to a landing along the inner 
 moat. A few wakeful boatmen were poling them- 
 selves lazily past. At the landing two boats were 
 anchored, and a couple of coolies were loading them 
 with bulky bales of silk. Lanterns, striped in 
 rings of red and white, hung on the boats. Behind 
 us the lane was unlit and shadowy. Before us 
 the sluggish water looked solid and stationary. 
 Above us rose the wall, silhouetted like a battle- 
 mented shadow against the starry sky. We could 
 hardly see it, but we saw a space in the sky where 
 there should have been stars, and where instead 
 there was a regular turreted blackness. We were 
 shut in for the night ! The water gates were doubly 
 closed, and all the little postern gates in the walls 
 were barred and guarded by sentries. 
 
 Like the little woman who lost her petticoat, I 
 hugged myself and said, "This is none of I !" 
 
 From beyond the wall came the faint, distant 
 sound of frogs. It was not really a sound ; rather 
 it made the air vibrate as a shell vibrates when 
 pressed against the ear. 
 
 "It's time to go to bed," said Doctor Grace. 
 "We all go to bed with the Chinese." 
 
 "I hate to go in," I said, "and lose any of this 
 enchantment." 
 
w 
 
 H 
 < 
 O 
 fi 
 
 w 
 
 H 
 < 
 
 is 
 
THE FISHING BIRDS 123 
 
 Doctor Grace laughed. "It won't evaporate 
 overnight," she said. "It has been here for thou- 
 sands and thousands of years. If ever anything in 
 the history of mankind can be called permanent, 
 this can." 
 
 "But you can't tell!" I cried. "It has never 
 before met western civilization. It's a solvent. All 
 the old things crumble at its touch." 
 
 "You are inconsistent," said Doctor Grace. "If 
 you regret the past, why be a missionary? " 
 
 "No, I am not," I answered. "I don't think 
 China is perfect, nor do I think we are perfect. I 
 have come to bring the love of Jesus Christ, not our 
 habits. But don't let's argue. I'd rather just 
 walk up and down under these old trees and feel 
 myself a part of the antiquity." 
 
 "You foolish child ! We'll go to bed." 
 
 So we did. I hadn't slept outside my own room 
 since coming to China. Once shut in alone, within 
 four walls, I felt suddenly homesick. I wanted to 
 be back at St. Margaret's ; I wanted to see Edward. 
 At least, I wanted a letter from him to put under my 
 pillow when I went to sleep. I crawled in under 
 the canopy of the mosquito netting. Close outside 
 my window grew some willows. It was so still that 
 I heard their tiny leaves slithering against each 
 other. And this desert-like quietness was in the 
 midst of a city, of a walled city of teeming millions. 
 If a baby cried, I felt the whole city would hear it. 
 You feel that such profound quiet is the preparation 
 for a stupendous event. 
 
 Before I knew it, it was morning. I made rounds 
 
124 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 with Doctor Grace and helped with clinic. In the 
 afternoon she had prepared a treat for me. One of 
 the men in the mission had a rowboat which he 
 loaned to us. That again caught my breath away. 
 Here I was in a rowboat, floating along on the inner 
 moat of Soochow ! We went down the watersteps, 
 Mr. Jackson held the boat for us, and we pushed off. 
 Doctor Grace insisted upon rowing, for, she said, I 
 was to sit in the stern and see the sights. We 
 rowed down to the nearest Watergate. It was as 
 thick as a house and the old blocks of stone were 
 green with moss. Overhead I saw the black teeth 
 of the raised portcullis hanging suspended above 
 me. The air under the wide, thick gate was damp 
 and cool as in a cellar. Near the gate, the inner 
 moat was crowded with boats. As each long house- 
 boat approached the entrance, the oarsman, standing 
 at the stern, gave a guttural call, and the prow, 
 seeming to move of itself, swung sharply into sight. 
 Once through it and on the outer moat, we were 
 plunged into another sphere of life. House boats 
 drifted slowly by, a man at the stern oar, and children 
 sprawling all over the narrow space. Little tots, 
 dressed in red rags, climbed around the edges of the 
 boat precariously. The next moment I saw one 
 fall overboard. Before I had time to scream out, 
 its mother jerked it up again by a rope which was 
 tied around its middle. 
 
 "Don't they mind it at all?" I asked. 
 
 "Oh, no, " said Doctor Grace. "They must fall 
 in a dozen times a day. Whenever I come out, I 
 see mothers pulling up their dangling infants." 
 
THE FISHING BIRDS 125 
 
 Away to the horizon stretched the fields, those 
 limitless, pathless fields I had grown to love so well. 
 To my utter delight we followed the streams right 
 into them. I had never seen them from the winding 
 waterways, and at once I knew this was the proper 
 way to approach them. The little huts faced the 
 water. Flights of crooked stone steps led down the 
 banks to the edge of the water. Women stooped 
 on the last step, washing the evening rice. We 
 passed two lengths of the river which had been fenced 
 off with anchored buoys and twisted lines of straw 
 rope. The stretch of water inside had been sewn 
 with grain. On and on we went. 
 
 "Are we going anywhere in particular?" I asked. 
 "Or don't you know where you are going ? " 
 
 "Of course I do," said Doctor Grace. "We are 
 going to see the fishing birds." 
 
 "The what?" I asked. 
 
 "The fishing birds," said Doctor Grace. "Wait 
 till you see them. They belong to the husband of 
 one of our patients. The women and children of 
 the family come to the hospital. Only a month 
 ago the last baby was born there." 
 
 It was about five o'clock. The shadows were 
 long and level. Wafts of the sweet fragrance of 
 blossoming beans blew to us from the banks. I 
 recognized the smell ; I knew the look of the plants 
 — low, grey-green, with the blossoms close against 
 the stems as if a host of purple and gray butterflies 
 had cuddled against the bushes for the night. Birds 
 were flying across the sky, swift crows, jet black, 
 against the sunset, and the plumper "Sau Sau Man 
 
126 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 Hau" (the Cook Cook Rice Well bird) that cries 
 as it flies. 
 
 We turned a bend in the stream and came upon 
 the queerest sight I have ever seen in my life. 
 
 The point of land where the streams divide rose 
 steeply from the water. A house of wicker and 
 bamboo, larger than most of the farmers' houses, 
 stood in a grove of fresh green bamboo trees. The 
 evening wind, rustling through their papery leaves, 
 made a clear, soft, calling sound. Buffaloes and 
 chickens roamed along the shore. On the lowest 
 step of the water stairs stood a group of women and 
 children watching a boat in the river. 
 
 A long narrow boat swung mid-stream. At 
 first glance it looked as if the boat were not floating 
 on the water, but as if it were being held just over 
 its surface by a flock of black, strong birds as large as 
 eagles, which hovered on both sides of it and flapped 
 their great black wings, screaming harshly. Two 
 men stood in the boat, which was shaped like a long 
 scooped-out canoe. The men were motionless and 
 silent. The little group on the shore was also motion- 
 less and silent. Doctor Grace stopped rowing. We 
 caught the branch of an overhanging tree and moored 
 ourselves at the bank, and we too were motionless 
 and silent. 
 
 Fascinated, I watched the birds. They screamed 
 and fluttered their wings. Suddenly one swooped 
 into the water, more plunged after it. I saw them 
 struggling and flapping their sooty black wings over 
 the brown water as does a white sea gull when it 
 snatches a fish. The men sprang into sudden 
 
THE PISHING BIRDS 127 
 
 activity. They pulled the birds up by stout strings 
 tied around their legs. They caught the struggling 
 birds under their arms and jerked the fishes from 
 their mouths. I saw a gleam of silver as they tossed 
 the fish into a wicker fishing basket. The commotion 
 among the birds subsided. They settled down into 
 quietness on the rows of horizontal perches, making 
 a soft blackness on the water beneath by the shadow 
 of their wings. 
 
 "How many?" called a voice from the shore. 
 
 "Three," answered one of the men. "Later, 
 more," he said. "The sun not yet falls down the 
 Hill of Heaven. Wait till the fish see not the 
 shadow of the black birds." 
 
 Doctor Grace explained the custom of cormorant 
 fishing to me. It is an ancient Soochow industry. 
 The birds, tied by a stout rope, three or four deep 
 on the perches which stick out in parallel rows from 
 each side of the boat, are kept very hungry. They 
 fish, and the men steal the fish from their beaks. 
 Along the outer moat they can often be seen fishing 
 by daylight. 
 
 "Suppose all the birds flew up in the air at once ?" 
 I said. "Wouldn't they carry the boat right out of 
 the water?" 
 
 "There is an ancient legend about a fisherman 
 who was cruel to his birds," said Doctor Grace. 
 "He took all the fish from them, not even giving 
 them their just and due reward at the end of an 
 evening's fishing. The birds were fierce and lean 
 and hungry, and caught fish well. At night, the 
 oldest son of the fisherman crept out to the tied 
 
128 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 birds and fed them stolen morsels of rice and left- 
 over bits of fish. This kept the birds strong. The 
 friends of the fisherman warned him that he must 
 give his birds more to eat. Day by day the birds 
 became fiercer and leaner. They flapped their 
 black pinions angrily over their perches and screamed 
 harshly whenever the fisherman pulled open their 
 beaks and robbed them of their fish. Once the 
 fisherman was ill, and a neighbor took the birds out 
 fishing. That day the birds gorged themselves, 
 and the neighbor came home with his hand scratched 
 and bleeding. 
 
 " ' Your birds are not cormorants but evil spirits,' 
 he said to his friend. ' If I were you, I would set 
 them loose and let them fly away in a great black 
 cloud over the sky.' 
 
 " But the fisherman only laughed and continued to 
 treat the birds as before. He grew rich from his 
 daily catch. And at night his little son crept out, 
 in the shivery darkness, to feed the birds. He loved 
 the birds. Sometimes in the early dawn he played 
 to them on his little, hollow bamboo flute. As his 
 father grew richer, he seemed to think all the world 
 was his, and he treated everybody just as he treated 
 his fishing birds. Everybody in the house grew 
 afraid of him. The children hid away when they 
 saw him coming home at night, and the women 
 retired into their own quarters. At night when the 
 birds were tied in safety, he sat under the cypresses 
 at the little table in the front yard, and counted his 
 fish. His little son would crouch behind the shutters 
 and watch the long, lithe bodies of the fish slip 
 
THE FISHING BIRDS 129 
 
 through his father's hands like shining pieces of 
 silver. 
 
 ' ' One day the little boy was sick. He had smallpox 
 and lay moaning on a mattress on the floor in his 
 mother's room. When evening came he remem- 
 bered the hungry birds, but he was afraid to tell his 
 mother lest she feed them clumsily and his father 
 catch her at it and beat her. He tried to get up, 
 but he fell back fainting on his mattress. So that 
 night the birds had no food. 
 
 " The next day when the fisherman tied them in 
 orderly rows on the side perches of the boat, 'the 
 birds were very still and lifeless. Like black, 
 wooden images they sat motionless and without 
 sound. The sun hung low over the fields, making 
 the shadows ebony-black, and the light places like 
 patches of gold. On the farther side of the boat, 
 where its shadow lay over the water, the cormorants 
 saw the swift shadows of the gliding fishes. They 
 saw the instantaneous flash of silver as the fish 
 darted out of the shadow into the sunlit water be- 
 fore disappearing from their sight. Usually this 
 was the signal for diving, but the birds waited. 
 Not one moved, or fluttered a pinion. The fisher- 
 man stood waiting, too, wondering what had come 
 over the birds. He also saw the fish shadows in the 
 water like immaterial phantoms. 
 
 "The sun slipped slowly down the vault of the sky. 
 A Minne bird called from the rice fields, a star hung 
 in the west. Still the birds waited ; and the fisher- 
 man waited, too. It grew night. The fisherman 
 could barely see the mass of birds on his right and 
 
I30 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 on his left. Finally a strip of the rising moon 
 showed scarlet over the rice fields. It was the 
 signal. With harsh cries the birds flapped their 
 wings in unison. The boat swayed and rocked on 
 the water. A wind swept along the water from the 
 rice fields and the moon. The birds lifted the boat 
 free of the water, and it hung like a cradle between 
 their soaring black wings. 
 
 "The people in the house heard the screaming of 
 the cormorants and the rush of their wings, and 
 they ran to the front door. Above the rice fields 
 they saw the boat carried away. Like a black 
 feather, it floated across the moon, which rose up 
 scarlet and still over the water. The man was never 
 seen or heard of again. 
 
 "And so," said Doctor Grace, "every cormorant 
 fisher is careful to feed his birds well after the 
 catch." 
 
 I wanted to wait for the sunset, but it was not 
 allowed. 
 
 "That's one of the penalties of living in a walled 
 city," said Doctor Grace. "You can never see the 
 sun set or rise out in the fields. You can only see 
 it from the walls of the city. If you don't pass 
 through the water gates before sunset, you have to 
 stay out all night, for at sunset the portcullis is 
 lowered." 
 
 We waved our farewell to the little group on the 
 shore. I too took an oar and we rowed for dear 
 life. For, much as I would like to have stayed out 
 all night, it's not proper! There would be some 
 advantages in having a husband ! 
 
THE FISHING BIRDS 131 
 
 When we got back to the hospital we found a boy 
 there with a note for Doctor Grace. 
 
 "It's from the house of Li, the jade merchant," 
 she said. "They are expecting a baby there to- 
 night. Will you go along?" 
 
XIII 
 THE BRIGAND'S KNIFE 
 
 WE'LL want two donkeys," said Doctor 
 Grace to the boy, and we flew to get 
 ready, changing our clothes and swallow- 
 ing cups of black coffee. A nurse handed Doctor 
 Grace her out-practice bag, already packed with its 
 sterilized instruments. The gatekeeper called two 
 donkey boys, each with his own little donkey. 
 
 "How are you going to ride?" I asked Doctor 
 Grace. 
 
 "I ride side-saddle," she said, "but you can ride 
 as you please. The only real comfort is to ride 
 astride, but so many of the older missionaries think 
 it isn't ladylike that I yield to their wishes." 
 
 Not to be outdone in politeness, I jumped up on 
 my donkey sidewise, with my feet dangling in a 
 truly ladylike fashion over his side. A dilapidated 
 bridle and cross-saddle composed the harness. Ah 
 Fok poked the donkey on the flank, and we started 
 off at a brisk trot. For some unaccountable reason 
 I began to laugh. I felt too ridiculous bouncing 
 around on the back of the little animal ; it was so 
 tiny that any man could have helped it along by 
 kicking the ground. Ah Fok ran alongside, giving 
 
THE BRIGAND'S KNIFE 133 
 
 the necessary little, sharp cries that kept the donkey 
 going and occasionally prodding him with a pointed 
 stick, as we cantered gayly down the twilight 
 street. Overhead the crimson sunset lingered, but 
 in the narrow street of the city it was almost dusk. 
 Lanterns hung before the shops. The dwelling 
 houses were already closed and shuttered for the 
 night. Across the court of a deserted temple, 
 around a corner, and up over a bridge we went. 
 
 The bridge, like all Chinese bridges, arched up 
 at the center, making a half circle over the surface 
 of the water. Up we went without slowing, and 
 off I slid. It happened very simply. As the back 
 of the donkey assumed the steep incline of forty- 
 five degrees I slipped gently backward over his 
 tail. Ah Fok rushed to my rescue. Placing both 
 his hands in the small of my back, he pushed with 
 all his might and main to stop my avalanche. But 
 I was too heavy ; I went on sliding over the donkey's 
 tail till I sat on the ground. It was all so funny I 
 couldn't speak for laughing. 
 
 "Try cross-saddle," advised Doctor Grace. 
 "They saw you start off in the proper fashion. 
 Your intentions were good, but the only thing to do 
 is to ride the way you can stay on." 
 
 I agreed. Those were the days of hobble skirts. 
 Fortunately my petticoat was an heirloom of the 
 past and possessed frills and ruffles. My dress 
 skirt vanished from sight ; it became a mere string 
 around my waist. But my petticoat spread out 
 in a truly gratifying manner over my legs. This 
 manner of riding was a great improvement. The 
 
134 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 donkey was small enough for me to grasp com- 
 fortably between my knees, and I felt as secure as 
 in a rocking chair. 
 
 "Missey can do?" asked Ah Fok, running at my 
 side. 
 
 "Can do," I answered. 
 
 Sometimes we trotted, but more often we galloped. 
 Over the up and down arches of the bridges we 
 walked. The donkey boys had muscles of wire 
 and heart and lungs of India rubber. Without 
 the slightest effort they ran along beside the 
 donkeys, shouting and giving little sharp jabs at 
 their flanks. 
 
 From the comparative quiet of darkened streets 
 we turned into one of the busy thoroughfares where 
 the shops stood wide open. The houses were like 
 partitions, with separating walls and a back stoop 
 but without any front at all. Unless one has seen 
 such a street, it is hard to conceive the variety and 
 color that all the lighted interiors give. The eating 
 shops were full of men sitting in groups around small 
 square tables, shoveling in rice by the mouthful. 
 They hold the bowls close up against their lips, open 
 their mouths to the fullest extent, and poke in 
 great mountains of fine white rice. Holding the 
 bowls at their mouths, they turn around and stare 
 at the passers-by. Men with baskets full of towels 
 wrung out of boiling, perfumed water pass among 
 the eaters, offering a towel to each guest. It is the 
 custom to wipe off one's face and head and neck with 
 these towels. The waiter passes the same towel to 
 the next guest and so on until the towel is cold. 
 
THE BRIGAND'S KNIFE 13S 
 
 In the wine-shops men were filling their tiny tea- 
 cups with hot wine from metal teapots. In a large 
 eat-shop a band of musicians sat playing a weird 
 minor song, which echoed up and down the street 
 above the sounds of evening life. At a temple a 
 funeral was going on, and I caught a swift glimpse 
 of priests in robes of red and green with mitered 
 caps. On the outskirts of the crowd hung a fringe 
 of monks in dirty gray. The hired mourners, in a 
 discordant chorus, wailed shrilly, and little boy 
 acolytes, in tattered, embroidered cassocks of blue 
 and red, beat drums. The whole party were 
 evidently enjoying themselves very much. 
 
 Opium dens, looking like sections of Pullman 
 sleepers, with rows of closely curtaine(^ bunks one 
 above the other and a narrow passage running down 
 the middle, were squeezed in between the shops. 
 
 The streets themselves were filled with a busy 
 throng of men. Dignitaries were carried about in 
 stately sedan chairs. Once or twice I passed a 
 chair in which I caught a fleeting glimpse of a 
 bejeweled woman, slowly fanning herself and peer- 
 ing out through the half drawn curtains with list- 
 less eyes. There were no women afoot in that crowd 
 of animated, merry, eating humanity. 
 
 Ah Fok ran ahead, crying out, " Make way for the 
 Illustrious Foreign-born Healer. Make way." 
 
 The clatter of the donkeys' hoofs, the shouting 
 of the donkey boys, made a stir of interest in 
 the mass of people. The men squeezed up against 
 the walls to let us pass, and I heard murmurs of 
 surprise. In the eyes of an oriental, we were 
 
136 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 Incomprehensible. Even our own grandmothers 
 would have gasped ! Women, alone, at that time 
 of night, single and virtuous ! 
 
 On the bridges I looked down on the dark canals, 
 stretching like black ribbons through the city, 
 separating the opposite houses, but linking the far 
 parts together. Dark and mysterious they lay, in 
 silent contrast to the night lights of the city. Over 
 the bridge, through the bright streets, we went, 
 till at last we left all the busy quarter of night life 
 behind us. Ah Fok gave a vigorous jab at my 
 donkey, and it burst into a -run. Away went my 
 stirrups ; my skirts streamed out behind me. I 
 clamped my legs around the animal's body, found I 
 was perfectly secure, and gave myself up to enjoy- 
 ment. Ah Fok was forgotten and out of sight. A 
 long straight alley lay before me, where blank walls 
 rose on either side. No one was in sight. Faint, 
 dim starlight made a deeper darkness of this narrow 
 straight alley. No lanterns hung at the doorposts, 
 no light gleamed from under the threshold of the 
 barred doors sunk in the walls, no sound came from 
 the houses. The night wind blew in my face. My 
 hairpins fell out, and my hair streamed back in the 
 wind. Only a woman knows the sense of adventure 
 and freedom that comes with loose, flying hair. 
 China dropped away from my consciousness, and I 
 was filled with the elemental delight of swift motion 
 toward an unknown destination. But the little 
 donkey knew where it was going. Right and left, we 
 turned the corners galloping, with the thudding 
 clatter of hoofs the only sound in the stillness. We 
 
THE BRIGAND'S KNIFE 137 
 
 seemed to be running through a city of the dead. We 
 met no one, saw no one, heard no one. 
 
 Into the blue-black night, to which my eyes had 
 grown accustomed, shot a thin gleam of yellow light, 
 close along the ground. Suddenly it widened to a 
 triangle, then vanished utterly. A door in the 
 silent walls had opened and closed, yet I heard no 
 footfalls nor the chatter of voices. Perhaps some 
 one, startled by the tumultuous sound of our ap- 
 proach, had but peered out from curiosity. My 
 eyes focused themselves on the spot in the wall 
 where the break of light had occurred. Suddenly 
 we were abreast of it, then had left it behind. A 
 thrill of excitement tingled through me. In that 
 moment, as we flashed by, I saw a man leaning, 
 slouching against the wall. He had not moved as 
 we passed, nor had I turned my head to look at him. 
 From some obscure reason I had pretended I had 
 not seen him. He looked as if he did not want to 
 be seen. The door against which he leaned was 
 sunken in the wall about a foot. He stood in that 
 depression, motionless and sinister. I just caught 
 the dark blur of a man's figure and the pale patch 
 of a face. For no reason under the sun I was excited. 
 I looked back over my shoulder for Ah Fok, but 
 no one was in sight, not even the hiding man. The 
 alley stretched away behind me as dark and im- 
 penetrable and uninhabited as when I had dashed 
 down it. Yet I felt I was not alone. 
 
 To my great relief I heard the sound of ricksha 
 wheels, and I drew the donkey down to a walk. 
 The shrill voices of two women talking came to me 
 
138 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 down the alley ; the next moment I saw the lantern 
 at the handlebars of a ricksha. It threw dancing, 
 elfin shadows on the ground and made the legs of 
 the coolie look tremendously black and thick. He 
 was coming along carelessly at a jogtrot. The 
 donkey halted at one side of the road, and I gathered 
 up my hair and began rebraiding it. Two women 
 were in the ricksha, a coolie woman and her mistress, 
 who was sitting on the lap of the amah. Some 
 unusual event had called them out, and they were 
 talking in eager shrill tones, the ricksha man entering 
 into their conversation when he saw fit. They gave 
 a little shriek when they saw me, and craned their 
 necks to stare back at me. 
 
 The coming of that flickering lantern made me feel 
 suddenly forlorn. The night loomed black and 
 threatening around me. I had no idea where I 
 was, I didn't know how to return. The donkey had 
 lost his initiative; he didn't seem to know any 
 more than I did. The voices died away down the 
 alley. The bobbing gleams of light were quite gone, 
 so was my thrill and exhilaration. I felt utterly 
 deserted and alone. I also felt that Edward had been 
 very remiss to let me go off alone to Soochow ! He 
 might have known something would happen to me ! 
 Then I couldn't stand it any longer. 
 
 I dug my heels into the donkey and turned him 
 back down the alley in the direction from which we 
 had come, for I wanted to catch up with that lighted 
 lantern and those voices. The donkey sensed my 
 meaning, and quite resignedly he trotted along back. 
 Around the next corner I caught sight of the friendly 
 
THE BRIGAND'S KNIFE 139 
 
 light shining on the legs of the ricksha man and on 
 the spokes of the ricksha wheels and making a little 
 arc of light on the pavement. It was a wonderful 
 splash of light. 
 
 Suddenly something happened to it: it was 
 dashed out of existence. A wild clamor broke out 
 in front of me. The women screamed shrilly, their 
 voices echoing back and forth across the alley from 
 wall to wall, like balls bouncing to and fro. I heard 
 the low guttural growl of a man. Then the ricksha 
 man rushed past me, yelling. A woman screamed 
 in a mounting shriek of terror, and I heard a stir 
 of doors opening and closing on the other side of the 
 walls, but no one came out into the alley. 
 
 I was deathly afraid, but I couldn't stay there 
 and hear two women murdered, so I kicked the 
 donkey, and we clattered towards the fray. But 
 after all it wasn't I who saved the day, it was Ah 
 Fok, the donkey boy. Running and shouting, he 
 turned into the alley and bore down upon us. 
 
 The mistress had been thrown out on the ground 
 by the sudden desertion of the ricksha man. A 
 heavy figure stooped over her, and the amah was 
 pounding and pulling at this figure. Ah Fok and I 
 made a goodly din in the stillness. The robber 
 was startled. He sprang to his feet, looked up and 
 down the alley, and saw foes approaching in both 
 directions. Quickly he leaned against the sunken 
 door in the wall, and vanished from our sight. 
 
 Ridiculous and infantile, more like a hopping 
 shadow than a rescuer. Ah Fok sprang towards the 
 prostrate woman. I was already off my donkey 
 
140 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 and kneeling beside her. The amah, in shrill 
 excitement, pulled her to her feet. 
 
 "My rings and my bracelets," wailed the woman. 
 "He has stolen my jewels." 
 
 With a swift movement the amah's hands went to 
 the ears of her mistress. 
 
 "He had no time," said the woman. "I felt 
 the blade of a knife cold against my cheek, but then 
 the foreign woman cried out, and the man withheld 
 his hand." 
 
 The amah was straightening her mistress' clothes 
 and loudly bewailing their misfortune. Ah Fok, 
 panting, leaned against the donkey, and I patted his 
 hands. What funny things we do when we are 
 upset ! Neither of us spoke. I heard the sliding 
 home of heavy bolts on the other side of the wall. 
 At the end of the alley I saw a growing glimmei- of 
 light. It was the ricksha man, coming back with a 
 friend. I sat on my donkey while they all had a 
 "talkee talk." Ah Fok, satisfied as to my safety, 
 joined in the parley, but no gate opened in the blank 
 walls, and no head appeared to see what was up. 
 That struck me as queer. I found I was shaking, 
 or rather that the beating of my heart was shaking 
 me. Also I was in a dripping perspiration. At last 
 the Chinese turned and went off down the alley in 
 the direction from which they had come. Ah Fok 
 tied a leading string to the donkey's bridle. The 
 noise of the rickshas died away. In the alley it was 
 again utterly dark and silent. A strip of starry sky 
 roofed the space between the houses. Taking a 
 last look at the heavy wooden door sunk in the wall. 
 
THE BRIGAND'S KNIFE 141 
 
 I noticed a faint glimmer of light near the threshold. 
 
 "What's that?" I asked Ah Fok. 
 
 He stooped and picked up a knife and held it out 
 to me. It had a wide bright blade, and dusty red 
 spots mottled its edge. I looked at it curiously. 
 The handle was bluntly round and dark from much 
 holding in hot, sweaty hands. I wanted to take it 
 home as a souvenir. I wanted to show it to Edward. 
 I wanted it very much, but so did Ah Fok. His 
 whole body trembled with fearful entreaty. I 
 suddenly became convinced that the robber was 
 crouching on the other side of that barred door, 
 listening with every nerve of his body. I almost 
 fancied that Ah Fok turned and spoke so that his 
 voice and words should carry to any one listening on 
 the other side of the wall. 
 
 "Belong bad knife," he said. "Suppose Missey 
 take homeside, some night knife can walk, can kill. 
 Throw away." 
 
 Ah Fok held out his hands for the knife, but I 
 still turned it over and over in my fingers, loath to 
 relinquish it. Ah Fok, searching in his belt, drew 
 out a box of matches. He lit two or three at once. 
 The sudden flame made the scene weird and un- 
 canny, throwing a great distorted shadow of us on the 
 smooth surface of the opposite wall. The donkey 
 was like some monstrous beast while Ah Fok and I 
 bent like two gnomes over the blade in my hands. 
 At one end of the handle, cut deeply into the wood 
 and painted red, were two Chinese characters 
 meaning "White Wolf." 
 
 "Bah Long" (White Wolf), shouted Ah Fok. 
 
142 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 He caught the knife from my hands and threw It 
 over the wall. We stood immobile till we heard it 
 clang on the pavement of the garden within the 
 wall. From over the wall came the sound of stealthy 
 motions and a just audible sigh of content. 
 
 Ah Fok too was satisfied. He pulled at the rope 
 on the bridle and we walked sedately back, down 
 that long, narrow, sinister alley where all the houses 
 were dark and barred and silent, where no glimmer 
 of light shone through the chinks in the walls and 
 doorways. The way back was long and tortuous. 
 I had a suspicion that Ah Fok was purposely twisting 
 this way and that so that I should utterly lose 
 what sense of direction I had, so that I should never, 
 by any chance, find that barred door in the blind 
 wall. 
 
 We crossed a high bridge. The dark canal was 
 dotted with the pinpoint, white reflections of the 
 tranquil stars overhead. With soft gurgles, the 
 water rushed and swished against the posts of the 
 bridge. Something like the curved blade of a 
 knife stuck in the ooze on the shore. I was never 
 sure about that crescent bit of light. It might have 
 been metal, but it might have been merely the 
 iridescent gleam of a stagnant pool that took shape 
 and meaning from our heated imaginations. 
 
 "A White Wolf knife," I whispered, pointing at 
 the bit of silver light. 
 
 Ah Fok shivered. 
 
 "Bah Long," he whispered, his teeth chattering. 
 The name of the famous brigand was yet more 
 fearful than the fear of devils. Ah Fok jabbed 
 
THE BRIGAND'S KNIFE 143 
 
 the donkey fiercely, and we plunged down the 
 steep, irregular steps of the high bridge. The 
 donkey slipped to his haunches and recovered his 
 footing with a jerk, but Ah Fok, as if pursued by a 
 hundred evil spirits, urged the donkey along, regard- 
 less of pitfalls. His sharp ringing cries echoed 
 shrilly up and down the empty street. We did 
 not slow down till we caught up with Doctor Grace. 
 
 We found her dismounted, waiting in front of a 
 massive door, with a group of amahs and coolies 
 around her. Lanterns hung on the gateposts. A 
 lighted doorway threw floods of light down the path 
 to the gate. From within the house came the sound 
 of a woman moaning. 
 
 "Where have you been?" she asked. "I was 
 about to turn back to hunt for you." 
 
 "The donkey ran away, and I got lost," I answered, 
 "we had quite an adventure." I explained, telling 
 her all the details. Doctor Grace took my news 
 seriously. 
 
 "I'm afraid we'll have to discharge Ah Fok," she 
 said. "He came to us without a recommendation. 
 Once before his donkey has run away in that direc- 
 tion. That is a very dangerous part of the city. 
 Even in peaceful times it is unsafe, but since the 
 terrorism of the White Wolf brigands it is really 
 dangerous. A nest of them are reported to be in 
 hiding somewhere over there near one of the gates. 
 Just last week one was shot by a sentry while he 
 was trying to escape over the wall by night. 
 Robberies are frequent, but the people are so afraid 
 that they do nothing." 
 
144 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 "It wasn't Ah Fok's fault," I said. "I think I 
 rather enjoyed it." 
 
 Something within me, utterly primitive and un- 
 tamed, exulted in the close danger, in my dip into 
 the days of lawlessness and disorder and secrecy. 
 My blood tingled through my veins. I wanted to go 
 back to the hidden world of violence, to cast off my 
 tame, demure shackles and be an Amazon. I was 
 feeling very wild and reckless. I had not known 
 before that each individual harbors all the past of 
 the race within his own inner consciousness, battened 
 down, clamped under by the etiquette of civilization. 
 It had only needed the runaway, galloping hoofs 
 of a little donkey and the gleam of a knife along the 
 wall to hurl me back into the aeons of the past. 
 
 But Doctor Grace guessed none of this. Out- 
 wardly as quiet and well behaved as she, I walked 
 through the gate of the House of Li, the Jeweller 
 in Jade. 
 
XIV 
 
 THE WIVES OF LI 
 
 AS Doctor Grace led the way quickly into the 
 house, I caught but a fleeting glimpse of 
 the dark spaces of the garden. Great 
 rocks and tall cypresses and the gentle sound of 
 water filled the shadows. In the guest hall we were 
 met by Li Sien Sang. He was a short man with a 
 picture-book Chinese moustache, very fine and thin, 
 with the ends drooping down on each side of his 
 mouth like a pair of walrus tusks. The skin on his 
 cheeks was pulled tightly across the malar bones 
 underneath, giving him a look of emaciation. His 
 manners were very courtly and his English good. 
 He made us welcome and turned us over to the 
 women of the house. 
 
 The guest hall was large and handsomely fur- 
 nished. A beautiful scroll hung on the back wall of 
 the room over the table of ceremonial worship. 
 Two tall candlesticks, of a metal resembling pewter, 
 on which thick red candles were spiked and flaring, 
 stood on each corner of the table.- A thin curl of 
 incense from a brass griffin scented the room. Along 
 the two walls, in rows of rigid orderliness, stood the 
 guest tables and chairs, as if placed in readiness for 
 ghostly visitors. The great divan of honor was of 
 
146 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 finely woven rattan and carved redwood. My 
 restless eyes were roving around the apartment 
 while Doctor Grace and Mr. Li were talking. Here 
 all was the height of formality. Each step of a 
 guest was preordained, each formula of greeting 
 ancestrally old and hallowed. Here it is, in the 
 great guest hall, that the westerner is bafifled. He 
 comes with a direct purpose, a direct question in his 
 mind, and is enwebbed by the delicate, shimmering 
 fabric of oriental politeness. To us, it will ever be a 
 mystery, one of the essential, lasting mysteries of 
 existence, deeper than the evanescent customs of 
 civilization, buried in the fiber of the race. 
 
 But our errand carried us past this jealously 
 guarded room of ceremonies, into the primitive 
 openness of life, where the Chinese are more aston- 
 ishingly communicative than we. 
 
 The mother of Li, an autocratic old dame, still 
 vigorous in spite of her advanced years, led us up 
 the stairs into the apartment of the latest bride. 
 Too much power throughout a long life had left 
 her with an ungovernable temper. This was her 
 reputation in Soochow, and her face showed as 
 much. Servants and amahs clustered about us. 
 Upstairs the rooms of the women's quarters were 
 furnished with the same elegance as the guest hall. 
 We were led through one room after smother in 
 which stood beds of carved redwood and heavy, 
 round, redwood tables, with deeply carved dragons 
 sprawling along the edge. The servants laughed and 
 whispered and nudged each other, as is the way of 
 servants in the Orient. In spite of the customs of a 
 
THE WIVES OF LI 147 
 
 higher caste, they show a strange democratic free- 
 dom of behavior and speech. 
 
 At last we came to the. room of the fourth wife 
 of Li. A young girl was propped up on a bed, lying 
 back against the shoulders of her body servant. 
 
 "Already three days she has not slept," said the 
 mother-in-law. "The noise of her groans disturbs 
 me. I have not much hope that the child is a boy. 
 I said as much to my son when he married her. She 
 was pretty, but not of a suitable house. So to-day 
 I said to my son, 'call the foreign-born healer and 
 let this noise be stopped.' " 
 
 The old dowager walked over to the bed on her 
 tiny stilt-like feet. Her silken trousers flapped 
 against her. Her jacket was buttoned on her right 
 shoulder with round jade studs, as large as a robin's 
 egg and of that wonderful, clear, prized color of 
 fresh spinach. Her hair ornaments were jade and 
 pearl. The edge of her headband was incrusted 
 with pearls. In spite of her advanced age, she was 
 a graceful and imposing figure. I saw the other 
 women watching her anxiously, as with her slow, 
 wooden-kneed, mincing step she crossed the room 
 and stood by the bed of the fourth wife. A not 
 unkindly expression crossed her face. 
 
 "If it is a boy," she said, "I will make you my 
 son's Great Wife. I will give you jade rings and 
 pearl earrings and new clothes of satin and em- 
 broidery. But if it is a girl, Oh ! then, thou un- 
 fortunate woman, go hide thy face from me forever. 
 You will be fit only to be cast forth on the 
 street." 
 
148 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 The picture is cut into my brain — the square 
 Chinese room with its curtained, carved bed, the 
 center of all eyes ; along the walls and in the door- 
 way the faces of the curious, peeping women, some 
 in silks and some in the common blue cloth of amahs ; 
 the figure of the mother-in-law, aloof and scornful 
 at the corner of the bride's bed. From the recess 
 of the bed looked the wide, drawn eyes of the girl. 
 Her face was white with pain, yet the fear that lurked 
 in her glance was more than the fear of physical 
 suffering ; it was the helpless, haunting fear of fate. 
 This was the night of her ordeal. All her future life 
 lay in the balance. Should it be happiness and honor 
 and favor, or dishonor and drudgery ? Already the 
 answer lay decided within her. She had carried 
 it around with her wherever she went, month after 
 month, while her very soul was torn with suspense. 
 Was it a girl, or was it a boy ? Her agony of body 
 was nothing to her agony of mind. 
 
 She was dressed in bridal crimson, and her hands 
 were covered with rings. From the canopy of her 
 bed hung countless balls and tassels, the supposed 
 bringers of sons. Over her shoulder peered the 
 curious eyes of her amah. For three days this 
 woman too had shared the vigil of her mistress. 
 
 " Do you want me," I asked Doctor Grace. 
 
 "Not just now," she said. "Why don't you go 
 and lie down, and I will call you when it is time for 
 the anesthetic." 
 
 They led me away to the chamber adjoining and 
 offered me a bed. I was tired, and I knew that a 
 long wait, probably most of the night, lay before 
 
THE WIVES OF LI 149 
 
 me, so I lay down. All the bedclothes were silk. 
 A cover of pink padded satin was spread on the 
 mattress of woven coconut fiber. A little, wooden, 
 neckpillow was placed under my head. A neatly 
 rolled up pile of comforts lay along one side of the 
 bed, ready for use — turquoise blue, imperial yellow, 
 peach-blossom pink, all in the softest fabrics. On a 
 round table near the bedside stood two water pipes 
 of silver. 
 
 I lay down and pretended to sleep, but my mind 
 was in too much of a whirl to compose itself. Amahs, 
 carrying wooden pails of hot water, passed through 
 the room, spilling puddles on the bare floor. The 
 Chinese have evolved a strange, practical utility in 
 their furniture. Scalding water neither hurts the 
 varnish of the tables, nor the bare boards of their 
 floors. In the next room I heard Doctor Grace's 
 quiet voice. The groaning ceased, and soon Doctor 
 Grace came in on tiptoe. 
 
 "She is sleeping," she said. "I have given her a 
 sedative. She was quite worn out. This is a 
 fiendish method, to keep the woman awake for 
 days and days. Poor thing ! She is only eighteen 
 and scared to death of the old mother-in-law." 
 
 The doctor went back to her vigil, and I lay with 
 my eyes open, staring at the ceiling. Another 
 woman came in and stood beside me. She was 
 about the age of Li and wore very handsome clothes. 
 Her hair, though thin, was still black, and, in the 
 uncanny fashion of the Chinese, her scalp had 
 been blackened so that her baldness did not show. 
 She took up the pipe that stood on the table, opened 
 
ISO MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 the lid of the tobacco box, and picked up a tiny pinch 
 with the little, silver pinchers that stood in a slim 
 stand at the side. She poked this little pinch of 
 tobacco into the pipe and drew two whifTs. Then 
 she emptied out the smoked tobacco and repeated 
 the process. She was leaning against the table, 
 one satin, trousered leg crossed over the other, in a 
 pose very graceful and natural. She smoked at 
 least five minutes in silence, her eyes on the little 
 instrument of pleasure. Her hands were laden 
 with rings, and heavy bracelets of carved gold set 
 with jade and sapphire clasped her wrists. The 
 little pipe itself, with its carved dragons, and dangling 
 silken tassels of peach pink, was utterly alluring. 
 Graceful, daintily feminine, she intrigued my fancy. 
 I wanted to know what she was thinking, what she 
 had been thinking all her life, whether she liked it or 
 not, what thrilled her, what bored her, what she 
 thought about babies and men. I wanted to bridge 
 the gulf between us and to have hep talk to me 
 frankly. I thought of the women I knew at home, 
 women of fifty or thereabouts and, to my mind's 
 eye, none of them presented the picture of mystery 
 and charm this Chinese woman did smoking her 
 silver pipe. 
 
 I had been watching her ever since she came into 
 the room. She must have felt my staring, for she 
 turned and smiled at me. This was my first sight 
 of her full face, and I saw at once that she was an 
 aristocratic Chinese beauty. She had the delicate 
 oval face of classical beauty, and a smooth skin of 
 almost occidental fairness, a skin that had never 
 
THE WIVES OF LI 151 
 
 been sunburned or wind-burned. She was, more- 
 over, very carefully rouged and painted. Her eye- 
 brows were drawn in a thin, fine, black arch over 
 her sleepy eyes. The eyes themselves were faintly 
 almond shaped and drowsy lidded. Her under lip 
 was carmined, but not the upper. Hoops of pearl 
 hung in her ears, lustrous against the soft bloom of 
 her cheeks. 
 
 Here was a woman, past master in all that I was 
 ignorant of, a creature that had made of herself a 
 mysterious thing of subtle charm. How did she do 
 it ? Was she satisfied ? 
 
 I sat up and spoke to her in English for I was sure 
 that all the women in such a house would be educated. 
 Nor was I mistaken. She spoke it beautifully, with 
 only the hint of a delicious accent. I remembered 
 that personal questions are the height of oriental 
 politeness, so I began asking them. 
 
 " I'm not sleepy," I said, " I might as well get up, 
 if you will stay and talk to me. Does it not wear 
 you out staying up so many nights?" 
 
 "Oh, no," she said, "I like to stay up when there 
 is a child coming. It is the proper place of the first 
 wife. I have seen almost twenty babies born in 
 this house since I came here thirty years ago." 
 
 "Tell me about them," I said. "Tell me about 
 yourself." 
 
 Li Ta Ta smiled with pleasure. "If you like to 
 listen, I will gladly tell you," she said. " It is an 
 event to me to talk to a young foreign-born woman. 
 Sometimes, from our latticed window on the moat, 
 we see them coming to the home of the Doctrine- 
 
152 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 Sowers near the wall. They ride by so gaily in their 
 uncurtained sedan chairs. Long ago I used to 
 envy them, but I don't any more. Now I think 
 sometimes they don't understand the essentials of 
 being a woman. I have been satisfied with my 
 life; that is, I am now satisfied. Once I was un- 
 happy, because I had no sons, but that has all 
 passed. 
 
 "tell me about it?" I urged. 
 
 "From the beginning?" asked Li Ta Ta. 
 
 "Yes, from the beginning," I said. 
 
 She was evidently pleased that I was interested. 
 What she told me was like a fairy story, so improbable 
 and unreal it seemed to my western mind. 
 
 "My father was head of the Jade Cutters' Guild," 
 she said. " In his youth he made a trip to America. 
 When he came home, he said to my mother that 
 all his sons and daughters should be educated in the 
 Western learning. At that time, the girls' school 
 was just founded and had only a dozen pupils. 
 When I was twelve years old, my father enrolled 
 me as one of the first scholars. I was very happy 
 there. I wanted to be a Christian, but my father 
 would not allow it. Though in some respects he 
 was very advanced, in matters of religion he was 
 very conservative. We were devout Buddhists. 
 Memories of Christmas festivals at school and 
 Buddhist feasts lie side by side in my heart. In my 
 childish mind I easily reconciled the beliefs of my 
 loved ones, of my family, and of my teachers. The 
 color of something gentle and sweet has always 
 lain on the world for me, in spite of all the bitterness 
 
THE WIVES OF LI 153 
 
 I have eaten. At sixteen I was married. Even 
 after all the long, benumbing length of years, I can 
 still taste the salt tears on my lips as I sat shrouded 
 in my bridal veil and was carried from the house of 
 my parents to the home of my bridegroom's parents. 
 Such utter, sweeping desolation engulfed me! I 
 had a gorgeous bridal procession. My chair was 
 lacquered in crimson and gilded with many dragons. 
 My clothes were stiff with embroidery and pearls. 
 Eight men took turns carrying me through the 
 streets. But I sat within, crying. Thankful I 
 was for my veil. I was lonely and frightened to 
 death. Wealthy as was the house of Li, my mother- 
 in-law had already established a reputation for 
 tyranny and cruelty. She beat a slave to death. 
 She cut off her amah's forefinger because she dropped 
 a favorite vase. No wonder I sat in my bridal dress, 
 crying bitter tears behind my veil of pearls, under 
 my coronet of blue kingfisher feathers. I wished I 
 could die. 
 
 "Within nine months my baby was born. It Was 
 a girl. My cup of bitterness ran over. Then, little 
 by little, I loved the baby. It was so soft and round 
 and rosy. I would take it away from the amah and 
 run off to a comer in the garden, and play with it 
 and sing to it and kiss it. I was in disgrace in the 
 household because I had borne a girl, but, in those 
 days, there was still hope. My husband was good 
 to me. In my heart I was sick that the baby was 
 not a boy, but by-and-by I grew happy again. In 
 the winter, it was warm in the sunshine in the walled 
 garden where I watched the lizards crawl out to 
 
IS4 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 sun themselves. From the top window I looked up 
 at the clouds and saw the line of the wall marching 
 across the sky. On feast days we were carried 
 forth in our sedan chairs to the temples or the graves. 
 My husband was proud of my foreign accomplish- 
 ments. 
 
 "With the passing of each year came a baby 
 girl. The temper of my mother-in-law grew worse. 
 Three of the little girls died. She rejoiced when 
 they died, and I hated her. Then, one day, my 
 husband told me he had arranged to take a second 
 wife to bear him sons. He said I was accursed and 
 would only bear girls. 
 
 "For days, I hid in the garden. My old amah, 
 the one who had nursed all my babies, brought me 
 food from the house. I heard the sounds of the 
 wedding preparations. Finally pride made me go 
 back, and I took my rightful place as the Great 
 First Wife. I meant to hate the Small Wife, just as 
 my mother-in-law hated me ; it was my perquisite 
 to hate her and make her life a misery to her. But 
 I loved her from the first. She was young, and we 
 were like sisters. Together we escaped from my 
 mother-in-law's presence and sat in the garden. 
 My amah bored a chink in the wall at the further 
 end, and we took turns looking out at the world of 
 passers-by. 
 
 "When May Li's first girl was born, I had already 
 three living and three dead children. Not nursing 
 my children myself, I had a child every year. May 
 Li was too discouraged to get well. She lay in bed 
 and grew white and pale. She didn't love her baby 
 
THE WIVES OF, LI ISS 
 
 girl as I had loved mine. One day she said to me, 
 'Ask thy husband if we may go to the temple to 
 pray before the Goddess Kwannon. We will take 
 the children and lunch and spend the day.' 
 
 "That night I beguiled my husband, and he prom- 
 ised to get us permission from his mother. The 
 next day was clear and calm with a warm sun 
 shining. It was springtime and, even in the city, 
 the peach trees were blooming, and the little patches 
 of yellow rape were like carpets of gold. Four 
 chairs and bearers were prepared for us. I took 
 my three daughters, Ling-Di (leading a brother), 
 A-doo, (the greatest) , and San Me (the third sister) 
 with me. A-doo sat in the chair with my amah, 
 Ling-Di sat on my lap, and San Me crouched at my 
 feet. May Li got into her chair alone, the amah in 
 another, with the baby Ai Ling in her arms. The 
 cook had put up a nice lunch for us, which the 
 amahs carried in two wicker baskets." 
 
 Li Ta Ta paused and blew a little whiff of smoke 
 and looked at me questioningly. "Are you sure you 
 care to hear all this?" she asked. 
 
 Leagerly assured her that I did. 
 
 ' ' You see, ' ' she said, ' ' the mind of a Chinese woman 
 is filled with all manner of foolishness. It concerns 
 itself, not with the big things of life, but with each 
 little happening of our days with our children. It 
 treasures them up, to think over by and by when the 
 children are gone from us. I even remember the 
 clothes my daughters wore that day of long ago. 
 It is long since I lost them. They have all married 
 and are gone to the houses of their mothers-in-law. 
 
is6 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 But on that bright day, so long ago, they were still 
 mine. They were dressed in their best clothes, 
 bright blue and pink and the baby in red. I couldn't 
 help being happy. But May Li was sad. She had 
 never resigned herself to her fate as had I. She 
 had never carried her little baby in her arms ; she 
 seemed to hate her. So she sat alone in her sedan 
 chair. The streets were full of interest to me and 
 to my children. They pushed their heads out of 
 the curtains and exclaimed at everything. Only A- 
 doo had seen the canals before; to the other two 
 water was something new and strange. Ling Di 
 asked if one could walk on it. We were on our way 
 to the Temple of Kwannon with her thousand hands 
 of mercy. The temple is on one side of a deserted 
 square. It used to be a busy marketplace, but the 
 new market has taken away most of the trade. Our 
 bearers put us down before the steps of the temple 
 and sat down in the shade to rest, while the children 
 ran about gaily. At one corner of the square stood 
 an old pagoda with its paintings faded and its 
 bells gone. A scribe sat at a low table under a 
 willow in the shade, ready to write charms. A few 
 candy shops stretched along in a row. We let the 
 children wander at will with the amahs. Only A- 
 doo held to my hand. May Li took her baby from 
 the arms of the amah and held it close against her 
 heart. I wondered if she had loved it all along and 
 had only been pretending not to care for it on account 
 of the mother-in-law. We went up to the temple 
 steps — they were low stone steps worn from many 
 feet. At the candle stand we bought many red 
 
THE WIVES OF LI 157 
 
 candles and packages of incense. Before the Image 
 were rows and rows of candlesticks with empty 
 spikes. We filled them all with candles, sticking each 
 candle on its sharp spike. An old priest came out 
 from the shadows behind the Goddess and lit the 
 candles. We crouched on the floor and beat our 
 heads against the ground. I do not know for what 
 May Li prayed. I had ceased to pray for sons. I 
 too believed the words of my mother-in-law, that I 
 could only bear girls, and it no longer mattered 
 to me. It was so many years ago that I had hoped 
 to have sons ! Now, I no longer hoped for them. My 
 mind was a blank. I sat on my feet on the old 
 stones and beat my head against the ground and 
 prayed for gentle mothers-in-law for my daughters. 
 Then I sat back on my feet and lifted up my face 
 and looked at the Goddess. She was a great Goddess 
 and filled all the space of the temple. Her head was 
 lost under the gloom of the peaked roof ; her many 
 hands were painted golden. Through the twinkling 
 yellow lights and the long red lines of the candles I 
 looked up at her and wondered. We had lit all 
 our incense, so that the air was hazy and fragrant 
 with it. A-doo got up and ran away to play with 
 the other children. I looked over my shoulder and 
 saw them bargaining at the candy shops. I saw 
 the ancient scribe waiting bent over his table. No 
 one wanted a letter written. The old priest in dirty 
 gray robes went mumbling around in the shadows 
 behind the great Goddess. Many strange thoughts 
 went through my mind as I sat on my feet before the 
 Goddess. I looked at May Li. She was rocking 
 
is8 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 herself to and fro the way mourners rock. I heard 
 her murmuring words to the sleeping baby, ' Precious 
 Jewel.' 
 
 "At one side of the temple was a nunnery of 
 Buddhists who served the Goddess of Mercy. 
 Behind the temple there used to be a baby tower, 
 but it was no longer used. Instead, mothers gave 
 their babies to the nuns. At the gateway hung 
 the Sign of the Crimson Fish. This hung low so 
 that a woman could reach it and strike it with her 
 hands. When so struck, the crimson fish gave out a 
 hollow, ringing sound like the mournful tolling of a 
 temple bell. Below the sign of the fish was a gray 
 drawer in the gate. I had forgotten about the 
 nunnery and the baby drawer till I saw it again. A 
 fear leaped into my heart. I looked out of the 
 corner of my eyes at May Li. She still sat rocking 
 herself on her feet with the baby in her arms. 
 
 "I bowed myself three times quickly before the 
 Goddess. I looked again at her thousand hands. 
 They were hands stretched out to help, but what 
 can an image do ! Of course it was wicked to think 
 this, but the thoughts came into my head of their 
 own accord. The red candles were burning brighter, 
 and their yellow flames danced like a thousand lights 
 before my eyes. The incense hung in a blue haze 
 around the head and eyes of the Goddess, hiding her 
 face from our eyes. Was she angry at my impious 
 thoughts ? 
 
 "I touched May Li on the arm. 'Come to 
 lunch,' I said. She got up at once and joined us. 
 The servants had prepared our lunch at a table in 
 
THE WIVES OP LI 159 
 
 iiont of the candy shops. There were three or 
 four tables filled with lunch parties who had come 
 to worship at the feet of the Goddess of Mercy. 
 We got hot water for our tea from the hot-water shop 
 at the corner. The children and the amahs and I 
 were happy. We watched everything with new 
 eyes. Men riding by on donkeys, carry-coolies, 
 amahs with bundles — everything was of intense 
 interest to us. The sun was warm and pleasant ; 
 a drowsy peace pervaded the deserted market 
 square. 
 
 "Suddenly the booming of the Crimson Fish 
 startled me. I turned around and looked at it. 
 May Li stood under it. With one arm she held 
 Ai Ling pressed against her heart, with the other 
 she struck the fish sharply again. The sound 
 echoed out over the happy square. The children 
 and amahs turned in a fright. Even the sleepy 
 scribe lifted up his head to look in amazement. 
 Again May Li struck the fish. Three times its 
 hollow, mournful sound reverberated out over the 
 square. She bent her head as if listening for foot- 
 steps on the other side of the gate, while we stood as 
 motionless and silent as if we too were listening for 
 the sound of approaching feet. She heard them. 
 She bent forward quickly, jerked open the baby 
 drawer, and laid Ai Ling in it. Then she shut the 
 drawer, and again she bent her head to listen. She 
 heard the slow retreat of feet from the gateway. 
 With a shriek of despair she pulled open the drawer 
 again. It was empty ! May Li fell shrieking into 
 my arms. 
 
i6o MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 "The events of the day were not yet over. The 
 bearers and the amahs clustered around May Li 
 in great concern. One of the bearers suggested that 
 we go a little way into the country, to make May Li 
 forget the sharpness of her sorrow. To go outside 
 the walls was to us like going to another continent. 
 Even sunk in the depths of sorrow, such a prospect 
 must have roused one. May Li grew calmer. 'I 
 could not let her live where she was unwanted,' she 
 said. 'The nuns will be good to her.' 
 
 "The men took us through a little gate in the wall 
 and set our chairs down on the ground. With 
 utter astonishment we looked off, far away, across 
 the fields without houses, without stores, without 
 temples. I had never seen such a far horizon in 
 my life, nor so much grass. The rape fields blazed 
 like captive sunshine and rippled in the wind like 
 golden water. The boats on the moat moved 
 mysteriously. We saw the wind belly out their 
 tall brown sails, and we saw them slip over the water 
 without effort of any kind. We saw the greatest 
 wonder of our lives. A feather of black cloud 
 appeared over the field and approached towards us, 
 as if driven by a great wind. But we did not feel 
 this wind ; we felt only the gentle summer wind in 
 our faces, the same wind that ballooned out the 
 brown sails of the boats. But the wind that 
 blew the black cloud down upon us was another 
 wind. The black cloud rushed at us. It spread 
 out over the plains and cast a dark shadow on 
 the rape fields, so that they no longer were golden, 
 but gray. 
 
THE WIVES OF LI i6i 
 
 '"See, Mother,' cried A-doo, 'a black dragon 
 crawls beneath the wind cloud.' A shrill whistle 
 pierced our ears. Nothing that we had ever heard 
 in our lives could make such a sound. 
 
 ' ' ' What is it, Mother ? ' asked the children. ' Is it 
 the black wind cloud speaking, or the snake that 
 crawls beneath?' 
 
 "When it slowed and stopped across the moat from 
 us, the children screamed in terror. Tongues of 
 fire spurted from its nostrils and fire gleamed under 
 its head. We did not draw a free breath till the 
 dragon and its wind cloud fled away across the fields 
 again and left us in peace once more. We could not 
 talk enough of the sight we had seen. Only one of 
 the bearers had seen a fire wagon before. We were 
 all equally astounded. Even May Li smiled. To 
 you, who have ridden fearlessly on many fire- 
 wagons, it will be hard to understand what an event 
 the first sight of a train was to us. We had our 
 first inkling of some power utterly foreign and in- 
 comprehensible and strange, rushing at us across the 
 space of the world. 
 
 "No wonder that day is as clear to me as if it 
 were yesterday. Such a day, even among days of 
 interest, would stand out in memory, but when it 
 was the only day for months and months when 
 anything had happened other than three meals, you 
 can conceive of the magnitude of its happenings. 
 
 "The loss of the baby did not disturb us much. 
 We were too accustomed to such actions. More- 
 over the mother-in-law would approve. Even my 
 husband himself would not regret too much. It 
 
i62 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 was expensive to bring up a houseful of girls. It 
 was a pious act. 
 
 "The climax of the day was upon us. Entering 
 the streets of the city, where even the sunlight seemed 
 shadowy and unreal, a great noise met our ears. 
 People were running hither and thither; men 
 called out to one another. A sharp smell of burning 
 struck our nostrils. We turned into the temple 
 square. A mass of fire and flames writhed and 
 twisted upward. The crowds surged around it. 
 The temple was burning and the cloister beside it. 
 Frightened nuns ran screaming from the doorway. 
 One, a tower of flame, threw herself from a second- 
 story window, and more jumped after her. The old 
 priest we had seen mumbling prayers in the shadow 
 of Kwannon, crouched by the scribe, scared half out 
 of his wits. With an echoing crash the temple roof 
 fell in. Showers of splinters rushed up heavenwards. 
 Smoke and flames swirled and tossed about the great 
 Goddess. Now, for the first time, I knew she was 
 great. Without outcry, immovable and glowing, 
 she sat among the eddying clouds of smoke. Her 
 thousand hands glowed red and live. Her eyes 
 shone. Her heavy hair seemed to move. Gone 
 was the crimson and gold ; naked and glowing, she 
 sat unmoved. More terrible than in her days of 
 prosperity, potent and powerful, she shone at us 
 through the drifts of gray smoke. 
 
 "The crowd grew silent watching the transformed 
 goddess. Only May Li began to cry aloud 'My 
 baby.' She jumped out of her chair and struggled 
 through the crowd. They let her pass till at last 
 
THE WIVES OF LI 163 
 
 she stood just in front of the Goddess. She stretched 
 out her hands to the shining Goddess and cried, 
 'Give me back my baby.' 
 
 "Two nuns ran and drew her back. 'Go home,' 
 they said, 'the Goddess has taken thy child.'" 
 
 Li Ta Ta shook herself as if she were tired from 
 holding herself rigid in one position too long. I too 
 was cramped. She sighed and refilled her little pipe. 
 
 "The fire didn't hurt the Goddess at all. The 
 priests put on new red paint and regilded the bronze 
 hands and her fame became great again. May Li 
 however was never the same. A sorrowing spirit 
 entered into her. She shut herself up in her room 
 and refused to see any one. The mother-in-law 
 was very fierce with her, but it was useless. May Li 
 refused, and at last every one gave up trying. They 
 s*ay she is crazy. She sits in her room with the 
 bars across the windows and gazes out at the sun- 
 shine. Often for days she neither eats nor speaks. 
 We almost forget about her. It is as if she had died 
 that day with her baby ; only her body is left. 
 
 "After May Li, my husband took another wife. 
 He went far away to the north, across the river, and 
 took a country woman to wife. The mother-in-law 
 so ordained it. In China we think it becomes 
 necessary every so often for an illustrious family to 
 take a wife from the people. Dong lung was not 
 much more than a slave wife. She was fat and 
 strong ; she could carry great wooden buckets full 
 of water. And she nursed her children. Then it 
 was, that I knew the curse was not upon May Li 
 and myself; the curse was upon the House of Li, 
 
1 64 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 Even this peasant woman bore only girls. Round, 
 laughing, merry girls, a new one came every year. It 
 was a bitter disgrace. The mother-in-law mocked 
 at us, saying, we would be called The House of 
 Girls. Li decided to adopt a boy, the younger son 
 of his first cousin, to carry on the name. That would 
 have ended our troubles, but one day he went to 
 Shanghai and brought this girl back with him. 
 'Jewel', he called her. I was very angry, for I 
 saw that my husband had taken her because he 
 loved her. He had bought her in a wicked house 
 because of her beautiful face and hands. Though 
 she was only fourth wife, he made her his favorite. 
 The mother-in-law was terribly angry. She wished 
 me to torment the girl, but though I too was angry, 
 I could not. She was but little younger than my 
 San Me who had married and left me, and I could 
 not beat her and mistreat her. Once when my 
 husband was gone on a long business trip, the 
 mother-in-law herself beat her till she fainted. Li 
 came home unexpectedly that night and found the 
 marks of the beating still on her body. The mother- 
 in-law has feared him since. Pau Tsu (Jewel) is 
 terrified. She is afraid to have a girl. But I do not 
 think my husband cares so much any more. He 
 is contented in his mind to adopt a son. He only 
 cares for the girl herself. It is as if he loved for the 
 first time. And now I do not mind that either. He 
 leaves me alone and I am able to think and remember. 
 I wish that Pau Tsu may bear him a son." 
 
 Li Ta Ta stopped speaking and went over to the 
 door leading to the next room. All was silent 
 
THE WIVES OP LI] 165 
 
 within, and I got up and went in to see Doctor Grace. 
 Both she and the patient were sleeping. In an 
 adjoining room I saw the dowager and some of the 
 other women sleeping. While I looked at them they 
 opened their eyes and questioned me mutely. I 
 shook my head, and their eyelids fluttered to again. 
 Li Ta Ta left me. The house was silent with an un- 
 canny silence, the ominous, forced silence of people 
 and places that wait for some momentous event, 
 that save and husband their energies for swift action. 
 I was troubled. The recital of Li Ta Ta's story 
 had stirred me strangely. It was so alien, so primi- 
 tive in its physical interests, yet, the more I pondered 
 it, the better I realized that she had found quietness 
 for her soul by a spiritual conquest. She had come 
 to possess her soul in peace and comfort. Her fight 
 was the fight of all humanity, the struggle to rise 
 above surroundings, to grow out of things material 
 into things spiritual. What sublimer height could an 
 oriental woman reach than for the first wife to wish 
 her rival a son ! 
 
 I was awakened from a doze by Doctor Grace 
 standing over me. 
 
 "It's time," she said, "if you will give the 
 anesthetic." 
 
 With the sudden plunge into full consciousness 
 which doctors acquire, I followed her into the 
 next room. Amahs were coming and going. The 
 mother-in-law and Li Ta Ta sat on a couch be- 
 hind the curtains of the bed. Li himself caught 
 Doctor Grace's sleeve as we passed through the 
 doorway. 
 
i66 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 "Never mind about the child," he said. "I only 
 care about the woman." 
 
 His hands trembled, and his voice was husky. 
 Li Ta Ta was right. Her husband loved his bought 
 slave bride. He had forgotten about the necessary 
 son to worship at his tomb, had forgotten all but the 
 woman he loved. Love had released his soul from 
 superstition and the thraldom of custom. Love 
 shatters all but its own bonds. 
 
 In the eyes of the girl herself lay no happiness, 
 only an overpowering fear, fear of the mother-in- 
 law. 
 
 A few minutes later Doctor Grace held a little 
 crying baby in her arms. The mother-in-law walked 
 over to Doctor Grace and inspected the baby. She 
 gave it one swift glance, folded her arms, and sniffed. 
 
 "Female," she said. "Take the little dog out 
 of my sight." 
 
 "Give her to me," said Li Ta Ta; "I am the 
 mother of girls." 
 
 Li himself gave not a thought to the baby but 
 possessed himself of one of Jewel's listless hands and 
 stroked it softly. 
 
 "It is all right," he said, his face shining with 
 relief. " Pau Tsu is well." 
 
 It was dawn. The room was filled with a pallid 
 light that made the innumerable candle flames but 
 bits of sickly color on the tables and stools. The 
 women suddenly looked tired. An amah went 
 around blowing out the candles. Day had come 
 with the new life, but the bride lay weeping in her 
 crimson curtained bed. 
 
XV 
 THE HOUSE OF THE DEAD 
 
 THE case of the Li bride utterly demoralized 
 me. When we got back to the compound 
 I found a letter from Edward, which I put 
 under my pillow, and then I cried myself to sleep. 
 Doctor Grace had arranged to let me sleep late, but 
 she got up in an hour or two to go to work. About 
 eleven, I got up and dressed and took my letter out 
 on to the back steps of the cottage to read again and 
 again. It comforted me somewhat but not thor- 
 oughly, for I had had a revelation of the abyss of 
 difference between the thoughts and lives of men 
 and women. Li Ta Ta and I, women of the East 
 and West, born of different races, separated by 
 centuries of education, were yet nearer together in 
 feeling and understanding than Edward and L All 
 the sweet things he said — how much did he mean 
 of them? And did he interpret them as I did? 
 Moreover, even if he meant them, could he keep his 
 promises? I had an illuminating glimpse into the 
 fundamental variation of men from women. I had 
 a new grasp of the stuff out of which we women must 
 weave our happiness. I did not want to achieve a 
 happiness like the happiness of Li Ta Ta, a happi- 
 ness of doing without love, a happiness of renun- 
 
i68 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 elation. Before Edward came it was different. I 
 was thrown into a turmoil of emotion. 
 
 I was upset the entire week. The haunting 
 remembrance of the wives of Li would not leave me. 
 Saturday afternoon Doctor Grace arranged an out- 
 ing in a Chinese house boat. Quite a party of us 
 were going. A basket of sandwiches and cake was 
 put in the boat, with a teapot and teacups. We 
 were going to land at the Coffin House and have tea 
 in the Court of the Tortoises. We went through the 
 city by one of the larger canals, and again I ex- 
 perienced that strange altering of values that comes 
 with the transfer from the land view to the water 
 view. Through the beautiful arches we floated. 
 The water was still, and the arch of the bridge and 
 its reflection below made a perfect circle. As if 
 suspended in air, we pierced the heart of circle after 
 circle. The banks along the canal were built up 
 with stone ramparts, now a foot or two in height, 
 now six or eight feet above us. Sometimes paths 
 bordered the canal, and sometimes the houses 
 abutted on the water, their small windows opening 
 directly over the canal. I saw the tall devil gates, 
 placed across the road from the main entrance to 
 the houses, to prevent the entrance of evil spirits. 
 Spirits in China have some hard and fixed, fantastic 
 characteristics. They can only go in a straight 
 line ! So any pious man is safe from their visitation 
 if he builds a false door that stands in front of the 
 real entrance like a fire screen. By this ingenious 
 contrivance that portion of the highway that runs 
 between the devil gate and the house, becomes 
 
THE HOUSE OF THE DEAD 169 
 
 appropriated as a legitimate part of the front yard. 
 The men of the family sit in its protection and 
 smoke their pipes; the children play about in its 
 security. 
 
 The canal traffic was not very heavy. On the 
 outskirts of the town we passed a fisher boat. The 
 man lived on it with his wife and entire family. 
 The house boat was a long, narrow boat of the 
 regulation type, varnished, with a hood of woven 
 bamboo over its center. All the family activities 
 were carried on within this hood. When a river 
 man takes a river woman to wife, the only change in 
 the life of the woman is to step across from the boat 
 of her father to the boat of her husband. Drifting 
 up and down stream, now to the coasts of Shanghai, 
 now winding miles deep into the interior, they fish 
 and live and eat and die. Time enough they have 
 to become river philosophers ! On they float, in 
 the night, slipping from the close, peopled walls of 
 the city, out through the open meadows, up and up, 
 to the hills. 
 
 Our fisherman was fishing. With his back to the 
 water, he stood on the stern of the boat which 
 projected far out. Lithe and squat, he gathered up 
 the circular net in both hands. Standing at the 
 extreme edge of the boat, the heels of his bare feet 
 stuck out over the last plank, he pulled the center 
 of the net into his left hand and caught its ruffled 
 circumference, like an open mouth, in his right. A 
 moment he swung poised for action. Then with a 
 swift pirouette, he bent and whirled around, swinging 
 the net around his shoulders like a lasso. Holding 
 
170 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 the center fast in his left hand, he flung the wide-open 
 mouth of the net far out upon the water. With 
 a splash it spread out its enticing coils. The corks 
 on its circumference bobbed hither and thither in a 
 dancing ring. A hoop of ripples ran towards the 
 shore. The man drew in the net very slowly. Taut, 
 its mouth still in the water, its center held firmly in 
 the fisherman's left hand, it hung like a gigantic 
 cobweb, shining and sparkling in the air. Here and 
 there the silver bellies of fish caught the light. The 
 fisherman dropped the folds of the net at his feet, 
 and his wife picked off the fish and tossed them into 
 a wicker basket. Then the fisherman poised him- 
 self for another throw. Balancing delicately over 
 the water, he gathered up the net in orderly, precise 
 folds. Again he stooped with marvelous speed and 
 grace, whirled, and flung out his net upon the water. 
 Never have I seen any motion so beautiful. Not 
 even Pavlova could rival that fisherman of the 
 canal. Again and again we watched him, spell- 
 bound by the rhythmic grace and strength of his 
 motions. His wife, more nonchalant than he, 
 looked up from her task of picking out the fish with 
 incurious eyes. Several children gazed at us with 
 frank interest. 
 
 "Are all the fishermen as clever as this one?" I 
 asked. 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Doctor Grace. "They don't 
 seem to know that they are doing anything beautiful. 
 Of course a skilful one knows that he throws unerr- 
 ingly, tirelessly, but I have never seen any one take 
 pleasure in the grace of the motion. That is a 
 
THE HOUSE OF THE DEAD 171 
 
 queer thing about China, at least about this part of 
 China. The people don't seem to enjoy motion or 
 watching motion and they are very appreciative of 
 all other kinds of beauty." 
 
 I could hardly bear to let the boat go away. The 
 swift bend, the sudden turn, and the lightning-like 
 casting of the fisherman's net put a spell on me. At 
 last Doctor Grace laughed and ordered the oarsman 
 to go ahead. 
 
 "You can come any day to see the net-casters," 
 she said ; "we can't lose this whole lovely afternoon 
 for one fisherman." 
 
 We got out of the boat at the foot of a flight of 
 temple steps. A long avenue of trees led up to an 
 ancient temple and pagoda. This avenue was 
 literally lined with peach trees and willows — and 
 beggars. It seemed as if all the most forlorn speci- 
 mens of humanity had elected to live along that 
 approach. Upon looking closer, I saw that, though 
 some were really deformed and disfigured, their 
 real claim to beggardom lay in their clothes ; women 
 with babies swung like amulets around their necks, 
 hoary sages with beards to their belts. And a lusty 
 horde of youngsters bounded out from the shade of 
 the trees to meet us, crying for coppers. Doctor 
 Grace scattered a handful of cash among them. The 
 boatman shooed them away, and we were allowed to 
 proceed in peace. Two devil-catcher poles, slim and 
 crimson, and girdled near the summits with their up- 
 curling, devil-catching baskets, guarded the entrance. 
 
 We went through the famous gateway of the 
 pagoda. Names of students, some dead, some 
 
172 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 famous, were scrawled in true tourist fashion over 
 all the reachable space of the lower walls. The 
 breath of antiquity hung about its fading frescoes 
 and moss-covered stones. Up and up it soared into 
 the air, higher than anything in the surrounding 
 land. Its series of diminishing galleries had the 
 airy grace of perfect proportion. The Tiger Temple 
 had fallen into ruins. Nothing but an entrance and 
 an altar remained. 
 
 A file of priests, heralded by drums and pipes, 
 wound down the street and passed us, through the 
 temple entrance. Boys, in the costume of acolytes, 
 marched ahead, carrying drums and bundles of 
 silver and gold paper money. A paper ricksha, a 
 servant in paper effigy, Bowls of food and incense 
 were carried in great pomp. Through the dark 
 gateway the procession filed. The priests, in robes 
 of lush green and pigeon-blood red, marched to the 
 altar and offerings of money and furniture and 
 clothes were piled in a heap on its ancient stones. 
 The priests began a weird chant, which fell with the 
 subtle charm of an incantation on the air. In its 
 mournful intervals I caught echoes of the song of 
 the priests around the warm grave. It was the 
 chant for the dead, and it filled the ruined courts 
 of the Tiger Temple with strange, forgotten echoes. 
 The moving circle of priests came to a standstill 
 around the altar piled high with its paper offerings. 
 The high priest stepped out from the circle and set 
 a light to the offerings. The sudden blaze whirled 
 and eddied upward from the altar stones. The 
 priests began again their slow circling around and 
 
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THE HOUSE OF THE DEAD 173 
 
 around the burning offering, chanting the same 
 weird incantation. Heedless, the little acolytes 
 whispered among themselves ; the bystanders talked 
 and chatted. Perhaps, in that throng, we were the 
 most impressed. The burning sacrifice, the chant- 
 ing, circling priests, the flaunting colors of em- 
 broidery and satin under the streaming sunlight, in 
 the ruined courts of the Temple, gave me a sudden 
 feeling of the reality of religion. It was not their 
 religion, or my religion, that I felt ; it was universal 
 religion, the striving upward of all mankind to the 
 Truth beyond. 
 
 While the ashes still glowed on the hearthstone 
 of the ancient altar, the priests wound away, through 
 the gateway, down again to the streets of the 
 city. The onlookers drifted apart, and the temple 
 court was deserted but for us and the glowing 
 ashes. I felt a curious reluctance to leave until the 
 last spark had died ; it did not seem fitting to go 
 chattering on our way, while the sacrifice still glowed. 
 
 At last I turned away. In the shadow of the 
 deep stone gateway stood Edward. The sudden 
 sight of him set my heart beating strangely. I 
 wanted to run to him and have him catch me up in 
 his arms, but, of course, I did nothing of the kind. 
 I pretended I was just ordinarily pleased to see him. 
 
 "How did you get here ? " I asked. 
 
 "How should anybody get here?" he said. "I 
 had some business in Woosih and stopped off for 
 the afternoon. At the compound they told me that 
 if I took a donkey to the Tiger Temple I should 
 catch you here." 
 
174 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 Edward's coming made the queerest difference 
 to me. All the things that I had been bothering 
 about all the week were suddenly insignificant. 
 They seemed to me foolish thoughts. A whirl 
 of merriment seized the company, as we climbed 
 back again into our house boat. The oarsman at 
 the stern, on the other side of the bamboo hood, was 
 out of sight and forgotten. The boat seemed to 
 move of itself, to have a life of its own. We spread 
 an old steamer rug on the boards of the prow and 
 sat on the floor, dangling our feet over the edge of 
 the boat. Edward sat behind me, and our fingers 
 met on the gunwale. How can the mere touch of 
 fingers solve all the problems of the universe ! 
 
 We were on the inner moat. On one side towered 
 the great wall against the sky, cutting the serene 
 blue with its jagged, warlike outline ; on the other 
 lay the city. Every time we pierced the heart of a 
 bridge and its reflection, I drew a quick breath of 
 delight. 
 
 "Do you like it so much?" asked Edward. 
 
 I nodded. 
 
 "Shall I bring you here on your honeymoon?" 
 he whispered. 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 "Why not, if you like it so much?" he asked. 
 
 " I want to go to a new place," I answered, "where 
 I have never been before, where I have never had 
 any other thoughts, where I have never seen things 
 without you." 
 
 "Where?" he asked. 
 
 "How should I know?" I replied. 
 
THE HOUSE OP THE DEAD 17s 
 
 " Do you want it to be a surprise ? " he asked. 
 
 "Of course," I answered. 
 
 " I know a place," hejwhispered in my ear, bending 
 forward over my shoulder, " I know a place where we 
 can go to-morrow. Will you come?" 
 
 "To-morrow?" I gasped. "No, no, I am not 
 ready. I have so much to tell you. I must have 
 more time to think things out." 
 
 Edward looked at me curiously. 
 
 "It's no use trying to think things out," he said. 
 "Haven't you found that out by this time? Life 
 isn't so clear that thought can pierce it. We must 
 go ahead and feel our way through. Tell me what 
 has been troubling you." 
 
 So I told him about Li Ta Ta and the last bride 
 and the fears their fate had aroused in me. Edward 
 listened attentively. I felt better when I had told 
 him about them. All the week I had been unable 
 to write their story, and the harboring of it had be- 
 come a secret which oppressed me like a treachery, it 
 had filled me with such disloyal, suspicious thoughts. 
 
 "What do you think about it?" I asked. 
 
 "I can't tell you here," Edward said. "I must 
 have you alone to tell you." 
 
 He unclasped his fingers from mine and drew 
 back. His eyes were very tender, not reproachful, 
 but that little action of his made me feel very forlorn 
 and abandoned. A new realization entered my 
 consciousness — my utter need of his love. Work 
 and independence, how passionately I had wanted 
 them ! And now I was ready to cast them away 
 for the touch of a man's fingers. Whatever the 
 
176 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 future might hold, I knew what I wanted now. I 
 slipped my hand back along the boards and found 
 Edward's fingers. Then I was quite satisfied. 
 
 "See that wall along the inner side of the canal ?" 
 said Doctor Grace. "That is the Coffin House." 
 
 A low strip of wet green grass ran down to the 
 water's edge. Willows, very old, with their ^weeping 
 fronds trailing in the water, stood like mournful 
 sentinels along the narrow path that led from the 
 water to the walled house. Just beyond were rice 
 fields and two lazy buffaloes, each watched by a 
 little boy. We moored our boat and got out. Be- 
 fore us rose a square, walled house, blind and 
 windowless. A gatekeeper let us pass without chal- 
 lenge. A series of three open courts led to the pool 
 of the House of the Dead, where the ancient tortoises 
 played. Around the courts were rows and rows of 
 cells filled with coffins, waiting to be buried. Some- 
 times the coffins wait in the House of the Dead a 
 hundred years, till the soothsayer foretells an 
 auspicious day for burying, or until the family can 
 afford the money for a fortunate place of burial. 
 There were big coffins, — black, with gorgeous 
 sprawling dragons in gilt on the lid, — little baby 
 coffins, the size of a doll's trunk, rich coffins of teak, 
 and cheap ones of ash roughly put together. Row 
 after row, tier above tier, the chambers were filled 
 with the coffined bodies of the dead. The dead and 
 the stars always give me a feeling of the preciousness 
 and futility of living. I always want to live more 
 than ever. As in the catacombs of Latin countries, 
 these dead shivered to decay above the ground. 
 
THE HOUSE OF THE DEAD 177 
 
 We came at last to the inner court and the Pool 
 of the Tortoises. There were really two pools, 
 linked*by a low flat bridge. A lattice of fretwork 
 ran around the four sides of the pool. Slippery, 
 moss-green steps of stone rose up from underneath 
 the brown water. Ancient weeping willows grew in 
 the open earth between the irregular flagging. Half 
 the pool was in shadow and half in sunlight. The 
 still water was a golden brown, the slanting beams 
 of the sun penetrating but a short distance beneath 
 its surface. I stood at the top of the steps, over- 
 come by the silence, by the walls honeycombed with 
 the dead past, and by the ancient mystery of the 
 pools. 
 
 I had no feeling of being in a Campo Santo with 
 its subtle benediction, but rather of being in a home 
 of disembodied spirits who had not yet found rest and 
 peace for their souls. Snatches of the gatekeeper's 
 words drifted in to me as he showed the others some 
 famous coffin. 
 
 "He was the richest man in Soochow. He had 
 ten wives. His youngest wife died upon his body. 
 People said she was forced to kill herself. She took 
 opium. They were buried in the same coffin. Yes, 
 this very coffin that you are looking at. The family 
 have never been able to bury it. Whenever a 
 fortune • teller is called in to cast the charm 
 and decide where and when to bury it, he cannot 
 find a fortunate day. So it has been for a hundred 
 years. See how well the wood has kept. The 
 colors are still as bright as when they were first 
 painted. The priests say that he does not want to 
 
178 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 be buried, that his spirit interferes with the casting 
 of the burying spell. He likes it here in the house 
 of the dead. He likes the warm sunshine wken it 
 slants in during the early morning and touches the 
 foot of his coffin. He likes the cool and shade in 
 the hot summer days. He likes to feel the feet of 
 the living walking past him and to hear their cheerful 
 voices. And he likes the little body of his slave-wife 
 lying against him in the close warm darkness. In 
 the ground he would long ago have moldered and 
 withered. Only last year the family took the lid 
 off and saw the two lying clasped in each other's 
 arms. They were very gorgeous, he in his official 
 mandarin robes, she dressed as a bride. She was 
 very young. She had not yet borne a child, and the 
 Mandarin loved her. The other wives were jealous. 
 I think she was glad to die. It was an act of 
 devotion. Once at twilight I sat alone at the gate 
 smoking my long pipe and thinking of nothing at all. 
 All the women and children had gone home. Soon 
 I too would go home to my little house at the end of 
 the field, to a good hot supper of rice and fish. But 
 there was still a little time to watch. The sun had 
 not yet set. I knew it by the pink light on the clouds, 
 though within the city walls all was long ago in 
 shade. The water in the moat was running faster 
 than its wont. The branches of the willows made 
 a little rippling sound as they dipped in the water. 
 On the other side of the wall I heard the cries of 
 birds. Overhead flew a flock of crows, one by one, 
 in a black stream across the pink sky, crying loudly. 
 " Light shone dimly in the open rooms of the houses 
 
THE HOUSE OF THE DEAD 179 
 
 along the road. The pink in the sky faded. The 
 heavens became a clear, quivering green. Overhead 
 one star shone. It was time to close the House of 
 the Dead for the night. I emptied my pipe and 
 went in to close the gate. The courts were already 
 dark. I walked through the three outer courts, to the 
 Pool of the Tortoises. In the twilight I could not 
 distinguish their backs. I threw them their evening 
 offering of sweet cakes. I could not see, but I heard 
 the waters move. I knew just how the sacred 
 tortoises were gobbling up the little morsels of food. 
 The water, stirred by their rushing bodies, swished 
 against the stone steps. I stood there waiting a mo- 
 ment or so. 
 
 " Out of the deepest shadows under the ancient 
 willows came a low soft laugh. It sounded like the 
 laugh of a happy young girl or of a child that has 
 never known sorrow. I wanted to laugh too, with- 
 out knowing why. I tossed a second handful of cake 
 crumbs into the unseen water. Again I heard the 
 commotion of the eating tortoises. But the gay 
 child's laugh came not again. Instead I saw two 
 shadows underneath the willow. My eyes had 
 grown accustomed to the twilight. I saw them 
 quite distinctly. One was an old man, stooping, in 
 the long-sleeved gown of a mandarin. The other was 
 a young girl in the finery of a pleasure girl. They 
 were holding hands and leaning over the lattice to 
 look at the water. The turmoil in the water sub- 
 sided. The tortoises sank into motionlessness. The 
 two figures glided around the cloisters, the girl 
 leading the old man by the hand. I was afraid to 
 
i8o MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 move. I stood quite still, and they passed me with- 
 out seeing me. A cool breath of air struck against 
 me and I shivered. I watched them. They came 
 out into the second court and stood beside this 
 coffin. I looked again but they were gone. Other 
 people had seen them too. Oftenest it is a slave- 
 girl bride who sees the Mandarin's bride. They 
 say she smiles and beckons. Then the bride dies. 
 It is very bad luck to see the girl alone." 
 
 The voice of the gatekeeper ceased. For half a 
 moment it was silent in the second court, and in the 
 court of the Pool of the Tortoises. Then in the 
 outer court talking broke out again. Still no one 
 came in. My eyes, half staring and unseeing, were 
 fixed on the sunlit space of the water. Suddenly it 
 moved and heaved, and a great golden back came 
 into sight. Another and another rose into view. 
 Eight or ten huge tortoises, their backs mottled in 
 gleams of yellow and brown, ruffled the pool with a 
 thousand ripples. Centuries old, pampered and 
 protected, fed cake and sweetmeats by the hands 
 of countless generations, they lived on from age 
 to age. I looked at their beautifully marked and 
 tinted backs with awe. What had they not seen ! 
 Even the ghosts of the Mandarin who cannot 
 be buried and his slave were not as old as the turtles. 
 The mystery of the pool was a thousandfold in- 
 tensified by the appearance of these animals who 
 seemed to have lived forever. 
 
 A babel of tongues broke out in the outer court. 
 A bevy of Chinese women and children entered the 
 Court of the Pool. There were several high-bom 
 
THE HOUSE OF THE DEAD i8i 
 
 women, innumerable amahs and coolies carrying 
 babies and baskets of food. 
 
 They looked at me with interest and in a moment 
 I had recognized them as belonging to the family of 
 Li. • Li Ta Ta was there, and the peasant wife from 
 the north, and the Favorite. An amah followed her 
 closely, carrying her baby girl in her arms. The 
 women were accompanied by a countless number of 
 children. 
 
 "Let us eat together," Li Ta Ta said. "Will the 
 foreign-born teacher honor us by eating of our 
 humble food?" 
 
 Doctor Grace and the others joined us. We 
 combined our food and exchanged egg sandwiches 
 for dough balls. The children were provided with 
 little paper bags full of soft cakes to throw to the 
 tortoises. They led me to the other side of the 
 bridge where not only willows grew but vines of 
 wisteria as thick as my waist. "The color of the 
 sky," said Li Ta Ta, "and sweet as a field of beans." 
 
 The children laughed and fed the turtles just as 
 little American children feed the bears with peanuts. 
 It was like going to the circus to them. I was 
 fascinated by the face of the bride. Li Ta Ta 
 stood by the lattice with the children. Edward and 
 Doctor Grace left again to explore a ruined pagoda 
 behind the house, and I moved over beside the girl. 
 She was very pale, with blue stains under her eyes. 
 Her lips were the beautiful lips of a Chinese child, 
 the upper lip very full in the center and deeply 
 curved. She was carefully painted, spots of rouge 
 on each cheek and in the middle of her chin. She 
 
i82 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 had taken her baby from the amah and held it in her 
 arms. 
 
 "The little dog," she said, looking at it tenderly. 
 "If she had only been a little boy, the mother-in-law 
 would have called her the Little Prince." 
 
 " Never mind the mother-in-law," I said. "She is 
 your Little Princess." 
 
 "It cannot be," said the bride. "She will be a 
 little slave. I know about slaves," she continued. 
 "Li Sien San bought me in a slave house in Shanghai. 
 My father was a scholar. One day he went into 
 Shanghai to meet a friend. This friend had become 
 an opium eater, though father knew it not. Father 
 was gone a month, and when he came back he 
 brought opium with him. At first he smoked 
 secretly, but soon he did not care what we thought 
 any more. He smoked openly. Mother implored 
 him on her knees to give it up, and so did his old 
 mother. But he wouldn't. Already, in a few 
 months, he loved the opium better than mother and 
 wife and children. His mother died with a broken 
 heart. My father sold everything we possessed. 
 By day and by night he lay on the couch and 
 smoked. He grew thin ; the bones seemed to 
 stretch his skin, so dry and shrunken had it become. 
 He apprenticed my brother to a weaver. This 
 broke my mother's heart, for my brother was to 
 have been a scholar like my father. Soon that 
 money was all gone too. Then father ordered 
 mother to make for me beautiful clothes and pre- 
 pare for a journey. 'I will take her to Shanghai,' 
 he said. ' Her beauty is worth much gold.' Mother 
 
THE HOUSE OF THE DEAD 183 
 
 and I knew what that meant, but we dared not 
 disobey. Day after day we stitched on the fatal, 
 beautiful clothes, such clothes as I should have had 
 were I to be married in honor. Father set the day 
 for departure. That night mother slipped her 
 hand under father's pillow where he kept the 
 precious store of opium, and stole a handful. She 
 got up and boiled hot water on the charcoal stove 
 and made herself a cup of opium tea. Then she 
 lay down beside father again and slept. In the 
 morning, when father found she was dead, he was 
 very angry. 'Now she will haunt me forever,' he 
 said. Sometimes she haunts me too," said Pau Tsu. 
 "In the slave house in Shanghai I used to see her 
 sitting sorrowfully by the side of my bed. I learned 
 many things there, too many to understand." 
 
 "Are you happy now?" I asked. 
 
 "How should I be happy?" she asked. "My 
 child is a girl." 
 
 "But your husband loves you," I said. 
 
 Pau Tsu smiled faintly. "What is the love of a 
 man?" she said. "Other men have also loved me, 
 and it did not make me happy. No, it is not enough. 
 He must love me for something more than sons. I 
 am very tired." 
 
 I tried to cheer her up. I talked of all sorts of 
 things, of the mission school and what she could do 
 for her baby girl. To all my suggestions she offered 
 the same reply. "It is impossible. The mother- 
 in-law would not permit it." 
 
 She was so armored in misery that I could not 
 reach her. Yet she was not rebellious or complain- 
 
i84 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 ing. Life was so, and she found it bitter. Then 
 suddenly she touched my arm. 
 
 "See," she said, pointing across the pool at the 
 shadow of the ancient willow. "See, the Man- 
 darin's slave girl. She stands close against the 
 trunk of the tree, half hidden by it, and beckons to 
 me with her hand." 
 
 I looked across the pool. Already the opposite 
 side of the court was dark with purple and blue 
 shadows. The willows were misty gray like olive 
 trees. The water was a fathomless slate color. 
 The tortoises had sunk out of sight, or else floated 
 motionless, with their backs just above the surface 
 of the water, hardly distinguishable from the water 
 itself. I looked up at the sky. A pink gauze veil 
 was drawn across it. Directly overhead hung one 
 silver star. Pau Tsu and I were alone beside the 
 pool. Cool and mysterious with its dead people and 
 its living tortoises, the court grew darker and darker. 
 
 "Listen," said Pau Tsu, now grasping my arm 
 tightly. "I hear her laughing." 
 
 But under the willow I saw only the gathering 
 mists of the evening and in the hollow court I heard 
 only the soft stir of the evening wind and the lap- 
 ping of the dead brown water against the moss- 
 green stones. 
 
XVI 
 
 THE SANCTUARY OF THE WELL 
 
 YOU will have plenty of time to walk to the 
 incubator on the way to the feast at Li's," 
 said Doctor Grace. " I will meet you there 
 at seven." 
 
 Edward and I started off on foot. He had been 
 prevailed upon to spend the night. Before we had 
 left the House of the Dead yesterday, Li Ta Ta 
 had invited us to a feast this evening. All the 
 morning we had sat on the water steps under the 
 old camphor trees and watched the boats drift by 
 on the inner moat. Edward had almost talked me 
 out of my obsession of fear — almost, but not 
 quite. But I managed for the moment to banish 
 my worries and just be happy in the shared sunshine. 
 Now we started off gaily on my first walk through 
 the intricate streets of Soochow. Doctor Grace 
 had given me elaborate directions, and with Edward 
 I feared no adventure. 
 
 The streets were vivid with the coming and going 
 of Oriental life. At the nearest corner stood a chow 
 man. He had put down his wood and wicker stand, 
 which he carried on his shoulder, and was fanning his 
 charcoal fire into a flame. We stopped to watch 
 him. Half a dozen ragged urchins had already 
 
i86 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 gathered about him. Tea and dough balls and cakes 
 were his stock in trade. A boy swaggered forward 
 with a brass cash in his open palm. They bargained 
 vociferously as to how much that brass cash would 
 buy. When that was settled at last to the satis- 
 faction of all the bystanders, the boy and the 
 food vendor cast their fingers for the cash or the 
 food, while with bated breath the crowd watched 
 the proceeding. The boy won. He pocketed his 
 cash, and the vendor handed over the stipulated 
 amount of sweetmeats. A delighted shout went up 
 from the boys, and another, emboldened by the 
 luck of the first, unearthed a cash, and the process 
 was repeated. Again the boy won. The vendor 
 was not in the least disturbed, but repeated the 
 gambling again and again. The crowd around him 
 grew denser. Luck was with the boys. The interest 
 of the ragamuffins was intense. I watched them 
 give the signal and fling out their fingers. They were 
 more interested in the gambling than in the food, 
 and the vendor more in the game than in his business. 
 
 "I'd like to try my luck," said Edward. 
 
 "Oh! you mustn't," I said. "It would be a 
 bad example." 
 
 Edward pinched my arm. " Don't be afraid ; I'm 
 not going to. I was just stating my unregenerate 
 feelings. One can't help admiring such a simple and 
 ingenious way of adding zest to existence." 
 
 Along the banks of the many canals women were 
 washing the evening rice. They crouched on the 
 last step of the water stairs and dipped a woven 
 bowl, full of rice kernels, into the muddy stream. 
 
THE SANCTUARY OF THE WELL 187 
 
 On other steps were women washing dirty clothes. 
 From a house yet further down the stream I saw 
 an amah empty a bucket of foul water into the same 
 canal. 
 
 "Isn't it sickening," I said. "I don't under- 
 stand how they can do it. How can they have any 
 appetite for their food?" 
 
 "Don't try to understand," said Edward, "at 
 least not this afternoon. Just enjoy the picture 
 they make — the long brown canal, the flights of 
 stone steps, the bending women at the water's 
 edge. If you were Murillo, that is what you would 
 see." 
 
 "But can one choose what one will see ? " I asked. 
 
 "Of course one can," said Edward. "It's foolish 
 to see what you can't help. It spoils enjoyment." 
 
 "You are a pagan," I said. 
 
 "Ah, no !" answered Edward. "That is a super- 
 ficial remark. I object to being called pagan merely 
 because I enjoy the world. ' Weltschmerz ' was an 
 epoch of feeling. We've left it behind us and come 
 out into the Joylands again." 
 
 I looked at Edward wonderingly. He had never 
 before spoken in that manner to me. Our court- 
 ship had been a matter of physical delight and 
 shared experiences rather than shared thoughts. I 
 grew a little shy of him. This Edward I didn't 
 know at all. 
 
 We went through the Street of the Satin Weavers, 
 where Edward could hardly drag me along, into the 
 Street of the Jade Cutters, where the hum of the 
 grindstones filled the air like the sound of countless 
 
i88 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 bees, and out to a market place near one of the gates 
 in the wall. Here a building, larger than the others, 
 caught our eyes at once. It was higher and of 
 weather-beaten brick. At the door a workman wel- 
 comed us. He seemed to know our errand by in- 
 tuition, or perhaps by experience, for the Incubator 
 at Soochow is one of the sights of the city. Within 
 we found ourselves in a large room, filled with small 
 ovens made of clay and straw. In each oven was a 
 shelf on which lay the eggs. A coolie walked 
 leisurely around, blowing at a bed of dying charcoal, 
 or banking down one that flamed too brightly. 
 The next room was the most interesting. Above 
 our heads, in long shallow bunks, under the ceiling, 
 were laid hatching eggs. I had to climb up on a 
 stool to see the shelves. They were covered, some 
 with padded cotton comforts, just as if the eggs 
 were persons, and some with layers of warm thick 
 straw. The uppermost bunk was the hottest. 
 Bigger ovens heated this room. Standing on 
 the stool brought my head just on a level with 
 the surface of the lowest shelf. This one was 
 covered with yellow straw. "Peep, Peep", I heard 
 the sound everywhere. Through the straw I saw 
 myriads of gaping yellow beaks sticking up for air 
 and food. Every moment another head appeared. 
 By listening closely I fancied I heard the soft 
 breaking of countless eggshells. A chick was born 
 every second ! And this had been going on from 
 time immemorial ! On one shelf a brood of fluffy, 
 feathery chicks were feeding. Soft and yellow and 
 warm, they ran about gaily. I wanted one. 
 
THE SANCTUARY OF THE WELL 189 
 
 "How much?" I asked. 
 
 "The big one, one cent," the egg-hatcher answered. 
 "The Uttle new ones only a half a cent." 
 
 "What would you do with it?" asked Edward. 
 
 "I'd take it to the Li children to play with," I 
 said. 
 
 "Then you shan't have one," said Edward. "The 
 children would only tease it and neglect it. It is 
 much better off here." 
 
 I knew it was, so I didn't insist. Children can be 
 so cruel without meaning to. I walked around the 
 two rooms again, looking at the smooth, round white 
 eggs in their little shallow pans over the charcoal 
 stove, warming themselves to life, and at the myriads 
 of hatching chicks peeping in the straw. Thousands, 
 tens of thousands of little, fluffy, downy chicks coming 
 to life every day ! The old egg-hatcher was amused 
 at my pleasure. 
 
 "Plenty good business," he said, "but no good 
 for sleeping." 
 
 On the way to the house of Li we ran across the 
 workshop of a potter and his son. They sat in 
 the open front room of the house. A daughter or 
 the son's wife sat on a narrow settle in the sun before 
 the house, embroidering a pair of blue satin slippers. 
 On a dark, stained table behind her were three 
 covered cups of tea and a brass hot-water kettle. 
 Along one side of the room were rows of shallow 
 shelves on which stood vases of blue and white 
 plum-blossom pattern. The boy was not working, 
 only the old man sat at his wheel and molded the 
 wet clay. 
 
igo MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 "Let's watch just one half minute," I said to 
 Edward. "It fascinates me to see the shape 
 emerge." 
 
 The old man looked up from his wheel. He had 
 a benevolent, kindly smile ; his eyes looked pre- 
 occupied. From the wet mound of clay at his side 
 he pulled off a lump and stuck it on his revolving 
 wheel. He looked up again at us, but his fingers 
 went on shaping the wet mass of clay. Not once 
 did he glance at the evolving vase, but as if by magic, 
 under his caressing fingers, the formless lump took 
 form and shape. It sprang up, it hollowed itself 
 within, it curved in at the neck and flared out at the 
 mouth, all in the twinkling of an eye, while the an- 
 cient past-master of his art looked at us with his 
 benevolent, kindly eyes. The girl and the boy 
 stopped in their work to watch the exhibition, 
 
 "Perfect," I cried. 
 
 "Marvelous," said Edward, with genuine admira- 
 tion. 
 
 The boy spoke to the girl rapidly. She put 
 down her embroidery and came up and stood beside 
 us. 
 
 "My husband tells me to say to you that our 
 father is blind. Long ago when he was a young man 
 he worked in the great pottery factories up the river 
 at Ching tuh Chen. He was one of the most expert. 
 After many years, little white stones grew in his 
 eyes. We came down here to the foreign doctors 
 to have them taken out, but it was useless ; even the 
 foreign-born magician could not make him see again. 
 Then, for many moons, father sat in the sun and 
 
THE SANCTUARY OF THE WELL 191 
 
 the shade and mourned. A sorrowful spirit entered 
 into him. One day, while he sat in the shade 
 mourning, I went and found a lump of clay and put it 
 in his hands. He pulled and twisted and patted it 
 because he loved to feel of it in his fingers. At 
 night, when my husband came back, the father 
 pulled his ear down against his lips and whispered 
 into it. 'It is a great foolishness,' said my hus- 
 band to me in the night, ' but we must get it for him. 
 He wants a potter's wheel.' 
 
 "So we sent up river by some friends of ours for a 
 wheel exactly like the ones he had used in his youth. 
 Even before the wheel came, a wonderful change 
 came over father. He smiled to himself as he sat 
 in the sun and the shade, and pressed his lump of 
 clay now this way, now that. At last the day came 
 that the wheel was set up in the room just as you 
 see it now, and the pleasant sound of its whirring 
 filled the house. Father touched it all over, piece 
 by piece, as a mother would touch the face of her 
 child. My husband and I stood by him, pleased. 
 I handed him a fresh lump of clay, for we had also 
 sent for a boatload of some of the up-river earth. 
 He stuck it on the wheel. Around flew the wheel. 
 Father's fingers felt their way magically from curve 
 to curve. It was a vase. Then it was my honor- 
 able man had the idea of making it a business. We 
 call them the 'lucky vases', because a blind man 
 makes them. That was five years ago, and now 
 our business is good. We have money enough 
 to send our two boys and our one girl to the 
 mission school to learn the wisdom of the world. 
 
192 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 And now you see that father smiles and is happy 
 all the day long." 
 
 We bought a lucky vase. 
 
 " Did you notice what made him happy, Edward ? " 
 I asked. "It was work." 
 
 Edward didn't notice where my question was 
 leading. "Yes," he said, "a man must have his 
 work." 
 
 "And what about a woman?" I asked. 
 
 "A woman has love," he said, "and home and 
 babies." 
 
 "It is not enough," I said to myself but not 
 aloud to Edward. 
 
 Even these mental words startled me. They were 
 the identical words of the Favorite Bride of Li. I 
 was carried swiftly back to the twilight Pool of 
 the Tortoises, when she and I stood beside the 
 lattice, bending over the dim brown water. "It is 
 not enough," she had said, when I reminded her 
 of the love of Li. I understood her perfectly. It 
 was not enough. We were like chrysalises tearing 
 our way with pain and sorrow out from a silken 
 cocoon. Love said, "Stay inside where it is soft 
 and silken and warm. " Ah! it was a temptation. 
 
 But none of these things did I say to Edward. He 
 would not have understood ; he would only have 
 thought I was foolish and fanciful and didn't know 
 my own mind. Perhaps I didn't. Perhaps the 
 bride of Li didn't know what she wanted. She 
 thought it was a son, I thought it was work. We 
 both only knew that the silken cocoon was not 
 enough. 
 
THE SANCTUARY OF THE WELL 193 
 
 The swift southern night was upon us when we 
 reached the House of Li. It was decked as for a 
 festival : gorgeous lanterns hung at each side of the 
 gate, as long as a man and as round as a barrel. 
 Their yellow candle flames shining through the red 
 paper cast a mellow glow over the doorway. The 
 servants, in fresh, white, long garments, waited to 
 receive us. Smaller lanterns hung about the garden. 
 The guest hall was draped in crimson hangings, and 
 tall red tapers flared on the ancestral table at the 
 end of the room, facing the open threshold of the 
 hall. The mother-in-law, Li Sien San, and his 
 wives and children were assembled to greet us, 
 making a modification of true Chinese etiquette in 
 allowing the women to share in the reception. 
 Doctor Grace was already there. For the feast we 
 separated, the men eating in the great hall itself and 
 we having a room adjoining. Doctor Grace sat at 
 the table of honor with the mother-in-law, and I sat 
 at the next table with Li Ta Ta and the fourth wife. 
 The bare tables were as clean as fresh snow. At 
 each place were placed chopsticks and a small 
 spoon with a short handle of ancient pewter. The 
 servants brought in the first dish, a bowl of clear 
 soup with a single pigeon's egg floating in it. The 
 white of the egg had a translucent appearance like 
 the look of milky blue opal. The Chinese balanced 
 the egg delicately on their chopsticks. I tried it 
 too, but halfway to my mouth it fell back into the 
 bowl of soup with a geyserlike splash. I was 
 chagrined, though I saw it really didn't matter. 
 There was no tablecloth to ruin, and a damp towel 
 
194 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 soon made my place as immaculate as before. 
 When the larger bowls of stewed duck were brought 
 in, Li Ta Ta and Pau Tsu vied with each other in 
 helping me to tempting morsels. "Just a little, 
 little more," Li Ta Ta would say, reaching out with 
 her chopsticks to the bowl in the center of the table. 
 She would fish around among the slices of meat till 
 she found one especially savory, then convey it to 
 my tiny saucer. There is something extremely 
 gracious and hospitable in this Chinese manner of 
 picking out a tempting morsel for the guest of honor. 
 It is a relic of the days when hospitality was an art 
 of life, and the host served, the servitors merely 
 bringing in fresh food and clearing away the used 
 dishes. The amahs and children sat at a third 
 table in the same room. 
 
 The mother-in-law made a sort of speech. She 
 was talking only to Doctor Grace, but we all listened. 
 
 "It is a great pleasure to me and my son Li to 
 invite the foreign-born healers to our humble feast. 
 The feast is to do honor to the foreigner, but not in 
 honor of the little dog that has been born to the 
 house, nor of its low-born mother. As for them, it 
 would be better had they never been born." The 
 mother-in-law cast a malevolent glance at Pau Tsu. 
 I saw the girl shiver. From that time her manner 
 changed. It was as if she had forgotten something 
 unpleasant during the first part of the evening, and 
 had been suddenly reminded of it. She sat silent 
 and wordless and pushed away her food. The 
 baby began to cry. The amah promptly began 
 to nurse it, but still she cried. She refused to 
 
THE SANCTUARY OF THE WELL 19S 
 
 be comforted by food, turned away her head, and 
 cried and cried. 
 
 "Take the little dog out of my sight," said the 
 mother-in-law. "Take it where I cannot hear the 
 sound of its howling." 
 
 The amah hurried from the room with the wailing 
 baby. We heard the sound of its crying diminish, 
 as an echo grows fainter and fainter. When we 
 heard it no more, the house was strangely still, as if 
 life had left it. Pau Tsu rose without a word and 
 followed it from the room. We heard the patter, 
 patter of her stilted feet through the uncarpeted 
 rooms beyond. 
 
 After that the food was tasteless to me, it choked 
 me. I felt I was eating the poisoned dishes of an 
 evil-eyed ogress. I strained my ears, listening for 
 any sound of footsteps or voices in the rooms over- 
 head. By and by the amah came in quietly. 
 
 "The mistress sent me back to help with the 
 serving," she said in Li Ta Ta's ear. "She herself 
 has taken the infant and stilled her crying." 
 
 On went the interminable feasting. Dish after 
 elaborate dish was placed before us. At the next 
 table Doctor Grace talked easily. Li Ta Ta talked 
 to me, but I didn't hear a word of what she was 
 saying. One thought filled my brain : I must man- 
 age to slip out of the room and hunt through the 
 silent upper stories of the house for the girl bride and 
 her baby. I thought of Pau Tsu sitting upstairs, 
 alone in her room, with her baby clasped in her 
 arms, her eyes glazed with misery and bitterness. No 
 one paid any attention to her prolonged absence. 
 
196 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 We drank our last sip of the fragrant hot wine 
 poured into tiny, thimble-sized bowls. We nibbled 
 candied lotus buds. We wiped our hands and faces 
 on the perfumed, steaming-hot towels.- In the guest 
 hall musicians began a weird, haunting tune. In 
 the confusion of rising from the table, I managed to 
 slip into the back room unobserved. A steep, ladder- 
 like flight of steps confronted me. Holding my 
 skirts high, lest I trip on them in front, I crept up 
 the steps feeling like a thief. When a board creaked 
 I stood still and held my breath, and looked over my 
 shoulder to see if I were followed. At the top of 
 the stairs I hesitated, not knowing which way to 
 turn. The upper floor was deserted ; all the children 
 and servants were down at the feasting. I listened, 
 but no sound of breathing, not the rustle of a dress 
 fold, helped me to decide which way to go. I took 
 off my shoes. I couldn't have explained my wish 
 for secrecy, I only knew that my errand would be 
 frustrated by the accompaniment of any one else. 
 To-day I knew that I could comfort Pau Tsu. I had 
 gained the knowledge that comes of true sympathy. 
 I knew I would be able to encourage her, only I 
 must speak to her alone. Not that I had any solu- 
 tion of her difficulty to suggest to her, not at all. I 
 had no solution for my own difficulty, yet I had 
 sympathy and courage. 
 
 I stole from room to room, no longer wondering 
 which way to go. I went everywhere, even to the 
 rooms of the servants connected with the main 
 quarters of the house by a narrow balcony at the 
 back. Room after room I found empty and without 
 
THE SANCTUARY OF THE WELL 197 
 
 an occupant. Why didn't the baby cry again? I 
 repeated my path of search, thinking I must have 
 overlooked some retiring room. The floor was 
 tenantless ! From below came the wailing strains of 
 Chinese violins and the clear sound of a flute. Voices, 
 merry and talking together, sounded in a gay babel. 
 I looked from a window of the women's room on the 
 second floor down upon the court in front of the 
 guest hall. It was filled with servants. Our donkeys 
 stood in the shadow of the gateway with their group 
 of donkey boys squatted on the ground beside them. 
 Two sedan chairs and their bearers were in another 
 group. Beggars and a few curious stragglers were 
 peeping through the gateway. Li Sien San and 
 Edward reposed on the couch of honor, smoking. 
 A blaze of light and warmth and rich color shot up 
 into the black blue night from the scene below. A 
 juggler stepped forward from the crowd. They 
 surged about him, carrying him close before Edward 
 and Li. I saw a bright green snake shot up into 
 the air. The crowd shouted with delight. The 
 amahs, emboldened by the preoccupation of the 
 house, joined the fringe of the crowd. At the door- 
 way of the feasting room of the women stood a 
 group of the women of the house. 
 
 A great fear suddenly turned me sick. The story 
 of the gatekeeper at the House of the Dead, the 
 unlucky visiorl of the bride that haunted the Pool 
 of the Tortoises, and Pau Tsu's disappearance filled 
 me with apprehension. Where could she be? I 
 wanted to rush down into the midst of that feasting 
 company and call out to Li, "You have lost your 
 
198 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 Loved Pau Tsu." I pictured the commotion, the 
 scattering of the musicians and the revelers. Yet 
 more vividly I knew the anger of the mother-in-law. 
 She would hate the girl more than ever and persecute 
 her — that is, if she were living. 
 
 I had hardly any hope left. Carefully, systemati- 
 cally, I re-searched the rooms, pulling back the 
 silken curtains at each bed, and peering into the 
 dim recesses behind. I even slipped my hand in 
 and ran it over the quilts, lest in the darkness of 
 the candles I miss a still form. Bed after bed was 
 empty. Three times I had searched the rooms. I 
 stood still and pressed my hands over my beating 
 heart. 
 
 There was still the garden and the swiftly running 
 river along its walls and the deep, deep well where 
 the summer clouds lay like sky flakes in its mirror. 
 Fear lent me wings; I was out in the garden. 
 Beyond the radius of the lanterns' glow, the shadows 
 were black and gloomy. The moon was covered 
 with thin clouds which raced across its surface, 
 driven by a rising wind. The papery leaves of 
 the young bamboo trees shivered. The cypresses 
 hardly moved but cast their black shadows all about 
 me. I ran to the water gate. It was barred, and 
 I could not draw the bolts ; I crouched against it and 
 listened. I hardly knew what I was listening for, 
 perhaps a wail or the backward-floating cry of a 
 child. I heard the soft, gentle swish-swish of the 
 silent water and no more. I ran to the well and 
 peered over. It lay, a shaft of impenetrable black- 
 ness, before me, yet I waited. The wind rose, 
 
THE SANCTUARY OF THE WELL 199 
 
 and the thin clouds covering the full moon were 
 torn into shreds and scarfs of chiffon. Full and 
 clear, shining like a silver shield, the moon freed 
 herself of the cloudy drapery. Right down into 
 the well it shone, as I peered over. Deep down I 
 saw a face ; I thought it the reflection of my own. 
 Fascinated, I looked and looked. I lifted up my 
 hand and pushed back the hair from my face, but 
 the mirrored face made no such jesture. I screamed 
 with terror. Flying through the yard, I burst into 
 the guest hall where the juggler still juggled, and 
 the musicians played their weird, melancholy music. 
 
 "Edward," I cried, "come." 
 
 I caught his hands and ran with him through the 
 garden to where the face still looked up at the sailing 
 moon. It seemed to have moved. The moonlight 
 shone on it with soft, tender beams. Beside it 
 cuddled another, smaller, tiny face. 
 
 They had found a sanctuary. 
 
XVII 
 WHERE THERE'S A WILL! 
 
 AFTER that dreadful night when we pulled 
 little Pau Tsu and her drowned baby out 
 of the well I sent Edward away. I was 
 thrown into one of those crises of emotion and thought 
 which we all have to pass through ; I was utterly 
 unreasonable. It seemed to me that the only 
 happiness for a woman lay in repudiating her woman- 
 hood, in becoming a neuter sex like the bee-workers. 
 I suppose I didn't think at all, I simply felt that I 
 couldn't marry, at least not till the horrible impres- 
 sion of the fate of the wives of Li had somewhat worn 
 oflf. 
 
 "I'll wait as long as you want," said Edward, 
 "only don't send me away. Let me be near you. 
 Let me help you now when you need me." 
 
 But I couldn't. "You have to go away," I said. 
 "Oh ! not far, nor not for long, but so that I do not 
 see you. When I see you, or when you put out 
 your hand and touch me, I can't think. You must 
 give me time to get hold of myself again. Surely, 
 soon I will know what to do. But this is one of 
 the places that a human being must fight through 
 alone, if he wants to be an adult soul." 
 
WHERE THERE'S A WILL 201 
 
 So I sent him away, and the world turned to utter 
 desolation. He left one morning, just walked out 
 of the house and said he wouldn't be able to see me 
 for a while. I had no address, I didn't know where 
 he was going, or what he was going to do, or when 
 he would come back. I suddenly found I had been 
 very foolish to let him go like that, without knowing 
 all about him. Doctor Donnellon and Miss Laurie 
 were standing around us in the hall when he said 
 good-by, so that I couldn't ask him anything. 
 The days went by in a dragging dreariness. In 
 those desolate hours I learned a great deal more about 
 love than I had known before. I learned, for one 
 thing, that work is only absorbing and satisfactory 
 if the heart is securely anchored. I hated my work ; 
 I forced myself out of bed every morning and dragged 
 myself about the wards. The patients were so 
 dirty and smelly ! It was such a hopeless task to 
 cure them ! And even if I did cure them, there 
 were so many more to be cured ! A never-ending 
 stream of sick humanity came in at the gates. I 
 wanted to lie in bed and do nothing, to eat less, 
 and to pity myself. But the pressure of the daily 
 routine saved me, gave me back my sanity again, 
 though it came slowly, inch by inch, through the 
 long months that followed. Doctor Donnellon 
 went away on her vacation. Miss Laurie and I were 
 left alone, and then even Miss Laurie went up-river 
 to a Nurses' Conference. I was busy from morning 
 to night. 
 
 One afternoon Mrs. Maitland called with a new 
 nurse. Mrs. Maitland is little and slim and has 
 
202 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 been in China twenty-five years. When she first 
 came out, she was a China Inland Mission worker, 
 way up in the interior. Now she is in Shanghai 
 and directs the poHcy of a chain of girls' boarding 
 schools. I always liked Mrs. Maitland to come to 
 see us. She was my ideal of what a missionary 
 should be, not "goody-goody" at all, nor always 
 preaching, but radiating something happy and peace- 
 ful. The Chinese girls idolized her. 
 
 "I've brought you a new probationer," she said. 
 "E Tsung" (love and honor). 
 
 The prettiest little Chinese girl shook hands with 
 me. She had rosy cheeks and merry brown eyes 
 and a very quick responsive smile. 
 
 "She has rather an interesting history," continued 
 Mrs. Maitland. "Almost twenty years ago, when 
 I was in the interior, I was riding along the banks of 
 a canal. It was in the summer, and the water in 
 the canal had shrunk to a mere moving trickle of 
 brown mud. The house boats had been left high 
 and dry on the steep, shelving bank, and a veritable 
 village of mat-sheds had sprung up beside the boats. 
 Four bamboo poles, four square mats of woven 
 fiber and the fifth for the roof made a mat-shed. 
 There were no doors. If you wanted to enter, you 
 picked up one of the flapping mats and crawled in. 
 It was a hot afternoon. All the rest of the mission 
 were indoors. I would not have been out myself 
 but that word had come from one of the Bible 
 women that a convert, an old woman, was very sick 
 in the next village. So I took a wheelbarrow and 
 started out. The wheelbarrow man stopped every 
 
WHERE THERE'S A WILL 203 
 
 few moments to mop himself. He did it thoroughly, 
 beginning at his eyes and only stopping at his tightly 
 drawn belt. Along this mud river, the stench was 
 horrible. Flies and mosquitoes buzzed in the air. 
 Naked babies and mangy dogs played with each 
 other in front of the huts. At the door of one hut, 
 the mat over the opening was looped back. A 
 crowd of women were gathered about the doorway, 
 wailing aloud. Children hung to the skirts of their 
 mothers. Wisps of unbleached white cloth were tied 
 around the arms of two or three of the mourners. 
 My wheelbarrow man stopped to rest and dry off. I 
 got down from my narrow shelf on one side of the 
 wheel and approached the mourners. 
 
 '"The old woman has become nothing,' they said. 
 'She died this morning. Her daughter died yester- 
 day. There remains only the young aunt and this 
 new-born baby.' 
 
 '"Where is the father?' I asked. 
 
 "'We know not the father,' they replied. 'The 
 aunt says he is a river man who comes by here when 
 the river is in flood, but no one knows him. We 
 think to bury the baby with her mother, for there is 
 no one to care for it.' 
 
 "'Yes,' said the aunt, 'we must bury the baby. 
 I am about to go to the home of my mother-in-law, 
 and I cannot take a sucking child with me. We will 
 bury them all three together in one coffin.' 
 
 "Within the hut, which was no bigger than a 
 large packing box, lay the dead bodies of two women. 
 In the crook of a dead woman's elbow lay a little, 
 warm, living child. It had been wrapped in rags, 
 
204 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 filthy rags, full of lice, but it lay there, in the bend of 
 the dead woman's arm, contented and smiling. It 
 was so young that it was not yet hungry. 
 
 "'Give it to me,' I said. 
 
 "Some one caught up the baby and placed her in 
 my arms. 
 
 "'Yes, yes, we will give the baby to the foreign- 
 born healer to be her adopted child. We do not 
 want the baby at all. We would bury the baby 
 alive. It will be more better that the foreign-born 
 teacher take the child for her own.' 
 
 "'The women clamored around me. I was silent 
 with astonishment. I had only wanted to see the 
 baby when I said 'give her to me.' But to them my 
 request had suggested a way out of the difficulty. 
 The baby snuggled against me as if she were glad 
 not to be pressed against that cold, dead body any 
 longer. I was a new missionary. I knew that 
 often the mission was involved in legal difficulties by 
 just such a gift of transfer, yet I could not go away 
 and put that baby back beside its dead mother. 
 My wheelbarrow man decided the question for me. 
 I don't know how long I would have stood there, 
 pondering. ' Come, Missey,' he said. 'Too muchee 
 hot. Must go on.' 
 
 "I wrote my name and address on a slip of paper 
 and gave it to the aunt. I also took her name and 
 the name of her mother-in-law, who lived in an 
 adjoining hut. I didn't promise to adopt the baby, 
 as they all wanted, but I did tell them I would look 
 after it. I made the aunt say she would come to 
 the mission once a month to see the child. 
 
WHERE THERE'S A WILL 205 
 
 " I got back on the wheelbarrow with the strange, 
 dirty beggar baby in my arms. At the house of 
 the convert I found the old woman much better. 
 Together we dressed and washed the baby and gave 
 it its first feeding of warm goat's milk. The old 
 woman took a fancy to the child. She said to 
 me she knew more about bringing up babies than 
 I did — I wasn't married then. She said also that 
 she knew what it was necessary for a Chinese child 
 to know. She asked me to leave the baby with her, 
 to bring up till she was old enough to go to the 
 mission boarding school. That is the story of E 
 Tsung. She graduated at the mission boarding 
 school last spring. She is only eighteen and she 
 chooses not to be married yet. She herself asked 
 to be a nurse." 
 
 That was how Pretty came to us. She was the 
 gayest, most agile youngster. Nothing was too 
 hard for her, nothing too tiring. Everything in- 
 terested her. Miss Laurie fell in love with her at 
 once. "That girl will make a good nurse," she 
 said enthusiastically. "She is worth any amount 
 of training. But I suppose she will get married 
 right away and spoil it all. She can manage 
 anybody." 
 
 We started volley ball that fall for the nurses. We 
 strung up an old tennis net in the yard and divided 
 the girls into two teams. When they took off their 
 aprons to play, they looked the cutest, most frolic- 
 some set of children on earth. And Pretty was the 
 quickest and brightest among them ; she was a 
 universal favorite. Another pastime of the nurses 
 
2o6 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 was the Virginia Reel. I sat at the little organ and 
 played the Swanee River, the only tune I knew, and 
 the nurses danced their cheeks pink. They were 
 more like irresponsible children than independent, 
 trained nurses. Miss Laurie used to worry over it. 
 
 "How shall I ever make them grow up and take 
 responsibility?" she said. 
 
 "You can't," I answered. "It will happen of 
 itself. You can't make them into American women. 
 You must let them take their time. You have 
 to treat them like boarding-school girls." 
 
 Whenever the girls went out, they were accom- 
 panied by an amah, a respectable and trustworthy 
 woman we employed just for that purpose. 
 
 One afternoon Pretty and A-doo and the chaperone 
 went out together. About five o'clock A-doo and 
 the amah came back. They hurried across the com- 
 pound and asked for Miss Laurie, but Miss Laurie 
 was out, so I saw them. 
 
 "E Tsung is gone," they said. 
 
 "Gone where?" I asked. 
 
 "We do not know," they said. "Simply she is 
 gone. We walked along Bubbling Well and then 
 down Nanking Road, looking in the shop windows. 
 We came to the new Chinese theater where there is a 
 magic box which shoots one rapidly up to the top of 
 the building. From the roof one can see all the 
 world. E Tsung said she wanted to go up. We 
 would not have gone of ourselves, but E Tsung 
 wanted to. Also we had heard the matron, who had 
 gone up, say it was harmless. We had to pay a 
 little, but we had enough money. I felt a very 
 
WHERE THERE'S A WILL 207 
 
 terrifying sickness as we left the earth," said A- 
 doo. "I looked at E Tsung, and she looked as if 
 she would soon lose her eyes ; they were popping out 
 of her head. But she said she liked it. At the 
 top we got out on a kind of square platform and 
 looked off in all directions at all the world. We saw 
 the Whangpoo and the boats and the yellow mist 
 where lies the Great Yangtse. We were very busy 
 looking first this way and that. We were higher 
 than the Loong Wha pagoda. We saw its tower oh' 
 a level with our eyes across the fields. We could 
 look down on Nanking Road and see the carriages 
 crawling as slowly as ants. Then we looked for 
 E Tsung, and she was gone. We asked everybody, 
 but no one had seen her. How could she leave 
 but by the rising and falling box? And how could 
 she have vanished without our knowledge?" 
 
 A-doo and the amah were very much excited, and 
 so, for that matter, was I. The loss of a girl in 
 Shanghai is no laughing matter, especially of such 
 a young and pretty one as E Tsung. She had never 
 been out alone in all her life. I told A-doo and the 
 amah not to tell any of the nurses of Pretty's dis- 
 appearance, for I did not want to ruin the girl's 
 reputation while there yet might be hope of her 
 coming back. I didn't know what to do, so I 
 phoned Mrs. Maitland. 
 
 "E Tsung is here," she said. "I have told her 
 she must never run away like that again. I have 
 told her to go right to you and apologize." 
 
 I was weak with the sudden relief. Half an 
 hour later, E Tsung came, all contrition and smiles, 
 
2o8 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 to offer her excuses. Chinese excuses are invariably 
 works of art, but hers was a masterpiece. 
 
 "My heart came up into my mouth when we 
 were carried up so far into the clouds," she said. 
 "The earth was changed and strange. I was afraid 
 it would vanish and be there no longer. Already it 
 was only a mirage. I turned around quickly and 
 sprang back into the descending box before it should 
 go down and leave me away from everybody, up 
 in the clouds. At the bottom, I waited and waited, 
 half a day, for A-doo and the amah. They came 
 not. I felt in my heart that some evil thing had 
 happened to them. I was afraid to come back to the 
 hospital without them, so I called a ricksha and went 
 to the home of my adopted mother. She scolded 
 me for having run away like that and said you would 
 be very much worried. I am sorry for my wicked- 
 ness and foolishness." 
 
 She was very contrite. Her breath came quickly, 
 and her eyes watched my face for signs of anger. She 
 twisted a corner of her jacket in her fingers. I 
 scolded her severely, and forgave her, then dismissed 
 her with a heart full of thankfulness that no harm 
 had come of the episode. I got up and walked to 
 my window, without any plan of espionage in my 
 action. I was only moving around aimlessly, as we 
 all do at times. I saw Pretty pause a moment on 
 the threshold, look cautiously around, dance down a 
 few steps, then wave her hands towards the houses 
 on the left. After waving, she stopped as if waiting 
 an answering signal. Evidently it came, for she 
 waved again and ran back to the hospital. 
 
WHERE THERE'S A WILL 209 
 
 All my peace of mind was gone. An intrigue was 
 brewing. I knew it, I felt it in my bones. Pretty's 
 little air of triumph when she waved her hand at 
 the invisible watcher had betrayed her. Miss 
 Laurie came home soon, and I told her all the story. 
 "I don't see how you can suspect her," she said 
 indignantly. "I would as soon suspect my sister. 
 She is too honest, too self-reliant to do anything 
 underhand. She was only waving her hand with 
 relief at your forgiveness. Did you see anybody 
 return her salute?" 
 
 "No," I said. "But don't forget that the 
 Paulun Hospital is visible through the alley. I 
 myself have seen the Chinese interns in their white 
 uniforms on the upper balcony." 
 
 "You don't mean to say you think she would 
 carry on a flirtation with one of them?" 
 
 "I don't know," I said, "but that is what I was 
 thinking." 
 
 "Chinese girls don't do such things," said Miss 
 Laurie. "Our girls wouldn't. They are too nice." 
 
 "Anybody will," I said. "It's not a question of 
 being nice or not. It's a question of life. I think 
 we ought to guard the girls more carefully. In- 
 dependence is fermenting in the air. It's a dan- 
 gerous time." 
 
 "You want to coddle the nurses and make babies 
 of them," said Miss Laurie. " I want to make them 
 self-respecting women." 
 
 "So do I," I agreed. "Only I want to watch 
 over them while they are young, so that they will 
 never have an occasion for loss of self-respect." 
 
2IO MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 "You suspect them," asserted Miss Laurie. "I 
 think it is an insult." 
 
 "I know," I replied. 
 
 There the matter dropped. When one day Mrs. 
 Maitland came to tea, I told her my suspicions. 
 She was Pretty's godmother, and I didn't want the 
 responsibility on my soul. She agreed with Miss 
 Laurie, so, little by little, my apprehension was 
 stilled. 
 
 One morning I went over to the hospital earlier 
 than usual. On the steps the nurses were gathered 
 around a flower woman. The flower-seller held a 
 round, shallow basket slung over her shoulder by a 
 string. The basket was full of tiny flower buds, tied 
 on invisible wires, ready to be hung on the studs 
 that close a woman's dress on the shoulders, or to 
 be stuck in the hair. The nurses were buying. 
 Pretty stood at one side of the group, a flower lying 
 unobserved at her feet, and in her hand a letter. 
 It was a long, thin Chinese letter, written on double 
 rice paper. I saw the graceful straggling characters 
 going up and down the page from top to bottom. 
 Pretty was utterly engrossed; her cheeks were a 
 bright pink. 
 
 The matron, Wang S Moo, came out of the 
 counting room, and saw me looking at Pretty. 
 She beckoned to me with her eyes. I followed her 
 into the office and closed the door. 
 
 "Every day it is so," said Wang S Moo. "The 
 postman brings a letter for E Tsung. When I ask 
 her who writes it, she looks at me angrily and says, 
 ' It is from my aunt.' But all the world knows her 
 
WHERE THERE'S A WILL 2n 
 
 aunt lives in a mat-shed and can neither read nor 
 write. The nurses say, when she has her off hours, 
 she goes into her room and shuts the door, and refuses 
 to let any one come in. But one of the nurses 
 looked through the keyhole and saw her writing a 
 letter. The gateman says that every day E Tsung 
 gives him a cash to post a letter for her. If you 
 wish, I will tell the gateman not to post the letter, 
 but to give it to you. Then we will find out all 
 about the mischief." 
 
 "Oh, we couldn't do that," I exclaimed, aghast 
 at the systematic, curious spying. 
 
 "We must do something," said the matron. "E 
 Tsung no longer does her work. When she makes 
 the beds in the morning she does not sweep out the 
 crumbs, she merely pulls the quilt straight. She 
 boasts to the other girls that she will soon be rich 
 and not have to work any more." 
 
 "This is dreadful," I said helplessly. "I will 
 tell Miss Laurie." Miss Laurie, however, was 
 inclined to believe that the matron had a spite 
 against the girl because she was so quick and clever 
 and did her work so well. Miss Laurie refused to 
 accept such evidence. "But I tell you what I 
 will do," she said, "I will call all the nurses together 
 and announce the rule that no girl may receive 
 letters that are not first opened by me. I hate to 
 do it, it seems so suspicious, but we don't want 
 anything to happen to that child. That will put 
 an end to the correspondence." 
 
 A few of the advanced spirits among the nurses re- 
 sented the innovation. Daily the postman handed 
 
212 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 the letters to Miss Laurie, but Pretty got no more, 
 and we congratulated ourselves that the incident was 
 closed. Then one afternoon I went over to the hos- 
 pital about five o'clock, the time I was least likely to 
 be there. In the front hall, sitting on one of the 
 stiff guest chairs reserved for relatives of the sick, sat 
 a dapper young Chinese man, and before him stood 
 Pretty, dressed in her best clothes, blushing and 
 smiling. "Who is this man?" I asked severely. 
 
 "My uncle," said Pretty promptly. 
 
 "Do you not know you cannot receive men in this 
 hospital?" I asked. 
 
 "Not strangers, of course," said Pretty, "but an 
 uncle — " 
 
 " No, not a young uncle," I said. " It is not good 
 custom. If the nurses in the hospital do not observe 
 good custom, no one will want to send their daughters 
 to us to be trained for the honorable calling of nurse." 
 
 I sent him off, and I ordered Pretty up to her 
 room for the rest of the day. 
 
 "I think we will have to send her back to Mrs. 
 Maitland," I said to Miss Laurie. "Something is 
 going on. I don't trust her." 
 
 "That is just the trouble," said Miss Laurie. 
 "Neither of us trusts her. The matron suspects 
 her and spies on her. The other nurses are jealous 
 and envious." 
 
 "But what can we do," I asked 
 
 "I'll go over and have a talk with her," said Miss 
 Laurie. "Won't you come too?" 
 
 This was not according to Chinese etiquette, that 
 the superiors should go to the inferiors, but it was 
 
WHERE THERE'S A WILL 213 
 
 true Christianity. We had come to break down 
 just such barriers between woman and woman, 
 barriers that prevent the stretching across of a 
 helping hand. We decided to wait till after supper. 
 The appalling lack of privacy in all Chinese life 
 defeated our purpose of seeing Pretty alone. First 
 we made rounds. The wards were peaceful and 
 quiet. A little new baby lay asleep in its white 
 crib in the mother's ward. Its mother opened her 
 eyes at the sound of our footsteps and put out her 
 hand and patted the baby. The night nurses 
 followed us with a candle, ready to light it, tip it 
 over, so that a bit of melted wax might drop on the 
 seat of a stool or a table, and stick the candle in 
 its waxen socket. The long rooms were dimly lit 
 by the faint night bulbs. On the third story I 
 leaned out over the railing and looked far and wide 
 over the city. A gash of light across the sky marked 
 the path of Nanking Road through the town. The 
 lighted face of the clock on the watch tower shone 
 like a golden moon. Dark and silent and closely 
 packed together lay the plastered houses around us. 
 Directly in front rose the dark outline of the Paulun 
 Hospital. It too was dimmed for the night, but 
 across the lighted doorways figures could be seen 
 passing and repassing. I fancied I saw a figure 
 come out of a French window on the second-story 
 verandah and walk to and fro. It was discernible 
 like a moving white spot. 
 
 The two night nurses, hand in hand, followed us 
 around. "It is very black to-night," one said, "I 
 hope it will not be necessary to cross the compound* 
 
214 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 to call the doctor. I am always afraid to leave the 
 hospital when it is so dark. Also I hope the sick 
 woman will not die to-night. I do not like them to 
 die on dark nights." 
 
 I turned to the bed behind me. The patient, a 
 young girl of about sixteen, lay dying of consumption. 
 She had been a hopeless case from the start, but 
 nevertheless I hated to lose her. She put out a feeble 
 hand and caught a fold of my dress to attract my 
 attention. 
 
 "I fear," she whispered. I bent over her. "Do 
 not fear," I said in answer. "The Lord Jesus forgets 
 no one." 
 
 "I know," she said, "but it is hard to remember 
 in the darkness." 
 
 We lit a candle at her bedside. Its tiny flicker 
 of light only accentuated the gloom, but it pleased 
 her. I told the nurses to stay with her as much as 
 possible. Back we went, down through the peaceful 
 wards, across the court, and up the stairs to the 
 nurses' quarters. We walked on tiptoe, we didn't 
 speak. I know the thought in both our hearts was 
 one and the same — to reach Pretty's room un- 
 observed. But it was quite a useless and futile 
 hope. At the head of the stairs we met Me Li 
 going for a bath, with her towel hung over her 
 arm. "Sien San has come," she announced. Along 
 the corridor doors flew open. In a moment we 
 were surrounded by a throng of nurses. They were 
 so slim and childish in their striped trousers and 
 jackets of blue and white that I always felt like a 
 grandmother among them. So caught, we made 
 
WHERE THERE'S A WILL 215 
 
 the round of their rooms, a proceeding which we 
 do every so often. At Pretty's door we knocked. 
 
 "She is not in," said Me Li. 
 6 "Not in," we repeated in amazement. "How do 
 you know?" 
 
 "I can't get in," said Me Li. "I have been 
 rooming with her for the last month, but tonight, 
 when I came off duty, I could not open the door. I 
 tried the lock ; it was bolted. I looked through the 
 keyhole, and the room was empty." 
 
 "You shouldn't spy on a roommate," said Miss 
 Laurie quickly. 
 
 "It was my room too," said Me Li. 
 
 "That was before supper," said A-doo. "If she 
 had not come back soon, I was coming over to tell 
 Miss Laurie." 
 
 "It is a shameful thing," said one of the new 
 nurses. "My father will take me away if such 
 affairs go on here." 
 
 "Yes," said Me Li, "we think you should not let 
 her come back when she wants to." 
 
 "Yes, that is the proper custom," chorused the 
 girls. 
 
 I looked at Miss Laurie in consternation. 
 
 "If she comes back," I said, "we cannot turn her 
 out." 
 
 " It would be good custom," insisted the girls. 
 
 Their attitude of prying curiosity exasperated us, 
 but by this time we knew that this very attitude 
 was one of the Chinese safeguards of conduct. In 
 such a communal life, no secrecy could succeed. 
 We were gathered at the head of the stairs, we on 
 
2i6 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 the steps, the nurses in the hall. Through the open 
 doors of their rooms we saw their little iron bed- 
 steads and the chests of drawers and their small 
 trunks covered with white leather and clasped with 
 brass hasps. Directly in front of me was A-doo's 
 room. On the dressing table stood the tiny vanity 
 box of Chinese women with its mirror and case for 
 hair ornaments. Next was the closed, locked door 
 of Pretty's room. On the gravel of the driveway we 
 heard the wheels of a ricksha and the sharp tones of 
 bargaining. Evidently the man was easily contented, 
 for the wheels turned and rumbled back to the gate- 
 way slowly. Quick steps sounded on the stairs 
 behind us, and Pretty came running up. She was 
 upon Miss Laurie before she knew it. When she 
 would have drawn back, Miss Laurie flung out an 
 arm and caught the girl around her waist. Pretty 
 deserved her nickname. She wore a suit of white 
 satin with a thin gauze skirt, which in the accepted 
 manner of Chinese summer skirts, showed her 
 satin trousers plainly. Her black hair was worn in 
 one of the most stylish fashions of the moment. 
 Heavy bangs, cut short over the forehead and long 
 over the temples, hanging down the side of her face 
 as far as the tips of her ears, ringed her glowing face 
 like an ebony frame. Two heavy plaits were wound 
 around her head in a borrowed Gretchen fashion. 
 
 For one dramatic instant we were all silent. Then 
 the nurses broke out in vituperation. 
 
 "I wish not a sound," said Miss Laurie authorita- 
 tively, holding up a silencing hand. "Where have 
 you been, E Tsung?" 
 
WHERE THERE'S A WILL 217 
 
 "I cannot say," said Pretty. 
 
 "But you must say when I ask you," said Miss 
 Laurie. ' ' You know the rules of the Training School. 
 No girl is ever permitted to go out alone after dark. 
 It is bad custom. You yourself know it is not 
 proper custom for a Chinese young girl. Every 
 one will say words that are not good to hear." 
 
 Pretty drew herself away from Miss Laurie's arm. 
 
 "It is all true, what you say," she said. "I 
 know it is not proper Chinese custom. I know what 
 people will say, Me Li especially. But what have 
 you come here for, but to teach us new customs that 
 shall be proper for Chinese women as well as foreign 
 women? You tell us we must not worship our 
 fathers. There was no custom more sacred than 
 that. If we do not worship our fathers, what 
 matters it what class of strangeness we do ? Often 
 have I seen Miss Laurie and Au-I-Sung go out at 
 night. Sometimes alone, sometimes with a man 
 who is not relation. No one says wicked words. It 
 is proper American custom. Why shall it not be 
 proper Chinese custom? I have done nothing 
 wrong." 
 
 How could we explain the difference, the danger, in 
 the face of the scandalized nurses, to the bright, 
 defiant eyes of Pretty ? 
 
 "Go to your room and stay there till I send for 
 you," said Miss Laurie. "Your meals will be 
 brought up to you. When you came here, you agreed 
 to obey our rules, and you have disobeyed." 
 
 Miss Laurie went into the room with Pretty. I 
 shooed the rest to their room and gave them some 
 
2i8 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 useless words of advice on forgiveness and forbear- 
 ance. 
 
 "Her grandmother lived in a mat-shed," mur- 
 mured Me Li. 
 
 I was baffled, as much by the rest of the nurses as 
 by Pretty. I knew how Pretty felt. She belonged 
 to the new generation. The new wine had burst 
 the old wine skins and was spilling and wasting itself 
 riotously. Before the direct, fearless look of her 
 eyes I had no answer. I felt instinctively as I 
 waited on the front steps of the house for Miss 
 Laurie, that the ancient method of confinement 
 would have no salutary effect on her. 
 
 A little glowworm opened and shut its wings on 
 the rosebush at my side. What a worm-miracle 
 it was, radiant, slight, swaying at night on the branch 
 of the rose bush. It enthralled me as I watched. I 
 fastened my eyes on the spot and waited for the 
 coming glimpse of soft light. No wonder the women 
 of the south sea wore them as jewels in their hair, 
 living jewels ! 
 
 A din of beaten drums and the chant of priests 
 came down the street, transforming the night from 
 a silent beauty into a vivid, pulsating thing of 
 human events. It was a funeral procession. I 
 walked out to the gate to watch it. The street was 
 alive and gay. Children pulled toy animals, of 
 painted paper lighted within by a candle, along the 
 flags of the market place. The funeral was small 
 and meager. A few boys with their circular parasols, 
 more like lamp shades than sunshades, followed 
 the priests. It wasn't the burial proper, only the 
 
WHERE THERE'S A WILL 219 
 
 carrying of the coffin to the coffin house. At the 
 money changer's across the way the men leaned 
 on the counter, naked from the waist up, and smoked 
 and chatted. The eat-shop next door was filled with 
 coolies. An opium den, silent and shadowy, with 
 its sign hung far out over the door, was faintly lit. 
 Farther down the street came a break in the light, a 
 crack of darkness which marked the mouth of a back 
 alley. A large automobile waited in front of the 
 curb at the entrance of the alley. Another glided 
 up noiselessly, and two Chinese in handsome silks 
 got out quickly and hurried into the darkness of 
 the alley. A gambling den ! Along the curb sat 
 men and women on tiny four-legged stools enjoying 
 the coolness of the evening air. Worlds upon 
 worlds crowded upon me, one world of the lit, gay 
 street, another of the quiet dim compound but a few 
 yards away, and yet another of the small neat room 
 with its iron bedstead and chest of drawers and 
 dressing case where Miss Laurie talked with Pretty, 
 and yet another of my own consciousness and its 
 bitter wants and needs. 
 
 "What did you accomplish?" I asked Miss 
 Laurie, when she came. 
 
 "Nothing," she said. "She wouldn't tell me 
 anything about where she had been or what she 
 had been doing. She said a thousand times she 
 had done nothing wrong and asked me to trust her. 
 I said I did trust her, but that she must obey the 
 rules of the hospital. She said that wasn't trusting 
 her. We went over and over the same ground. 
 Finally I locked her in, and said she was to stay in 
 
220 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 her room till I came back from Wusih. That will 
 be three days. I wish I were not going. However, 
 it can't be helped. If she is repentant, she will have 
 to make a public apology and then we'll forgive her. 
 If she isn't she will have to be sent back to Mrs. 
 Maitland. We can't have the responsibility of 
 looking after her if she won't obey." 
 
 Miss Laurie left by the early morning train. 
 The nurses volunteered the information that Pretty 
 had refused to let the amah in. She had not taken 
 her breakfast. I was not surprised at that. Dinner 
 at noon she also refused. She maintained a sullen 
 silence. I could not stand it ; I was afraid she would 
 do something desperate. I chose a moment when 
 all the nurses were at their busiest in clinic, and went 
 upstairs on my tiptoes. I drew the key stealthily 
 from my pocket and opened the door. I stepped 
 inside quickly and closed it after me. The room 
 was empty. My heart suddenly began to beat 
 suffocatingly. I turned the key in the lock behind 
 me as I wished to be undisturbed, and went over 
 to the bed in the corner. I could not tell whether it 
 had been slept in or not, for its smooth matting 
 betrayed no creases. I opened the drawers. They 
 were full of clothes. A little dressing case open 
 stood on the top of the bureau. A pigskin box was 
 unlocked. I could not be sure, but, to my eyes, the 
 room looked as if it had just been left for a moment, 
 as if its occupant meant to return shortly. A picture 
 of Mrs. Maitland and another of the mission school 
 hung on the wall. One of Pretty herself, hold- 
 ing tightly to the ear of a bronze griffon, stood 
 
WHERE THERE'S A WILL 221 
 
 unframed on the dresser. I went to the window. 
 The roof of the veranda sloped steeply towards the 
 ground. The drop from it would be not more than 
 ten feet. On a nail at the edge of the roof I caught 
 sight of a piece of black gauze. At least she had not 
 taken opium ! Would she come back, or had she 
 gone forever? And where? 
 
 I listened along the corridor, but no one was 
 stirring, so I stuffed the keyhole with a bit of cotton 
 to keep the empty room from the prying eyes of Me 
 Li, and escaped unobserved. I rushed through 
 clinic and set out for Mrs. Maitland's. I did not 
 like to telephone the news. I wanted to save Pretty, 
 and somehow I felt sure that Mrs. Maitland would 
 know a way. I almost hoped I might find Pretty 
 there, for Mrs. Maitland was the kind of woman to 
 whom a girl could go with any trouble. To my eager 
 mind, that warm afternoon, man-power seemed a 
 snail-like way of covering distance. The naked 
 waist of my runner glistened with sweat. He shook 
 his head violently every so often, and a spray of 
 moisture flew into the air. On the benches along 
 the houses, narrow as a hand's-breadth, men lay 
 full length asleep. Everywhere was the incessant 
 whir of fans, round and oval and conical, fanning 
 faces and backs and stomachs. On an empty lot a 
 circle of horses were exercising. At the head of 
 each animal walked its keeper. In the center of the 
 slowly, ever-revolving circle, stood a man with a bird 
 cage, containing a black minne bird with a yellow 
 beak, singing. The whirling horses and the whirl- 
 ing men were utterly silent, as if mesmerized by 
 
222 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 the thin piping of the captive bird. The gold signs 
 on their ebony backgrounds waved languidly before 
 the shops on Nanking Road. Over the high counters 
 in the open shops appeared the bronze bodies of 
 the jacketless clerks. Silent, smoking water pipes, 
 they leaned on the counter, gcizing inscrutably into 
 the future. Before the newest jeweler shop, the 
 manikins of plaster in embroidered robes revolved 
 tirelessly over the doorway. We were the only ob- 
 jects in sight that moved faster than a snail's pace, 
 and that was only out of deference to the wishes of 
 the foreign devil in the ricksha. It is well known 
 that when a foreign devil wishes to go anywhere, 
 he wishes to be there at once. Panting and drip- 
 ping, rny puller ran on. On the bund a breath of 
 freshness met us. Across the river, Phootung was 
 half hidden in foliage. The feeble air but flapped 
 in the sails of the junks. Already the benches 
 along the water front were filled with foreign babies 
 and their amahs. My eyes slipped idly over them. 
 In the garden the band was playing. 
 
 "Stop! Stop!" I cried, leaping out before the 
 shafts touched the ground. I darted across the street 
 and caught hold of Pretty, who was deep in conversa- 
 tion with a handsome youth. I had neither words nor 
 breath left to speak, but I held her tightly. Night 
 had not yet come, she was safe. "Oh! E Tsung," 
 I cried at last, "why did you run away?" 
 
 "I had to," she said. "You would not let me meet 
 him. I must see him." 
 
 I looked at the man. He wore a white flannel suit 
 of foreign cut and looked very dapper and handsome. 
 
WHERE THERE'S A WILL 223 
 
 "Who is he!" I asked. 
 
 "He is my future husband," Pretty answered. 
 
 The answer took my breath away. But one 
 solution appeared to my dazed faculties. We 
 would go to Mrs. Maitland. She would know 
 what to do. 
 
 "Call a ricksha," I said to the man, "and follow 
 us. I will take E Tsung with me." 
 
 "Where are you taking me?" asked Pretty. 
 
 "To Mrs. Maitland," I answered. 
 
 They made no objection. I took Pretty on my 
 lap as an amah takes her mistress. The runner 
 demurred, but I promised him double the fare. 
 Holding her on my knees in the intimate way one 
 holds a little child, I could feel no anger at her. In 
 fact, I had not been as much angry as worried all 
 along. I wanted to save her. There was something 
 so utterly lovable about her, one could not help 
 liking her. After we had ridden in silence a block 
 or so, Pretty's hand stole into mine. 
 
 "You will understand, Au-I-Sung," she said. 
 "You also love the foreign man. Days when he 
 comes not to see you, your heart is sad and heavy. 
 I know, for I have watched the look in your eyes. 
 At first I did not know what made you so different, 
 some days so merry, as if the sunshine lived in your 
 eyes, and some days so sad, as if your heart were 
 crying. But lately I have understood. I could 
 not pass a day without seeing him. I had to run 
 away. You are not angry, are you ?" 
 
 "No, E Tsung," I said, "I am not angry. If you 
 wished to be married, why did you not tell us, so 
 
224 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 that we could have arranged it for you in an honor- 
 able manner." 
 
 "No," she said, "I did not want it arranged. I 
 wanted to do it myself." 
 
 "Who is this man?" I asked. "What do you 
 know about him? Where did you meet him?" 
 
 "He is Li-I-Sung. I met him at the house of a 
 school friend of mine, that first day I ran away from 
 A-doo and the amah. I had in my heart no wicked- 
 ness that day, but to run away and see my school 
 friend. She is married and has a baby. I wanted 
 to see the baby. Her husband was there, also 
 Li-I-Sung. They also were schoolmates. Li-I- 
 Sung has studied the foreign medicine already 
 three years. When I saw him I wanted to marry 
 him at once, and I asked him if he would like it. I 
 think he wanted to marry me at once too. He 
 works at the Paulun Hospital. But we couldn't 
 marry at once. We planned a signal of hand wavings 
 and letters, and we used to meet every afternoon at 
 the corner. The day I was out at night, I had not 
 been able to go to meet him in the afternoon, and so 
 I had to go after supper." 
 
 Mrs. Maitland looked very serious at the tale. 
 "You cannot marry Mr. Li now, at once," she said. 
 "It is not seemly. You will have to return to the 
 mat-shed of your aunt and eat the rice and water of 
 bitterness. Do you not know that Mr. Li must first 
 finish his course? If he marries he will have to 
 leave." 
 
 "That is a foolish and unjust custom," said 
 Pretty, "but it can't be helped. He will have to 
 
WHERE THERE'S A WILL 225 
 
 leave. As for sending me back to the mat-shed of 
 my aunt, that also is useless. I would run away 
 before your wheelbarrow were out of sight." 
 
 "What, then, will you do?" 
 
 "I will marry Mr. Li." 
 
 Mrs. Maitland turned to Mr. Li. He was 
 evidently in love with Pretty but would have been 
 open to reason. He regretted the necessity of not 
 finishing his course but would rather do that than 
 not get Pretty. Again Mrs. Maitland tried to 
 make Pretty see reason, to persuade her to wait six 
 months till Mr. Li finished his course. "I cannot 
 wait," she said. "You must understand how I 
 feel. If he does not marry me now, I will kill 
 myself." 
 
 She had her way. Then and there, they were 
 married in the parlor of the mission house, Mrs. 
 Maitland and I being the witnesses. That evening 
 we saw them off on the train for Wusih, for Mr. Li 
 said he knew enough medicine to make a living 
 there. My eyes were full of tears as I watched 
 them go, young, alone, eloping like any western 
 couple caught in the toils of a great love. 
 
XVIII 
 THE SEEKING HAND 
 
 A-DOO was convalescing from typhoid. She 
 had had a very mild case and could hardly 
 be persuaded to stay in bed a full three 
 weeks. Tomorrow she was to be allowed up for the 
 first time. It was Sunday afternoon, and I was 
 preaching in the chapel. The room was full of 
 patients and a host of their friends. I was speaking 
 on the parable of the Good Shepherd. The con- 
 gregation leaned forward, hanging over the backs of 
 the benches in front in their eagerness to hear and 
 understand. The story, in the telling simplicity of 
 Chinese phrases, held a startling power. I was 
 thrilled by it myself, as if hearing it for the first time, 
 and to the audience it was as magic as a fairy tale, 
 this story of a searching and finding God. Pictures 
 of their idols rose to my mind, the pair of kitchen 
 gods sitting side by side on a ledge in the cement 
 over the stove, ready to curse or bless, according to 
 the amount and tastiness of the food offerings placed 
 before them ; the wooden painted idols in the shrines 
 in the native city covered with the dirt of ages who, 
 as the matron scornfully said, "can't even lift their 
 hands to wash their faces"; and the great bronze 
 Buddhas sitting cross-legged on their dais, looking 
 
THE SEEKING HAND 227 
 
 out over the centuries with inscrutable calm. I saw 
 them worshiping their idols, knocking their fore- 
 heads on the cold stones at the feet of the images, 
 bound and tortured by fear and yearning. No 
 wonder they listened with bated breath to the story 
 of a God who went after the lost to seek and to find. 
 I heard low murmurs run through the crowd, 
 "Wonderful!" "It is not to be believed!" "The 
 words are good to hear ! " "What is the meaning ? " 
 Wonder, I think, was the principal expression on 
 their faces, wonder and a shy delight, much as you 
 or I would feel if we were suddenly told we had wings 
 and could fly up into the sky at will. Then we sang 
 the old gospel hymn, "Jesus loves me." The 
 Chinese words are simple, and the tune went with a 
 swing. Enough of the nurses and patients who 
 knew the hymn were there to make it go. 
 
 We were at the third verse when Little Wang, 
 who was on duty in the wards, slipped in and 
 touched my arm. 
 
 ' ' Come quickly, ' ' she said, ' ' a man is killing A-doo. ' ' 
 
 I left them singing the hymn and ran along 
 through the half empty ward with Little Wang. 
 Sounds rose up to meet us — the loud angry tones 
 of a man's voice and a sobbing, pleading woman's 
 voice. I burst open the door of A-doo's room. A 
 tall rough man was leaning over her bed, shaking 
 her violently by the shoulders, speaking all the time. 
 He repeated his words over and over again. "You 
 must come. You must do as I tell you. Are you 
 not mine ! Get up and come." 
 
 "I can't. I have been sick," A-doo cried. 
 
228 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 I flew at the man and jerked him away by the back 
 of his coat. 
 
 "Go," I said, pointing at the door. "Go quickly 
 before I have you arrested. And if I ever see you 
 here again, I will send for the police. Do you hear 
 me? Go!" 
 
 If I had been less angry or had hesitated, I might 
 not have gotten rid of him so easily, though in 
 Shanghai lower-class Chinese are accustomed to 
 obeying the foreigner. The man hung a moment in 
 the doorway, then turned and hurried down the 
 stairs. I ran over to the window and poked my 
 head out, to be sure that he had left the compound. 
 I saw him hesitate at the gate, but I shook my fist 
 at him, and he disappeared. Then I turned to 
 A-doo, who was crying desperately. The entire con- 
 gregation had adjourned and followed me through 
 the ward to A-doo's room and now was crowding 
 around A-doo's bed. I took the nearest gently by 
 the shoulders and pushed them towards the door. 
 A babel of questions arose. Feeling how humiliat- 
 ing this swarm of curious onlookers must be to A-doo, 
 I urged them vigorously towards the door. 
 
 Suddenly A-doo sat up in bed and flung out her 
 hands dramatically towards us. Her pale face, her 
 red and swollen eyes, her disheveled hair, lent her 
 figure the strange, arresting menace of despair. The 
 crowd, which had been yielding to my pressure and 
 ebbing through the door, now surged back and filled 
 the room. The hospital amahs, the coolies, the 
 patients and their visitors, all were huddled in a 
 close-breathing group in the small room. As if 
 
THE SEEKING HAND 229 
 
 caught on the crest of a wave, the crowd, pressing 
 forward to A-doo's bed, had carried me ahead. I 
 stood close beside her 
 
 "Let them go, A-doo," I said. 
 
 "In a Uttle moment," she said. "They must 
 first hear my woe. Listen, all ye who pass by, and 
 hear my woe and see the bitterness which I have 
 eaten. That man who was killing me is my hus- 
 band. Ten years have I supported him by the work 
 of my hands, him and my old mother. Too much 
 is it for a woman. I work and am paid, then in the 
 night comes my husband and threatens to kill me 
 or to sell me, unless I give him my money. Some- 
 times he finds it all, and sometimes he only finds a 
 part, for I hide it in many different places. Then 
 he takes it and drinks and gambles. When he wants 
 more he sets my mother-in-law to upbraid me. She 
 fills me with fear, because she lives close beside my 
 mother, in the village street, and when I do not give 
 him enough money, she torments my mother. She 
 sits at the gate of her courtyard and reviles the name 
 of my mother to all the passers-by. Then, at last, 
 even my mother comes to me to beg me to give up 
 more money. I have none left. For two years I had 
 peace. I was like a little girl, free and unafraid on 
 the streets, for my husband was in prison. He stole 
 a pair of blankets from a foreign woman, and the 
 foreign man put him in prison. But what is a pair 
 of blankets to what he has stolen from me ! All my 
 money which I was saving for the old age of my 
 mother, who has no son, all my peace and happiness. 
 The taste of bitterness, only bitterness, is in my 
 
230 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 mouth for many days. And now I will pray the 
 foreign doctor to have my husband put in prison 
 again ; only thus shall I have peace and security." 
 
 During this recital, the audience listened spell- 
 bound. A-doo fell back exhausted. "Miserable 
 one," murmured the crowd. A few old women 
 hovered around the bed with advice, but the rest of 
 the audience melted away. Baffled by the utter 
 foreignness of A-doo's proceeding, I stood at the foot 
 of the bed, not knowing what to say. A-doo began 
 to cry again, so I sent little Wang for a quieting dose 
 and led the last lingering gossips from the room. 
 "Why did you excite yourself so, A-doo?" I asked. 
 
 "I had to," she answered. "All those people 
 would have gone away wondering what was the 
 matter. They would have said terrible things about 
 me, about the hospital, about the foreign doctors. 
 I had to tell them. Besides, it is good Chinese 
 custom. In the villages, if a woman has a bitter- 
 ness past bearing alone, she goes to the scolding 
 place and cries out her trouble to all the world that 
 passes by. Then, after that, if her trouble is just, 
 the village folk all sympathize with her and do not 
 slander her. Truly it is a good custom. Already 
 my heart feels lighter. Do not worry. The 
 wretched man, my husband, is now thoroughly 
 scared by the fierceness of the foreign woman. He 
 will not come back for a long time. Also because 
 he thinks he has all my money, but he has not. See." 
 
 A-doo opened the sliding cover of her dressing 
 box which stood on the little table by the bedside. 
 She slipped back one shelf after the other and in the 
 
THE SEEKING HAND 231 
 
 undermost, hidden under her hair ornaments, lay a 
 roll of bills. She took them out and counted them 
 over carefully. "Fifty," she said. "That will buy 
 my mother rice till she dies. I have been saving it 
 for many years." 
 
 The next day A-doo was worse. Her relapse was 
 a much more serious affair than the original attack, 
 and she rallied very slowly. One day I found a 
 country woman sitting at her bedside when I went in 
 in the morning. She was a little, shriveled woman 
 with wisps of gray hair pulled back from her face. 
 Her brown eyes were bright, and her shrunken 
 cheeks were ruddy with the marvelous health of 
 the aged country folk. She was neatly dressed in 
 faded blue cotton. 
 
 "My mother-in-law," said A-doo. 
 
 "I have come to take my dear daughter home," 
 said the mother-in-law. "When a Chinese woman 
 gets sick, then it is time for her to go home and not 
 to eat the rice of strangers. We will start this after- 
 noon." 
 
 The woman's bright, beady eyes held me like a 
 snake's eyes. The simple assurance of her state- 
 ment aroused my antagonism. I stole a swift glance 
 at A-doo. She was looking at me with a painful 
 questioning. She did not want to go. Assured of 
 that, I knew what course to take. I told the old 
 hag firmly that I was the doctor of the house and 
 that everybody had to obey my orders. I told her 
 that A-doo was not well enough to go, and that I 
 would not permit her to go. This made no im- 
 pression on the old woman. 
 
232 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 "She is the wife of my son," she repeated. "He 
 wishes her at home. She will have to come. If she 
 stays here and dies, the burden will be on your body. 
 A foreign woman cannot know what a Chinese 
 woman needs when she is sick. She must come 
 home. I have come to take her. I rose up very 
 early this morning before yet the sun had climbed 
 the hill of heaven and came down the river in a boat. 
 This afternoon we will go back when the shadows 
 begin to grow longer." 
 
 A-doo's face was flushed. A glittering, shining 
 luster appeared in her eyes. I knew she was grow- 
 ing excited, and I feared a return of her temperature, 
 so I took the obstinate old creature by the elbow and 
 led her from A-doo's room. Nor did I allow her to 
 go back. I set a guard on the room, one nurse 
 inside and one nurse outside, and we circumvented 
 the mother-in-law. Perhaps it would have been 
 better if I had let A-doo go at once. I was no 
 match for the woman. 
 
 "You do not want to go, A-doo?" I asked. 
 
 "No, no," A-doo said, catching hold of my hand. 
 "Do not let her get me. She wants my money. 
 She hates me. She will torture me. I fear her more 
 than I fear my husband. Keep me. Save me." 
 
 "Don't worry," I said, foolish in my strength. 
 "They shall not hurt you. I will not let you go, I 
 will keep you. They cannot hurt you." 
 
 A-doo laid my hand against her forehead. "You 
 are as my father and mother to me," she said. 
 
 The little old witchlike woman hung around the 
 compound all day, but by evening she was gone. 
 
THE SEEKING HAND 233 
 
 I heaved a sigh of rehef , for I felt we were out of the 
 woods. I had disposed of both the husband and 
 the mother-in-law. Beware ! The foreigner who 
 thinks he has bested a Chinese mother-in-law ! 
 A week went by uneventfully, A-doo improved 
 daily so that I let her get up and around. She ate 
 her rice with relish and asked for a piece of foreign 
 bread. She too seemed to have forgotten her 
 trouble and to be once more the serene and smiling 
 A-doo who had stood by me so manfully in the days 
 of my greenness. I wondered at her calmness. I 
 had not known her story in any detail, but I remem- 
 bered Doctor Donnellon saying that A-doo was not 
 a widow, as I had supposed, but a married woman, 
 and that her husband was a rascal. The knowledge 
 had gone out of my mind at once. Now, whenever 
 I saw her, I thought of it and of the sudden revela- 
 tion I had had of the hidden bitterness of her life. 
 That woman, with the distorted face and accusing 
 words, pouring forth her woes in a torrent to the 
 unknown listeners, seemed to me a stranger from the 
 capable, smiling A-doo of the operating room. I 
 wondered had she two personalities? Was this one 
 of the incomprehensible cases of dissociation of the 
 ego? Had she an ancient Chinese individuality 
 and a superimposed foreign- trained personality? 
 I only knew that to me, the two A-doos were 
 as distinct as two people. I was yet to meet 
 a third. 
 
 One morning after chapel Little Wang said to me, 
 "A-doo's mother has come. She wants her to come 
 home." 
 
234 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 "Her own mother?" I asked. "Not her mother- 
 in-law?" 
 
 "Yes, her own mother," Little Wang answered. 
 
 I found her sitting at the bedside of A-doo. She 
 was utterly different from the mother-in-law. She 
 was a large, placid woman with the kindly, benevo- 
 lent eyes and smile that one often sees in old Chinese 
 people. She wore hoops of blue enamel in her ears, 
 and her hair ornaments were of the same. Her 
 scanty black hair was brushed neatly and twisted in 
 a tight small roll at the back of her head. Yet her 
 face had not the force of the face of the mother-in- 
 law. In her I felt no sinister, malignant power. 
 
 "Do you want to go home?" I asked A-doo. 
 "You are well enough to go now if you want to. A 
 change and vacation would be good for you. But I 
 will not let you go, if you do not want to. You 
 must tell me truly. Do you want to go of your own 
 freewill?" 
 
 "Yes," said A-doo. "My mother wants me, 
 therefore I must go." 
 
 "Not unless you yourself want to go," I insisted. 
 
 " I myself wish to go," said A-doo. 
 
 Yet somehow her words did not satisfy me. She 
 repeated them too mechanically, as if they were 
 a response that had been learned generations 
 ago, as if they had neither root nor branch in her 
 own consciousness. Nor yet did she rebel. Her 
 mother had come for her, therefore she must go. 
 She was strangely passive. They were to leave in 
 the afternoon at the same time that the witchlike 
 mother-in-law had set, when the shadows grew long. 
 
THE SEEKING HAND 235 
 
 All day the nurses were in a whirl, running about 
 getting things for A-doo, helping her pack up her 
 small square pigskin box, thrusting presents on her, 
 cooking her a specially savory meal at noon. San 
 Me, her best friend, sat in her room and talked. 
 Just before parting time, San Me came to me. 
 
 "All is not well," she said. "Since you sent away 
 the son and the mother-in-law, for one long month, 
 the mother-in-law has sat in the door of her house, 
 which is next the house of A-doo's mother, and has 
 reviled her and A-doo. All the village has heard the 
 words. She has said that A-doo is unfilial. She 
 has said that A-doo has sold herself in the big city. 
 She has said that, while her husband was in prison, 
 A-doo has had a child. All the village has stopped 
 to listen, the men and the women and the children. 
 They gossip about it around their gateways in the 
 cool of the evening. Many do not believe it, but 
 some do. The mother-in-law of A-doo is a wicked 
 woman, and the village fears her. When she was 
 young she cast fortunes. When she does not sit in 
 her gateway and talk to all the passers-by, she takes 
 out her magic scrolls and reads them and laughs and 
 mutters to herself. It is more than the mother can 
 bear any longer. So she has come for A-doo, to 
 take her home to confound the old witch." 
 
 "I will keep them both here," I said. "I will not 
 let A-doo go back to be tormented." 
 
 "It must be," said San Me. "She cannot stay. 
 She would lose face." 
 
 So I too acquiesced. I had raged and interfered 
 and endeavored to prevent the fulfilment of a 
 
236 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 Chinese destiny, and I was bafHed. It was useless. 
 The old witch had her way. A-doo was as if a spell 
 had been put upon her. She neither spoke nor 
 wailed nor objected. I went to her once again, but 
 she shook her hea4. "It must be," she said. "I 
 must go. It is my fate." 
 
 The whole hospital turned out to say good-by. 
 But it was not a hilarious leave-taking. Every one 
 was oppressed with the shadow of some disaster. 
 San Me went weeping to her room. 
 
 "We will never see her again," she said. 
 
 "Nonsense," I replied, but I felt a sinking of my 
 heart. 
 
 Weeks went by, and no sign came from A-doo. 
 She had promised to write to San Me, but no letter 
 came. At last San Me asked if she might not take 
 two days off and go up the creek to see A-doo, 
 spend one night with her, and come back the next 
 day. San Me was a widow and so could be allowed 
 more liberty than a young girl ; moreover she was 
 an older woman. I let her go gladly, for I had grown 
 worried at the utter disappearance of A-doo. She 
 had vanished as completely as if some monster had 
 opened his jaws and swallowed her up. It had 
 been a terrible month for me. What with my long- 
 ing for Edward and my uncertainty as to his where- 
 abouts, a thousand doubts of his love had crept into 
 my heart to torment my days and nights. I knew 
 quite well what I wanted ; I wanted Edward back 
 again. Then I was worried about A-doo. I 
 reproached myself with having let her go too easily. 
 So when San Me suggested that she go to see her I 
 
THE SEEKING HAND 237 
 
 was glad. I found the whole hospital had been 
 worrying about her. The moment my permission 
 was given the nurses broke into a thousand conjec- 
 tures. I found their thoughts had been as busy with 
 A-doo as had mine. 
 
 The two days that San Me was gone dragged 
 along interminably. A deadly apprehension of bad 
 news filled me, and the first sight of San Me con- 
 firmed it. She stumbled into my room, blinded 
 with tears. 
 
 " What is it ? " I asked. " Did you find her ? Is 
 she worse?" 
 
 "Yes, I found her," San Me answered. "No, 
 she is not worse." 
 
 "Is she unhappy?" I asked. 
 
 "No," San Me answered. "She is not unhappy. 
 She does not feel anything. Her heart has died. 
 Her body is quite well. She is fat and her cheeks 
 are pink, but her heart has died. She just sits in a 
 chair and looks far away at the clouds, and smiles 
 to herself. It is the mother-in-law. She has be- 
 witched A-doo. She put a spell on her. By and by 
 A-doo will wither away and die. She did not know 
 me when I got there. The boat was very slow. I 
 did not get there till it was already twilight. The 
 old mother and A-doo were sitting on little stools in 
 front of the door. Just next door sat the mother-in- 
 law. I heard her voice a long way off. She was 
 reviling A-doo. She called her terrible names. 
 A-doo sat there, looking at the pink clouds and 
 smiling to herself, as if she did not hear the words of 
 the mother-in-law. Perhaps she did not hear them, 
 
238 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 I do not know. But the mother heard them. She 
 sat embroidering a slipper, and tears ran down her 
 cheeks. She has grown old and thin. Her skin 
 hangs on her cheek bones as if it were a loose bag. 
 She touched A-doo on the arm, and they went in. 
 The mother-in-law, as if she had somehow triumphed 
 in making them go in first, sat on reviling them 
 aloud. A group of little boys stood about her, 
 listening with eager eyes and open mouths. I 
 slipped into their house by the back door, and the 
 mother-in-law did not see me. It was terrible. 
 A-doo was in bed, she did not know me. The old 
 mother wept. ' She has been this way from the first 
 week,' she said. 'Her husband came back and took 
 away her money and beat her. He thinks she still 
 has more money, and sometimes he comes back and 
 beats her and beats her, but A-doo won't speak to 
 him. He thinks she is hiding more money, but I 
 have not seen it. I tell him he will kill her, and then 
 how will she ever work for him any more. I tell 
 him he is foolish, but he is filled with wind and will 
 not see sense. When he has beaten A-doo, then he 
 creeps through the mats to the house of his mother, 
 and I hear them talking and whispering till late in 
 the night.' 
 
 " I asked them both to come back in the boat with 
 me, but the old woman wouldn't. She said it was 
 fate. They would lose face if they ran away. In 
 the morning before I left, A-doo knew me. She 
 brought back her eyes from the clouds, and her soul 
 seemed to return to her for a minute. She cried, 
 and said she would like to come back to the hospital. 
 
THE SEEKING HAND 239 
 
 But then the mother-in-law came in, and A-doo's 
 eyes went back to the clouds, and her soul was gone 
 again. 
 
 "Oh ! Save her ! Bring her back to life ! If she 
 stays there much longer, she will die. I know. The 
 witch will do it. This is not foolishness. I too am 
 a Christian, but a power of the devil resides in some 
 people. They are evil, and their thoughts, if they 
 think of you, are evil and have an evil power to 
 harm." 
 
 I went to the matron for advice, and discovered an 
 Item of news that astounded me. A-doo's husband 
 had found a position as house boy in a family living 
 near by, on Avenue Road. The matron had known 
 it for a long time. An exhorting council was ar- 
 ranged — the matron, the Chinese minister, his wife 
 who was a doctor, San Me, and myself. This, it 
 seemed, was the proper Chinese way of appealing to 
 the husband. He would not lose face if he yielded 
 to such illustrious pressure. I wanted him to go 
 home and bring A-doo back to the hospital and 
 make his mother stop her public reviling. The 
 council was arranged for the next day. I had given 
 a promise that the meeting was not a trap, that no 
 police would be called, that I would allow the hus- 
 band to go as freely as he came. Wang S Moo, San 
 Me, and I arrived at the guest room of the minister's 
 house first. Mrs. Lok greeted us and led us to our 
 seats. The minister soon joined us, and we sat 
 around the room in silent formality. A strange 
 company we were and on a stranger errand. In the 
 center of the room was a small marble-topped table. 
 
240 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 On opposite sides were two stools. Wang S Moo 
 and Mrs. Lok talked in subdued voices. Mr. Lok 
 was to be the spokesman ; we were simply to lend 
 our presence. The husband, accompanied by a 
 friend, arrived very promptly. The man looked 
 around furtively as if still fearing some hidden 
 treachery. Mr. Lok motioned him to one of the 
 stools at the center table, and he took the other. 
 Then began the exhortation. It was a scene I shall 
 never forget. Like silent images, we sat around the 
 walls of the small room, our eyes and ears focussed 
 on the arena, on the figure of the minister and the 
 thief. Very graciously and suavely Mr. Lok began 
 his exhortation. My ears followed his words with 
 feverish attention. Like the muffled roar of a far- 
 off waterfall, the tones of his words rose and fell. 
 Graphic, subtle, conciliating, the man pleaded that 
 the thief husband allow his wife to come back to the 
 hospital. Did he not know all in the hospital were 
 the friends of A-doo ? Had she not worked with us 
 for ten years, years during which time he himself 
 was unable to care for her? Was not the foreign 
 house like an adopted home to her? Were not the 
 foreigners like adopted parents to her? We would 
 cherish her and restore her to health. If, when she 
 was well again, he wanted her, then that would be an 
 affair for them to settle together, but now, while she 
 was sick and in danger of losing her mind, now was 
 the time to confide her to the care of the foreigners. 
 On and on he went. It seemed impossible to me that 
 any one could withstand such an appeal. But the 
 husband did. 
 
THE SEEKING HAND 241 
 
 It was true, he said, the foreigners were good 
 to his wife, but it was also true that she had con- 
 tracted this mortal sickness while working like a 
 servant in their hospital. He did not find it fitting 
 for his wife to work as a servant. He had heard the 
 nurses were forced to do the work of amahs. No, 
 it was not fitting for his wife. Moreover the new 
 doctor was fierce and had spoken very fiercely to him. 
 How did he know she would be good to his wife ? 
 
 I was hot with rage and disappointment and 
 chagrin. I also accused myself of my former dom- 
 ineering manner. If I had only been soft-spoken ! 
 Now he had me at his mercy. But Mr. Lok made 
 light of his argument. He painted my character 
 as a dove of peace, fierce only in the defense of 
 her children. On flowed his words, but now I had 
 ceased to listen. Instead I watched the face of the 
 thief. If he should not yield, I determined to see if 
 a prison might not again be found for him. I knew 
 there were crimes enough to commit him, for Wang 
 S Moo had just been telling me of the disappearance 
 of silver, piece by piece, in the house where he was 
 at service. I hated him ; a personal spite filled me 
 with a startling, strong emotion. He was vile, and 
 he was balking me. 
 
 Our words were wasted like water thrown against 
 a wall. Mr. Lok and the thief, polite to the end, 
 talked on. The man had no idea of yielding, and I 
 wondered why he had come. I wondered if we 
 should have offered him money. Of course we could 
 not have done it, but still I wondered. Finally I got 
 up and left. I could not sit there and watch hira 
 
242 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 any longer, smiling and smiling like a villain. Wang 
 S Moo said he promised to write to his mother-in-law, 
 telling her to urge A-doo to come back. "If she 
 does not come," the husband said craftily, "it will 
 be because she does not wish to. She is quite free. 
 I would not force her to anything. Did she not go 
 of her own free will ? I did not send for her, I did 
 not urge her. If she wants to come back she will 
 come, but I do not think she will come. 
 
 He must have gone home satisfied with his re- 
 venge. I cried myself to sleep and sent out a piteous 
 telepathic message into the void air for Edward. 
 I needed him in my work ; I was thwarted by a 
 Chinese thief ! I wanted some one ruthless and 
 strong to come to my rescue, to thrust the man out 
 of my way. I wondered, whether A-doo too was cry- 
 ing ? But no, San Me said she sat and smiled at the 
 clouds. 
 
 A week went by, but no word came from A-doo, 
 no word came from Edward. Doctor Donnellon 
 was still away, but Miss Laurie was back. I could 
 stand it no longer. I left the hospital in her care 
 and set off up river with San Me for the home of 
 A-doo. We started late in the day, so that we 
 should arrive unobserved and unheralded in the 
 dusk. The village was but twelve miles distant. 
 The evangelist had lent us her house boat, in which 
 she made her preaching trips, and her boatman. 
 The man was a Christian and had long been a 
 trusted servant of the mission. If we brought back 
 a kidnapped woman with us on our return trip, he 
 would make no demur. Such was my plan. We 
 
THE SEEKING HAND 243 
 
 would arrive after dark, San Me would lead me to 
 the home of A-doo, I would persuade one or both of 
 them to come back with me, and we would creep 
 back to the boat at once. It was a very simple plan, 
 but my heart misgave me. 
 
 San Me busied herself in the cabin of the little 
 boat. The boatman swayed back and forth with 
 his oar. Out from the tangle of houses we slipped, 
 out past the silk filatures of Chapei, past the village 
 of Zau Ka Doo, where the house boats were moored 
 along the shore, and the willows trailed their 
 branches in the brown water, past the compound of 
 the mission school and college at Jessfield, where the 
 foreign houses were half hidden among the tall palms 
 and cryptomeria of the campus, past the ferry 
 stones and the flat-bottomed ferry, out into fields. 
 It was already twilight. A lantern dangled at our 
 prow and our stern. The current swished around 
 the curves of the shore and beat against the side of 
 the boat in a gentle gurgle. Past us, like huge bats 
 with outspread wings, brown-sailed junks floated 
 down with the tide to Shanghai. A carriage with 
 two occupants galloped along the shore. A man 
 began to whistle merrily ; the gay western tune 
 mocked the silent stealing river. At the customs 
 station, the custom boat was alight with lanterns, 
 and sounds of laughter floated out over the water. 
 Soon we were beyond the noises of gaiety. Gray- 
 brown, misty, the fields stretched away on either side 
 of us. We passed the abandoned shrine with its 
 ancient Buddha which we had passed the day 
 Edward proposed to me, passed it and went on 
 
244 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 farther and farther into the country. Through the 
 mist of the fields, here and there, rose a hedge of 
 bamboo and cypress like an Indian stockade, sur- 
 rounding a group of clannish homes. A dog would 
 bark suddenly and as suddenly fall silent. In about 
 two hours, lights appeared along the edge of the creek. 
 
 "The village of A-doo," said San Me. "We will 
 go to the steps behind her house, where her mother 
 washes the rice, and moor the boat. Alas, that the 
 house of the mother-in-law is next door ! It will be 
 necessary to be very quiet. If she is sitting out in 
 front reviling, perhaps she will not hear us." 
 
 Like phantoms we glided over the water and 
 moored at the foot of the ancient stones. I waited 
 while San Me went in to reconnoiter. With her 
 shoes in her hand, she tiptoed up the stone steps 
 and vanished through an open door. I stood on 
 the lowest step and waited. No sound of voices 
 filled the evening. The village seemed to have gone 
 to sleep. We were later than I had calculated. A 
 spice of danger tingled through me. We had come 
 like thieves in the night. A bird called suddenly 
 from a tree and I trembled. Then San Me came 
 back, followed by the old mother, and we crouched 
 on the boat and talked in whispers. 
 
 She refused to slip away now. She said A-doo 
 would not come in the dark. She said that if they 
 slipped away now, in the dark, they would lose their 
 home and could never come back again. She was 
 afraid. Then she invited us to spend the night 
 with her and make an open visit. She said it would 
 give her face in the eyes of the village. 
 
THE SEEKING HAND 245 
 
 "What shall we do?" I asked San Me. 
 
 " I think we should do as she says," said San Me. 
 "If she and A-doo will not steal away with us now, 
 at once, it is useless to try to take them. To do 
 anything secretly, we must have their consent. So 
 then, the next best thing is to stay, and make them 
 an honorable visit." 
 
 I consented. We walked boldly up the moss- 
 grown stones, chatting pleasantly. In the living 
 room, A-doo already lay in bed. I went over to her, 
 but she did not know me at all. In fact, I do not 
 think she even saw me. She lay on her back with 
 her eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling. I was 
 shocked at the poverty of the place. It consisted 
 of one earthen-floored room. At the back stood 
 the charcoal cook stove. At each side of the room 
 was a low bed. The mother brewed us a fresh cup 
 of tea and set a bowl of rice before us. I said I was 
 tired, and they spread me a fresh comfort on the 
 opposite bed. I demurred, but San Me and the 
 mother insisted. 
 
 "We do not want to sleep," they said. "We can 
 sleep any night. Tonight we will talk." 
 
 I was tired, and in spite of shuddering as I lay 
 down on the strange bed, I went right to sleep. 
 
 A faint blue light filled the room, seeping in 
 through the lattice work of the wooden doors in front 
 and through various, unobserved chinks in the walls 
 and floor. In its grayness, the hut looked poorer 
 and meaner than by candlelight. San Me and the 
 mother were gone. In the bed opposite I saw the 
 inert figure of A-doo. While I lay there, half awake 
 
246 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 and unmoving, a stealthy noise caught my ear. I 
 wanted to turn my head to look, but by a strong 
 effort of will, I lay still and closed my eyes, all but a 
 crack between my eyelashes. Behind me, the soft 
 stealthy sounds crept on. A board creaked. I saw 
 a small stooping shadow on the opposite wall. The 
 shadow vanished on the ceiling, and the figure of 
 the mother-in-law, appeared, standing at the bedside 
 of A-doo. Quite motionless the figure stood there. 
 I only saw its back. It bent, and I saw a thin hand 
 shoot out and disappear under the bedclothes. The 
 witch kneeled down on the boards and bent over 
 A-doo, searching, searching. A-doo slept on. Did 
 she sleep as I slept, with a crack of pale gray dawn 
 between her eyelashes, or did she sleep a sodden, 
 dreamless sleep that felt not the searching hand 
 beneath her body. Five, ten minutes, the hand 
 searched the bed of A-doo, softly, gently, insistently. 
 Baffled, the figure arose and crept about the room, 
 peering into every cranny, and feeling, feeling 
 everywhere with her searching hand. Under the 
 cold stove, on the dressing stand, in the drawers, 
 in the dark nooks on the floor, at last the searching 
 hand came to the curtains of my bed. Through the 
 crack of my eyelashes I saw the sudden start of 
 horror that spread over her face when she recognized 
 me. As if frozen the mother-in-law stood with the 
 curtains in her hand, looking at me. My eyes flew 
 open, and I stared up at her. A sudden trembling 
 shook her from head to foot. Her eyes fell away, 
 and she ran out of the room. 
 A moment later San Me and the mother of A-doo 
 
THE SEEKING HAND 247 
 
 returned. Seeing me awake, they displayed the 
 purchases they had made for breakfast. They were 
 going to make me a feast and they had already 
 invited the neighbors. The old mother hurried 
 around as if burdened with no sorrow. A-doo 
 seemed to waken from her stupor. She knew San 
 Me and she knew me. A sudden look of acute com- 
 prehension lit up- her face. 
 
 "Her soul has come back to feast with us," cried 
 her mother. 
 
 Still with that uncanny look of acuteness in her 
 eyes, A-doo bent down and pulled off a slipper. 
 She held it carefully in her hands and ripped the 
 stitches of the sole. The leather peeled off, as the 
 skin of an orange peels off. Underneath, in a long 
 smooth roll, lay ten ten-dollar bills. She took out 
 one and handed it to me. "Make it into small 
 change for me," she said, " so that the villagers 
 and my mother-in-law shall not suspect. Every 
 morning when my mother goes to market, she 
 comes creeping in with the searching hand, feel- 
 ing, feeling everywhere for my wealth. But she 
 does not find it. No, she does not find it. 
 Though I am asleep, I know when she comes, 
 and my soul laughs." 
 
 A-doo sewed up the sole of the slipper again. The 
 mother hid the change I gave her in a hole she dug 
 in the ground under the wall just inside the kitchen. 
 A-doo took a tiny, four-legged, wooden stool out 
 into the sun and sat on it. I went out to talk 
 to her, but already she had lapsed back into that 
 slumberous state of stupor. Her eyes were on 
 
248 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 the sailing white clouds, floating overhead like 
 feathers against the blue, casting soft, gray-green, 
 cloud shadows on the fields beneath. She was 
 smiling to herself. One slipper, the slipper with 
 the padded sole, kept time to a little tune she 
 sang beneath her breath. 
 
XIX 
 THE FLAMING WIND 
 
 FOR three days we had been having a typhoon. 
 The wind, dry and dustladen, beat against 
 the houses and sifted clouds of white dust 
 through the windows and cracks. On the bare 
 floors of the hospital the white dust lay like a carpet 
 patterned with footprints. Every two hours the 
 amahs mopped the floors. In the house I had shut 
 my study windows. Then the heat choked me, so 
 I opened them again, and the insidious white dust 
 veils drifted back. Three days of it, and our nerves 
 were on edge. That hot persistent, dust-laden 
 wind does the strangest things to the human body. 
 It takes the most calm, phlegmatic, serene person 
 and turns her into a taut, quivering, jumpy creature 
 full of whims and fancies. Nothing in nature has 
 quite the same power that the hot, fierce wind of the 
 typhoon has. It is like the prelude to a tragedy. 
 AH the patients were worse. The nurses were 
 tired and worn out. I was ready to scream from 
 nervous excitement. 
 
 In the afternoon, a call came from Pootung. A 
 woman had fallen from a second-story ba!cony and 
 had broken her leg. Her son and her husband 
 came for me. 
 
2 50 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 "You can't go to Pootung in this wind," said Miss 
 Laurie. "It is dangerous to cross the river." 
 
 "No dangerous," said the son. "There are little 
 waves, but we have a big junk. My mother lies 
 in the courtyard with her leg doubled up under her, 
 moaning with pain." 
 
 " I'll go," I said. " I don't mind a few whitecaps." 
 
 In the morning and for the past three days the sun 
 had been shining brilliantly, its glare even brighter 
 than usual. But in the afternoon a thin diaphanous 
 film of cloud was slowly being drawn up over the 
 heavens. It crept up the sky like a crawling mist. 
 Its edges were blown out in banners and streamers of 
 white. So transparent was this cloud that the sun 
 still shone brightly, except that its terrible blinding 
 glare was somewhat mitigated. 
 
 We set off in a little procession of three rickshas, I 
 in the last. On the street swirls of dust were caught 
 up from the roadside and eddied along in a mad, 
 whirling dance. Our eyes were filled with it ; even 
 my tongue tasted dry and bitter. In spite of hat- 
 pins, I could not make my hat stay on my head, so I 
 took it off and held it in my lap. The wind tore at 
 my hairpins and scattered them in a little shower 
 along the road. My skirts ballooned out about my 
 feet. 
 
 The road was almost empty. Some of the houses 
 had put up their wooden night shutters as a pro- 
 tection against the wind and dust. The occupants, 
 sitting in the semi-dusk of the windowless interior, 
 gathered around the open space where the last 
 shutter had not yet been put up. In little groups 
 
THE FLAMING WIND 251 
 
 they peered out on the street and whispered among 
 themselves. Now and then a cooUe darted out 
 on an urgent errand, or a baby toddled out and 
 was snatched back. The town was demoralized. 
 Business had come to a standstill. The groups in the 
 doorways gazed at me with curious eyes. "She 
 fears not," I heard them mutter. 
 
 They were right, I was not afraid. Unhappiness 
 gives one a false courage. If Edward didn't come 
 back and come back soon, I didn't care what became 
 of me. Once and for all in the last two dragging 
 months I had learned my lesson. I had not the 
 vestige of a doubt left as to what I wanted. I knew 
 that industry, work, were but pale fitful gleams 
 against the burning warmth of motherhood and love. 
 If only he would come back ! 
 
 I Nanking Road was also deserted. The race 
 track lay like a white mat beyond. I looked up at 
 the Grand Hotel. Its balconies were shuttered, and 
 its awnings drawn up and carefully tied, but I 
 suddenly had the eerie sensation of being watched 
 from behind one of the closed shutters. The slats 
 were level and horizontal, and through the slits I 
 saw the dim outline of a white form. I knew I was 
 being watched. A wild hope made my heart knock 
 against my ribs. I was always having such attacks 
 of hope. Sometimes a figure that looked familiar 
 in the distance sent my heart into my throat, but 
 when I arrived at the spot where I had seen the 
 figure, I found no one. The garter, tying the left 
 trouser of my runner at his ankle, came undone. 
 Like a black snake it coiled and reared itself around 
 
252 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 his foot. He stopped and tilted down the shafts. 
 As I slid forward, half standing, my eyes fastened 
 upon that shutter. I met a pair of eyes. Suddenly 
 I raised my hand and beckoned to that hidden 
 watcher. The coolie, fatally deft and quick, tied 
 his ankle-strap and rushed off at double quick after 
 my two guides. I turned to look back, but the 
 shutter was still closed. 
 
 The usual crowd of rickshas and wheelbarrows 
 was gone, as we sped down the smooth, asphalted 
 street at a marathon speed. At the jetty a little 
 tilting rowboat was waiting for us. Its yellow eyes 
 were bulging on each side of the prow, and the stern 
 tilted up in the air like the poop of an ancient 
 galley. 
 
 "I thought you had a big junk for me," I said, 
 hesitating. 
 
 "This is a big junk," they said. 
 
 I got in. Perhaps it was just as well that we had 
 no sail. I saw one house boat with a tall brown sail 
 go tearing past like a runaway boat, the men on her 
 sitting on the gunwale, grinning. They seemed to 
 like it. Along the shore a host of craft were moored 
 — rafts, junks, house boats, steam launches, and 
 foreign white-painted, white-sailed cat-boats. The 
 plane trees on the bund and in the garden made a 
 noise like violin strings, as their leaves whipped 
 back and forth and up and down in the wind. On 
 the water the waves leaped up in white spray, 
 hiding the brown stream. Our futile cockleshell 
 danced up and down. Half the time the oar was 
 out of water. 
 
THE FLAMING WIND 253 
 
 "Can you swim?" I asked the son. 
 
 "No," he said. "Why should I swim?" 
 
 "For your life," I thought. I could swim, but 
 in spite of that comforting fact I seemed more per- 
 turbed than the Chinese. Little by little we got 
 across, not so much by rowing in a steady direction, 
 as by a series of hops and jumps. The Pootung 
 shore was crowded with house boats. A regular 
 fleet of junks clustered along the shore. The tobacco 
 factories, the great silk mills, and the godowns of 
 tallow and opium rose in a black shapeless bulk 
 along the water front. They were a modern barrier 
 to the ancient pastoral life beyond, life that persisted 
 unchanged from the days of Abraham till now, life 
 that would persist forever and ever. The streets 
 were dark and empty, but from the whirring of a 
 million spindles I knew that this subtle, upsetting 
 wind had not stopped the wheels of modern industry. 
 
 The thin, diaphanous veil of white cloud had spread 
 over the entire sky. Layer after layer of filmy 
 mist had deepened its white to a soft gray, through 
 which the sun barely filtered like pale moonlight. 
 Twilight had fallen early in the afternoon. I felt 
 that the mills ought to close, that they were working 
 on into the night, in defiance of the menacing change 
 in nature. Inhuman, regardless of the signs in the 
 heavens, they held captive their throngs of women 
 and children. I looked in quickly through the 
 windows and saw the revolving spindles and the 
 workers moving mysteriously among the machinery. 
 
 The town was but a thin wall along the river 
 front, and we were soon out in the fields. A short 
 
254 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 ride brought us to a neat house of plaster and 
 thatch, standing in a grove of young bamboo. 
 They bent over, touching their frond-like tips in a 
 deep kowtow to the ground. Out here, on the edge 
 of the plains, the wind met us with augmented 
 force, sweeping up from out an inferno of torrid 
 heat. My skin was parched and dry. I wiped my 
 face off with my handkerchief. The linen was 
 covered with a fine dry gritty sand. Around the 
 house the chickens and dogs had found shelter within 
 the courtyard. 
 
 The old mother was in a pitiable condition. While 
 the men were gone, her daughter and her daughter- 
 in-law had managed to get her to bed. They had 
 slipped a shutter under her, and so had lifted her 
 from the ground and carried her up to her room, 
 Her leg was horribly twisted. She had been lean- 
 ing on the railing of the second-story balcony when 
 it had suddenly given away and she had fallen head- 
 long on to the flagging of the courtyard. 
 
 "The sleeping medicine," she moaned. 
 
 I gave her some whiffs of chloroform and set her 
 leg. I also attended to five or six bruises upon her 
 body. It took me in all about an hour, and in 
 that time darkness had descended over the land. 
 In the blackness without, neither sun nor moon 
 nor stars were visible. In the house they lit 
 a few candles which were continually going out 
 in a sudden draft. 
 
 I went to the door and stood a moment before 
 starting back, looking out over the fields and listen- 
 ing to the roar of the wind. As I stood tilted for- 
 
THE FLAMING WIND 255 
 
 ward, leaning against it, it was like a tangible 
 support. 
 
 Finally stooping in the face of the wind, I set 
 forth. The father and son accompanied me. When 
 a great gust came whirling down the narrow alley, 
 they steadied me by my elbows. The whirring of 
 the machinery in the mills told me it was not yet 
 six o'clock, yet it seemed like midnight. People 
 ran here and there, in a sudden feverish activity, 
 doing their last errands for the night. At the boat, 
 the father and son left me, and the oarsman pushed 
 off. That crossing was as the crossing of the river 
 Styx. I could not see the water ; I only felt its 
 turbulent tossing, as hither and thither we danced. 
 The spray wet my face. The wind redoubled its 
 fury, and my hair streamed out behind, giving me 
 the strangest sense of adding to the motion and the 
 blackness. We seemed to make no headway at all. 
 I could just distinguish the figure of the oarsman 
 flinging his weight on the rope of the oar at each 
 stroke. At each recoil he sang a low musical note. 
 The river was alive with a hidden flotilla of boats. 
 Now on one side, now on the other, came the call 
 of the rowers. 
 
 Suddenly the Stygian blackness was rent with 
 flame. A godown at the very edge of the water 
 spouted fountains of yellow light. The wind caught 
 the flames and wove them in and out in a fantastic 
 pattern. Like rockets and meteors of red and gold, 
 the flames melted into the blackness of the tempest. 
 The shore was alive with shouting. We heard a 
 great splintering of wood, and, suddenly, streams of 
 
2S6 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 liquid fire ran out on the water and spread over it. 
 From the burning streams great mountains of fire 
 towered into the air. 
 
 "The tallow factory is burning," said the rower. 
 "See how the fire dragons live on the water." 
 
 Fascinated, forgetful of any personal danger, the 
 rower stopped working, and we drifted. From 
 the godown on the shore great fiery waterfalls of 
 yellow and red, of purple and green flame, poured 
 out upon the water. This molten mass of burning 
 tallow rushed out on the water as a mass of lava, 
 turning the blackness of the water into a river of 
 fire. Pieces were torn loose from the mass by the 
 typhoon and hurried away in burning islands. The 
 whole river was aflame ! In this flaring light, 
 Shanghai was illumined in a silhouette blackness. 
 The wind tore off molten pieces of tallow and carried 
 them in flaming balls of fire high into the air. On 
 the shore the sound of people screaming filled the 
 night. Other buildings sprang into flame. Black- 
 ness and flame, the screaming wind, the tossing 
 water ! 
 
 I was afraid. It was like the end of the world ; it 
 was hell let loose upon the earth. 
 
 A sudden tongue of flame wriggled our way on the 
 water. The Chinaman began to row frantically. 
 Near us, we saw a junk caught and encircled with 
 the burning tallow. The wood of the junk caught 
 on fire, and the flames rushed up the sails. Frenzied 
 shrieks rent the air. The boat and the burning 
 tallow bore down upon us, and I expected to be 
 engulfed in a moment in the ever-burning, relentless 
 
THE FLAMING WIND 257 
 
 river of fire. Then the wind veered. The tower of 
 flames drifted past us, and we were safe for the 
 moment. The whole river, from shore to shore, was 
 a mass of leaping, spreading flames, through which 
 the black water showed like little pathways. I 
 watched the wind catch up a flame and twist it and 
 toss it into aerial, fairy shapes of wonder and glory. 
 On the shore the fire swept along in unchecked 
 triumph. 
 
 By some miracle we reached the other shore in 
 safety. On the steps of the jetty stood Edward. He 
 picked me up in his arms and whispered things in 
 my ears that I shall never forget. 
 
XX 
 
 THE RIVER OF SILENCE 
 
 IT was the day after the Great Typhoon, at least 
 so the world of Shanghai counted. For me 
 it was the day after Edward came back. All 
 my doubts, all my fears were swept away when he 
 gathered me into his arms, and a great peace en- 
 veloped my soul. In the night the wind had in- 
 creased a hundredfold. We were all sleeping in 
 our row of cots on the second-story porch, when 
 suddenly my covers were whisked off me. I sat 
 up in bed just in time to see them disappear into 
 the darkness like the sudden spreading of a ghost's 
 wings. The bamboo blinds began to flap wildly. 
 At the end of the porch, one tore loose from its 
 moorings and beat against the ceiling and the floor 
 in a wild tattoo. 
 
 The rain came down in torrents. It swept in 
 under the high roof of the porch and drenched the 
 bed and our clothes and our hair. The night was 
 pitch black. Something had happened to the elec- 
 tric lights, so that the house was in darkness. Some 
 one lit a candle, but the wind blew it out with 
 a derisive puff. In the darkness, with the rain 
 soaking through our nightgowns till we were as 
 wet as if we had been in bathing, we struggled with 
 
THE RIVER OP SILENCE 259 
 
 the bedding on the cots, dragging in sheets and 
 blankets and mattresses. My hair was loose and 
 lying like a wet shawl on my shoulders. The chairs 
 and the table blew over with a loud reverberation. 
 The loosened blind flapped distractingly. The whole 
 house groaned and shook with the might of the 
 wind. Wet and shivering, like rescued swimmers, 
 we stood in fearful groups at the windows, fascinated 
 by the endless rush and whistle of the hurricane. 
 Two more blinds tore loose. One was carried off 
 bodily into the darkness, the other was torn in bits, 
 and pieces of shredded bamboo like the scattered 
 fragments of a shredded wheat biscuit were whirled 
 hither and thither into the night. The sound of 
 the flapping curtain distracted me. I put on a rain 
 coat, tied up my hair, opened the door on to the 
 porch, and went out. 
 
 "Be careful," called Miss Laurie. 
 
 She was too late. 
 
 The bamboo shade, in its swoop from ceiling to 
 floor, hit me on the head and knocked me to the 
 floor, half dazed. In one gust the rain had soaked 
 me to the skin. My coat was torn off me, and sailed 
 away into the raging space. The released blind 
 tore to and fro over my head, hitting the ceiling 
 with a terrific bang and swinging down to the floor, 
 just grazing my head. Half of its length was gone. 
 Momently it disintegrated. The outlines of the 
 Chinese houses close behind were lost. The black- 
 ness was as impenetrable and formless as if I had 
 been on the deck of the solitary surviving ship on 
 the ocean. I struggled to my knees. Like a living 
 
26o MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 creature, filled with venom, and destruction, the 
 wind bore me to the floor again. Crash ! Crash ! 
 The night reverberated with sound. With a brisk 
 cannonade, the Chinese tiled roofs fell in. On my 
 hands and knees I crawled back to the French 
 window. Miss Laurie opened it a crack and pulled 
 me in. In that moment the wind also tore in and 
 blew over the chairs and tables. The glass splin- 
 tered into fragments and the wind rushed through 
 the house. We managed to shut the wooden shut- 
 ters. The servants came creeping in from the back 
 quarters, frightened to death. 
 
 That night passed like an eternity. The others 
 went to bed. I sat crouching at my one remaining 
 window, not that I could see anything at all, but 
 because I was fascinated by the force of the storm. 
 I sat on a cushion on the floor and pressed my face 
 against the windowpane. Again and again came the 
 crash of falling roofs. Once, a piercing scream shot 
 up into the night. It came right after the thunder 
 of a falling roof, and a sudden shiver ran down my 
 spine. Some one was hurt. The noise of wind 
 was like a mighty trumpet, as it screamed and 
 shrieked and bellowed through the black darkness 
 of the night. It drowned the sound of the rain, 
 which fell in torrents as from a waterspout. At 
 last the darkness was tinged with a desolate gray. 
 I saw the pillars of the porch rise into view before 
 my eyes, and across the garden, the dim peaked 
 roofs of the Chinese houses appeared like outlines 
 in the clouds. The rain was driven over the earth 
 in spouts of water, and the wind never ceased its 
 
THE RIVER OP SILENCE 261 
 
 howling and rushing. I had a sudden vision of the 
 power lying hidden in the veriest white fluff of cloud, 
 power against which houses and bricks and mortar 
 were as thistledown. I had a quick, mad desire 
 to rush out and stand on the railing of the porch 
 and spread my arms to the wind like wings and be 
 carried off. In the gray darkness of the dawn I 
 would be carried off, over the roofs of the city, out 
 over the pathless plains, over the plains, over the 
 rivers, up and up, to the hills ! So swept the wind ! 
 Up from the hot south of Formosa, over the China 
 Sea, bursting in rushing sound and falling water 
 on the banks of the Yangtse ! I felt part of it. I no 
 longer wanted to be housed and protected. I wanted 
 to cast loose from the cramping safety and merge 
 myself with the typhoon. 
 
 Morning came with utter desolation. Every tree 
 on the compound was uprooted and lay at full 
 length on the grass. The third-story tuberculosis 
 ward was a wreck. The Venetian blinds were 
 wrenched from the window frames, tearing off long 
 strips of wood. The tables and chairs were splin- 
 tered. The patients had crept down in the night, 
 dragging their mattresses after them, and slept on 
 the floor in the ward below. There the ceiling had 
 leaked, and great pools of muddy water covered 
 the floor of the second-story ward. Out-patients, 
 with heads cut by falling bricks, crowded to the 
 clinic. 
 
 Edward came with news of the devastation in 
 the settlement. Along the bund all the hundred- 
 year planes were uprooted, carrying great slabs of 
 
262 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 cement into the air. The entire house-boat popu- 
 lation had been swept out of existence. The Whang- 
 poo, the Soochow Creek, and all the little tributary 
 canals were empty and bare of craft. Wires were 
 down, and the settlement was without light and 
 telephone. 
 
 The air was full of tingling life. The clouds were 
 gathered up and folded away like the folds of a 
 closed camera. The sun shone forth with a dazzling 
 brightness. Every one laughed and sang. The 
 coolies and amahs were busy clearing up the d6bris 
 of the night. The usual routine of the hospital 
 was demoralized. The regular clinic patients stayed 
 at home, and by afternoon all the cut heads seemed 
 to be bound up. 
 
 "Come, let's go for a walk," said Edward. 
 
 Off we went, through the settlement, out along 
 the Jessfield Road. 
 
 We came to the house of the Wistaria Tower. 
 It is a great, red-brick house standing in spacious 
 grounds with a thick hedge of shrubbery along the 
 outer wall. At one corner, a three-story, square, 
 red-brick tower overlooks the road. Ancient wis- 
 taria vines, both white and purple, climb to the top 
 of the tower. In the early spring the fragrance of 
 the blossoms floats out over the land in an enticing 
 smell. The fullest blossoms grow about the tower. 
 
 "Do you know the story of that house?" I asked 
 Edward. 
 
 "No," he said. "Has it got a story? Never 
 mind. I don't want to hear any story but how you 
 managed to get along without me for so long." 
 
THE RIVER OF SILENCE 263 
 
 "I didn't manage," I said. "You went away and 
 left me, and I pined, but I am not going to talk 
 about that ; I am going to tell you the story of the 
 Wistaria Tower. The other can't be told in the 
 daylight, walking along the public road." 
 
 "Go ahead, then," said Edward. | 
 
 "Well," I began, "once upon a time, long ago 
 when Shanghai was a strange auid dangerous place 
 to live in, a young couple came out from England. 
 The husband was in the tea business. They pros- 
 pered greatly and, as his bride was fond of the 
 country, he bought this house on Bubbling Well 
 Road. Fifty years ago it was out in the wilds of 
 the country. At first the husband and wife were 
 very happy. Together they planted the white 
 and purple wistaria and the daphne bushes and the 
 bamboo grove. They had a little baby, and I think 
 they were as happy as people ever are on this earth. 
 Perhaps they were too happy or too forgetful. The 
 husband became richer and richer. He grew fas- 
 cinated with piling up money and more money. 
 At night, when he came home from the hong, he 
 sat silent at the head of the table, his head full of 
 plans of how he could get more and more money. 
 He didn't play with the baby any more. When, 
 on Sunday afternoons, he and his wife rode out in 
 their green victoria, he sat silent and preoccupied 
 beside her. " '■ 
 
 "At first his wife was very sad. By and by she 
 forgot about the time that he had loved her and that 
 she had loved him. She fancied he had always 
 been this absentminded person who only cared 
 
264 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 about silver taels. But she was happy neverthe- 
 less, for she had her baby. Then one summer the 
 baby died. For a week the husband forgot about 
 his money and was tender to his wife, but he soon 
 forgot all about her again. Day by day, she used 
 to sit in her room and pretend the baby was just 
 out for a walk with his amah and would come bound- 
 ing in to her in a few moments. Her friends and 
 her servants whispered among each other, saying 
 she would go mad from grief. One of them spoke 
 to her husband, and he sent for a doctor. Now 
 this doctor was a young man, just out from England. 
 He felt sorry for the wife and, by and by, he and the 
 wife became good friends. There was no wicked- 
 ness or sinfulness in their friendship. It merely 
 brought warmth and happiness to their two empty 
 hearts. 
 
 "One night, at dinner, the wife noticed that her 
 husband eyed her strangely. After that he would 
 come home at unexpected moments, or suddenly 
 appear in the shrubbery if he heard the voices of 
 his wife and the doctor talking. At first the wife 
 rejoiced, because she thought her husband wanted 
 to be friends again. But it was not so; he was 
 devoured by a fiendish jealousy. 
 
 "Little by little it killed him. He left the 
 strangest will. His wife was to be allowed only 
 the income from his estate until she took his body 
 home and buried it in a certain cemetery in England. 
 When that had been done, she was to be given the 
 principal. This principal was a huge sum of thou- 
 sands and thousands of pounds. By this devise, 
 
THE RIVER OF SILENCE 265 
 
 the husband had thought to separate her from the 
 doctor. If she married again, she was to forfeit 
 the entire fortune. After the will was read, the 
 woman and the doctor met in the garden under the 
 wistaria vines. It was springtime, and above them 
 the flowers hung in purple and snowy cascades of 
 fragrance. 
 
 " Don't leave me," said the doctor. 
 
 '"I must,' said the wife. 'I must go home with 
 my husband's body, across the sea, to bury it in the 
 old graveyard.' 
 
 "'Don't go,' he begged. 
 
 "'But I must,' she answered. 'If the body 
 crumbles, I am penniless, and I do not wish to be 
 penniless. I don't want to work.' 
 
 "'What do you want to do?'" he asked. 
 
 "'I want to do just what we have been doing in 
 these last two years. I want to stay right here, 
 where I used to be happy, where my baby used to 
 play. I want to smell the wistaria spring after 
 spring and have you come to see me.' 
 
 "A sudden light sprang up in the eyes of the 
 doctor. 
 
 ' ' ' You shall do just exactly what you want,' he said. 
 
 "So he sent for skilled embalmers. For days 
 and days they were shut in the room with the corpse. 
 He went to see the lawyers and asked their opinion. 
 'As long as his body remains above ground she will 
 have the use of the income,' they said. 
 
 "They sent for a mason, and the high tower was 
 built. There, in the topmost room, they placed 
 the body in all pomp and state. It lies on a great 
 
266 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 marble bier draped with sumptuous silks. Strange 
 spices fill the atmosphere. Once a week, every 
 Friday, the mistress of the house says to the boy. 
 'Bring your feather duster. It is time to dust off 
 Master.' Up they go, by the winding stairs, to 
 the tower room, and open the closed doors. They 
 open the windows on to the sweet smelling air, 
 heavy with the fragrance of the wistaria, and the 
 Chinese boy dusts off the light film of white dust 
 that sifts in through the windows and lies on the 
 face of Master. Then the mistress takes out fresh 
 spices from a bag on her wrist and sprinkles them 
 about the room of death. 
 
 "All that was fifty years ago, and she is an old 
 woman now. She says she will never go back to 
 England. She has again grown fond of her husband, 
 of the face that smiles at her with its eternal calm 
 from its sumptuous bed of silks and spices. Once 
 a week she performs her ceremonial rite ; she and 
 the half -frightened boy climb the winding stairs to 
 the highest room and dust off Master. But I 
 wonder how often she secretly climbs up the stairs, 
 perhaps in the dead of night, when the moon shines 
 in pale patches of silver, or at sunset, when the rosy 
 reflection of the sky tinges the white face of her 
 husband with the glow of life, or at the clear cool 
 time of dawning, when the crows fly back to the 
 fields for the day. I can fancy her standing beside 
 that royal bier, thinking thoughts that are sad and 
 corroding, or quiet and serene. Whenever I pass the 
 house, I wonder about her. Has her life been only 
 one long contemplation of the dead ?" 
 
THE RIVER OF SILENCE 267 
 
 "What a dreadful story," said Edward. "I'll 
 never be able to pass that house without thinking 
 of her. Don't tell me any more such spooky tales." 
 
 The sun covered the fields like a golden carpet. 
 The sky was a fleckless blue. In the tiny village 
 of Zau Ka Doo women and babies were already 
 sitting along the roadside, chatting. The shops 
 were busy. Long strings of peppers and leeks hung 
 from the ceilings. The destruction of the night 
 before was almost cleared away. The shore of 
 the creek was strewn with floating masts and up- 
 turned boats, but the children were fast gathering 
 the wreckage for firewood. At Jessfield we wandered 
 across the campus. The gardeners were busy at 
 work with ropes and pulleys, hoisting the upturned 
 trees back into place. The force of the wind had 
 evidently not struck Jessfield with the violence 
 with which it had hit the settlement. 
 
 Along the shore of the creek a group of children 
 were throwing stones at a log in the water. They 
 were all little American children, the girls in the 
 dainty frills and lacy whiteness of clean afternoon 
 dresses, the boys in stiff sailor suits. 
 
 "I've hit it twice," shouted Henry .H 
 
 "I hit it too," said Mary. "I can hit just as 
 well as you." 
 
 "Shucks! You just happened to hit it! Girls 
 can't throw. Watch me hit it again." 
 
 Henry carefully searched for a smooth round 
 stone, poised himself on one foot, and sent the little, 
 twirling thing through the air. Plump, it landed 
 on the log with a forceful impact. The sudden 
 
268 MY CHINESE DAYS; 
 
 thud made the inert brown log roll over. A sicken- 
 ing horror gripped us. Something white and life- 
 like stared up at us from the water. A swirl of the 
 current caught the object. It flung an arm out on 
 the water, and quite distinctly I saw a hand appear 
 and vanish before the current rolled it back again. 
 Once more it lay floating like a log, drifting up a 
 little way and down a little way with the lazy current. 
 I looked at Edward and saw the same knowledge 
 in his eyes. I sent the children off home, for I did 
 not want them to see the ghastly, drowned face turn 
 again to the light. We walked along the shore to 
 the ancient ferry above and got the ferryman to 
 pole us downstream to the drowned man. Very 
 slowly he was drifting down towards the ocean. 
 The ferryman was scared and refused to touch the 
 body. When we found ourselves alongside it, it 
 was floating on its face, with arms and legs sinking 
 downwards, leaving its khaki-clad body like a log 
 on the surface. We drew it to the shore. 
 
 "A rebel soldier!" cried the ferryman in fear. 
 "Do not touch him. Put him back again into the 
 water. It is not good to touch the drowned dead." 
 
 "We'll bury the corpse," said Edward. "We 
 can't let him go floating up and down the stream, 
 to frighten the children out of their wits." 
 
 The dead rebel soldier lay on the grass with his 
 white, shrunken face upturned to the sunset skies. 
 Overhead the crows flew by, one by one, in twos and 
 threes, back to their roosts in the shelter of the settle- 
 ment for the night. The wide, level plains stretched 
 off in the distance to the faint irregular rim of the 
 
THE RIVER OF SILENCE 269 
 
 horizon. Grave mounds, little and big, forgotten 
 and nameless, humped the fields. The meandering 
 runs of water and the meandering footpaths went 
 off towards infinity. From the road came the sound 
 of the carry coolies. I could see them jogging along 
 at their never-ending, tireless gait, singing again 
 and forever the same song. A boatman went by, 
 swaying slowly at his oar, calling out a low note at 
 each stroke. He looked at us with curious eyes. 
 Through the fields I saw a wheelbarrow, laden with 
 a dozen women, go along one of the winding paths. 
 
 "I wonder where he came from," I said. 
 
 The ferryman had left us to ply his busy evening 
 trade to and fro across the stream, carrying the 
 workers back from the twentieth century into the 
 days of yore, back from the silk filature to the 
 rice fields and their earthen-floored huts of woven 
 bamboo. 
 
 Edward stooped over the man, and ran his hand 
 over his chest. "Ah! he was murdered," he said. 
 "See, here is a great gash just over his heart. He 
 was murdered and then thrown into the stream. 
 Think how simple it would be, in one of those canal 
 houses of Soochow." 
 
 "But why?" I asked. 
 
 "Why? Who can say?" said Edward. His 
 hands were searching the body and the clothes. 
 Suddenly he brought out a shining something and 
 held it out to the light on the open palm of his hand. 
 The setting sun caught the object and made it 
 gleam like an emerald. I bent over it. 
 
 "Take it," said Edward. 
 
2 70 MY CHINESE DAYS 
 
 I picked it up and held it in my hand. It was a 
 wonderful jade ring. The stone was oval, of a deep 
 spinach color and translucent. A light of its own 
 burned within. The characters "Long Life and 
 Happiness" were carved on each side of the stone. 
 Like the imprisoned wonder and magic and hope 
 of the greenness of spring, it lay in my hand and 
 gathered to itself all the lingering light in the sky. 
 
 "He was an up-country man," said Edward. 
 "Probably from Nanking. Can't you just see him 
 looting, cutting off the women's earrings, and 
 grabbing their bracelets and rings? In the three 
 days' loot of Nanking, he revelled. All the hard and 
 fast restraints of civilized life were cast to the winds. 
 He could enter where he chose ; he could take what 
 he chose ; he could do what he chose. Here is an- 
 other gash on his forehead, under his shock of hair. 
 He fought like a demon, and laughed when the women 
 jumped down the wells at his approach. He stuffed 
 his pockets full of loot and drank and was riotously 
 happy. Then the tide turned ; the rebels were 
 ousted. Fearful of losing his loot, or of being caught 
 with it on his body, he slunk away from the army 
 and set out for home. Somehow he reached Soochow. 
 There he entered a wine shop. The wine was hot 
 and strong. The men around him ate and joked. 
 He began his fatal boasting. He pulled earrings 
 and bracelets from his belt pocket and spread them 
 before the greedy eyes of the coolies. Soon they 
 were fighting, swaying around and around the eating 
 tables in a hilarious drunken mob. The rebel 
 soldier was pinned against the wall. Behind him, 
 
THE RIVER OF SILENCE 271 
 
 a window yawned over the canal. A long, gleam- 
 ing dagger reached out and lunged itself into his 
 heart. The sudden warm gush of blood staggered 
 his enemies. They drew back with terror staring 
 in their eyes. In a panic they ebbed away from their 
 victim. Steadied by the wall behind him, undis- 
 torted with pain, and strangely aloof , as are those that 
 die from hemorrhage, the rebel stared at the crouch- 
 ing, cowed mob. I can fancy him making one last 
 defiant gesture, waving the marvelous ring in their 
 faces, before plunging backward into the slow, 
 silent, sluggish creek. The men, too frightened to 
 follow him, slunk away one by one to their homes. 
 Through the winding black canals, in the cold black 
 night, the body floated till morning saw it out in 
 the open fields. Unconcerned, it floated down- 
 stream, drifting with the eddying current, past the 
 lighted house boats, past the brown-sailed junks, 
 past the staring, stone Buddhas, past the low stone 
 steps where the women washed their morning rice, 
 floating like a log, as dead men float out to sea. 
 Only the children, shying their smooth, round stones, 
 stopped its seaward destiny. Through such wild 
 bloody scenes, from such a high-born home the 
 magic ring has come to you." 
 
 Edward stood up and put the ring on my fourth 
 finger. I slipped my hand within my waist and drew 
 out the pendant of jade that the Mandarin's Bride 
 had given me, and I remembered the words: " There 
 is no adventure without love. Love is the great 
 Adventure."