Mrs. Spring Fragrance
runs. This one is so green that I think its father and mother must have
been blades of grass, don’t you? And look at the wings on this worm.
That one has no wings, but its belly is pretty pink. Feel how nice and
slimy it is. Don’t you just love slimy things that creep on their
bellies, and things that fly in the air, and things with four legs? Oh,
all kinds of things except grown-up things with two legs.”
She inclined the baby’s head so that his eyes would be on a level with
her collection, but he screamed the louder for the change.
“Oh, hush thee, baby, hush thee,
And never, never fear
The bogies of the dark land,
When the green bamboo is near,”
she chanted in imitation of her mother. But the baby would not be
soothed.
She wrinkled her childish brow. Her little mind was perplexed. She had
tried her best to amuse her brother, but her efforts seemed in vain.
Her eyes fell on the pool of muddy water. They brightened. Of all things
in the world Ku Yum loved mud, real, good, clean mud. What bliss to dip
her feet into that tempting pool, to feel the slow brown water oozing
into her little shoes! Ku Yum had done that before and the memory
thrilled her. But with that memory came another—a memory of poignant
pain; the cause, a bamboo cane, which bamboo cane had been sent from
China by her father’s uncle, for the express purpose of helping Ku Yum
to walk in the straight and narrow path laid out for a proper little
Chinese girl living in Santa Barbara.
Still the baby cried. Ku Yum looked down on him and the cloud on her
brow lifted. Ko Ku should have the exquisite pleasure of dipping his
feet into that soft velvety water. There would be no bamboo cane for
him. He was loved too well. Ku Yum forgot herself. Her thoughts were
entirely for Ko Ku. She half dragged, half carried him to the pool. In a
second his feet were immersed therein and small wiggling things were
wandering up his tiny legs. He gave a little gasp and ceased crying. Ku
Yum smiled. Ah! Ko Ku was happy at last! Then:
Before Ku Yum’s vision flashed a large, cruel hand. Twice, thrice it
appeared, after which, for a space of time, Ku Yum could see nothing but
twinkling stars.
“My son! My son! the evil spirit in your sister had almost lost you to
me!” cried her mother.
“That this should happen on the day of the completion of the moon, when
the guests from San Francisco are arriving with the gold coins. Verily,
my son, your sister is possessed of a devil,” declared her father.
And her grandmother, speaking low, said: “’Tis fortunate the child is
alive. But be not too hard on Ku Yum. The demon of jealousy can best be
exorcised by kindness.”
And the sister of Ko Ku wailed low in the grass, for there were none to
understand.
NOTE.—The ceremony of the “Completion of the Moon” takes place when a
Chinese boy child attains to a month old. His head is then shaved for
the first time amidst much rejoicing. The foundation of the babe’s
future fortune is laid on that day, for every guest invited to the
shaving is supposed to present the baby with a gold piece, no matter
how small.
THE LITTLE FAT ONE
Lee Chu and Lee Yen sat on a stone beneath the shade of a fig tree. The
way to school seemed a very long way and the morning was warm, the road
dusty.
“The master’s new pair of goggles can see right through our heads,”
observed Lee Chu.
“And his new cane made Hom Wo’s fingers blister yesterday,” said Lee
Yen.
They looked sideways at one another and sighed.
“The beach must be very cool today,” said Lee Chu after a few moments.
“Ah, yes! It is not far from here.” Thus Lee Yen.
“And there are many pebbles.”
“Of all colors.”
“Of all colors.”
The two little boys turned and looked at each other.
“Our honorable parents need never know,” mused one.
“No!” murmured the other. “School is so far from home. And there are
five new scholars to keep the schoolmaster busy.”
Yes, the beach was cool and pleasant, and the pebbles were many, and the
finest in color and shape that Lee Chu and Lee Yen had ever seen. The
tide washed up fresh ones every second—green, red, yellow, black, and
brown; also white and transparent beauties. The boys exclaimed with
delight as they gathered them. The last one spied was always the
brightest sparkler.
“Here’s one like fire and all the colors in the sun,” cried Lee Chu.
“And this one—it is such a bright green. There never was another one
like it!” declared Lee Yen.
“Ah! most beautiful!”
“Oh! most wonderful!”
And so on until they had each made an iridescent little pile. Then they
sat down to rest and eat their lunch—some rice cakes which their mother
had placed within their sleeves.
As they sat munching these, they became reflective. The charm of the sea
and sky was on them though they knew it not.
“I think,” said Lee Chu, “that these are the most beautiful pebbles that
the sea has ever given to us.”
“I think so too,” assented Lee Yen.
“I think,” again said Lee Chu, “that I will give mine to the Little Fat
One.”
“The Little Fat One shall also have mine,” said Lee Yen. He ran his
fingers through his pebbles and sighed with rapture over their
glittering. Lee Chu also sighed as his eyes dwelt on the shining heap
that was his.
The Little Fat One ran to greet them on his little fat legs when they
returned home at sundown, and they poured their treasures into his
little tunic.
“Why, where do these come from?” cried Lee Amoy, the mother, when she
tried to lift the Little Fat One on to her lap and found him too heavy
to raise.
Lee Chu and Lee Yen looked away.
“You bad boys!” exclaimed the mother angrily. “You have been on the
beach instead of at school. When your father comes in I shall tell him
to cane you.”
“No, no, not bad!” contradicted the Little Fat One, scrambling after the
stones which were slipping from his tunic. His mother picked up some of
them, observing silently that they were particularly fine.
“They are the most beautiful pebbles that ever were seen,” said Lee Chu
sorrowfully. He felt sure that his mother would cast them away.
“The sea will never give up as fine again,” declared Lee Yen
despairingly.
“Then why did you not each keep what you found?” asked the mother.
“Because—” said Lee Chu, then looked at the Little Fat One.
“Because—” echoed Lee Yen, and also looked at the Little Fat One.
The mother’s eyes softened.
“Well,” said she, “for this one time we will forget the cane.”
“Good! Good!” cried the Little Fat One.
A CHINESE BOY-GIRL
I
The warmth was deep and all-pervading. The dust lay on the leaves of the
palms and the other tropical plants that tried to flourish in the Plaza.
The persons of mixed nationalities lounging on the benches within and
without the square appeared to be even more listless and unambitious
than usual. The Italians who ran the peanut and fruit stands at the
corners were doing no business to speak of. The Chinese merchants’
stores in front of the Plaza looked as quiet and respectable and drowsy
as such stores always do. Even the bowling alleys, billiard halls, and
saloons seemed under the influence of the heat, and only a subdued
clinking of glasses and roll of balls could be heard from behind the
half-open doors. It was almost as hot as an August day in New York City,
and that is unusually sultry for Southern California.
A little Chinese girl, with bright eyes and round cheeks, attired in
blue cotton garments, and wearing her long, shining hair in a braid
interwoven with silks of many colors, paused beside a woman tourist who
was making a sketch of the old Spanish church. The tourist and the
little Chinese girl were the only persons visible who did not seem to be
affected by the heat. They might have been friends; but the lady,
fearing for her sketch, bade the child run off. Whereupon the little
thing shuffled across the Plaza, and in less than five minutes was at
the door of the Los Angeles Chinatown school for children.
“Come in, little girl, and tell me what they call you,” said the young
American teacher, who was new to the place.
“Ku Yum be my name,” was the unhesitating reply; and said Ku Yum walked
into the room, seated herself complacently on an empty bench in the
first row, and informed the teacher that she lived on Apablaza street,
that her parents were well, but her mother was dead, and her father,
whose name was Ten Suie, had a wicked and tormenting spirit in his foot.
The teacher gave her a slate and pencil, and resumed the interrupted
lesson by indicating with her rule ten lichis (called “Chinese nuts” by
people in America) and counting them aloud.
“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten,” the baby
class repeated.
After having satisfied herself by dividing the lichis unequally among
the babies, that they might understand the difference between a singular
and a plural number, Miss Mason began a catechism on the features of the
face. Nose, eyes, lips, and cheeks were properly named, but the class
was mute when it came to the forehead.
“What is this?” Miss Mason repeated, posing her finger on the fore part
of her head.
“Me say, me say,” piped a shrill voice, and the new pupil stepped to the
front, and touching the forehead of the nearest child with the tips of
her fingers, christened it “one,” named the next in like fashion “two,”
a third “three,” then solemnly pronounced the fourth a “four head.”
Thus Ku Yum made her début in school, and thus began the trials and
tribulations of her teacher.
Ku Yum was bright and learned easily, but she seemed to be possessed
with the very spirit of mischief; to obey orders was to her an
impossibility, and though she entered the school a voluntary pupil, one
day at least out of every week found her a truant.
“Where is Ku Yum?” Miss Mason would ask on some particularly alluring
morning, and a little girl with the air of one testifying to having seen
a murder committed, would reply: “She is running around with the boys.”
Then the rest of the class would settle themselves back in their seats
like a jury that has found a prisoner guilty of some heinous offense,
and, judging by the expression on their faces, were repeating a silent
prayer somewhat in the strain of “O Lord, I thank thee that I am not as
Ku Yum is!” For the other pupils were demure little maidens who, after
once being gathered into the fold, were very willing to remain.
But if ever the teacher broke her heart over any one it was over Ku Yum.
When she first came, she took an almost unchildlike interest in the
rules and regulations, even at times asking to have them repeated to
her; but her study of such rules seemed only for the purpose of finding
a means to break them, and that means she never failed to discover and
put into effect.
After a disappearance of a day or so she would reappear, bearing a
gorgeous bunch of flowers. These she would deposit on Miss Mason’s desk
with a little bow; and though one would have thought that the sweetness
of the gift and the apparent sweetness of the giver needed but a
gracious acknowledgment, something like the following conversation would
ensue:
“Teacher, I plucked these flowers for you from the Garden of Heaven.”
(They were stolen from some park.)
“Oh, Ku Yum, whatever shall I do with you?”
“Maybe you better see my father.”
“You are a naughty girl. You shall be punished. Take those flowers
away.”
“Teacher, the eyebrow over your little eye is very pretty.”
But the child was most exasperating when visitors were present. As she
was one of the brightest scholars, Miss Mason naturally expected her to