Little Priest
IT was the eve of the Moon Festival. The homes and the people of Chinatown were gay within and gay without, and the incense-laden air was full of the holiday spirit. The Moon Festival with the Chinese is something like the American Christmas, only it lasts longer, extending into their New Year.
Kon Ying had not been very happy in her little life, for she had always been made to feel that she was one too many in the home. She had three sisters older than herself, and the Chinese do not like so many daughters,—they would rather have sons; so when she arrived in the small home, it was decided to call her Kon Ying, which means “enough hawks.” After her had come a baby brother, who was petted and spoiled in every way possible, because he was a boy. As he was the only son, the parents soon resorted to a queer Chinese method. They shaved his head and called him “little priest,” allowing him to be adopted by another family. This was done to deceive the bad spirits, and make them think they cared no more for their child than for a despised priest, and had thought so little of him that they had even allowed another family to adopt him.
Little Kon Ying had been left to herself a great deal, and so had thought of many things. Perhaps
She and one of her sisters were on the step in front of their home
she had thought more of the Moon Rabbit than anything else, and wondered in her childish way why it had never remembered her. She and one of her sisters were on the step in front of their home talking about it, when she saw her brother across the street, in front of the joss house. He was richly dressed, and pretended he did not know her.
The streets were beautiful to-night, so, after much persuasion, mo chun had promised to take the children to see the shop windows. Soon the mother appeared at the door, where in a little bowl punks were always kept burning for the god, and in her high-pitched Chinese voice told the children she was ready. Kon Ying was happy for once. She was happy to-night, because she was strong and young, and the Chinese world was beautiful. And, someway, she felt that the rabbit would really remember her to-night.
On they went, one after another, in true Chinese fashion, but never losing sight of the polished hair of mo chun in front of them.
How gay it all was, and how bright! The great irregular rows of big round lanterns looked like a lot of moons, and surely the rabbit’s own moon could not be more beautiful. They could scarcely tear themselves away from the bakeshop windows, which were full of cakes of all kinds. Some were shaped like the moon, and some were made into tall Chinese pagodas, a fish, a horse, or something of the kind. Some had on them the picture of the white rabbit, who is always pounding out rice in the moon. On others were painted beautiful gods and goddesses. Mo chun was telling them that when good little Chinese children were all asleep the mysterious rabbit would come to the shops and purchase the pretty things, to leave in the homes of the children.
Kon Ying was thinking as she pressed her cunning little nose up against the cold glass: “I likee know if I been good enough this time. I help mo chun—I play (pray) to joss heap plenty time; maybe the moon labbit come—maybe, I no sabe” (understand). She only knew that she had done her best, always; but perhaps the wonderful rabbit would not think so. Never mind! she would pray once more to the ugly little old god at home, before she went to sleep.
Soon they came to the toy shops. She felt as if she could stay forever, for there were toys of all kinds, and no one would ever know how good they seemed to a poor little Chinese girl who had never had any toys. The only one she had ever possessed was an old broken doll she had once found upon a trash heap, but she had treasured it as no doll was ever before treasured, and had given it all the pent-up love in her little starved heart. She had even named it “Kin Leen” (golden lily), and pretended that it was a fine aristocratic lady, with “little feet.” She had bound its feet with strips of cloth, and it was to this doll that she had gone with all her troubles; but no one knew this. If her proud brother had known he would have teased her unmercifully.
There were so many lovely pagodas in the window, and some of them were several feet high. She would like one of these, but knew she might as well long for the moon. There was something in the window which she would rather have than a pagoda or anything else, and she longed for it so intensely that a real prayer must have gone out from her little innocent heart. It was a doll!—a Chinese doll, with big slanting eyes, like Kon Ying’s own, and the most gorgeous dress of flowered silk.
Suddenly it dawned upon her what she would do when she got home. Instead of praying to the god on the shelf she would pray to the moon rabbit, and beg and beg of it to bring her a doll. If she could only have one of those gorgeous creatures, with the tuft of black hair on its head, and the wobbly feet and arms, and painted cheeks and lips, she would surely never ask for anything else. There were other dolls in plenty, but none so beautiful. They were only bits of wood, with eyes, nose, and mouth painted on them. If she had not seen the big one she might have cared for those, but now—she would never care for them; she had seen the queen.
She gasped out, in her shrill childish voice: “Oh, mo chun! Why—why—won’t the moon labbit bling me doll?”
Before the mother could reply, a kind hand was laid upon the polished head of the little girl, and a man’s kind voice said: “The moon labbit will bling you doll, and all the little sistehs too.”
Looking up, she saw that the voice came from the lips of a notorious highbinder—a friend of her father’s.
The man had been to their home many times. She had liked him, for he always had a kind word for children, and last New Year he had even brought them some cunning little mandarin oranges, and a package of Chinese candy. He was said to be a very bad man, but he loved children. Speaking a few words of holiday greeting, he passed on into the shop, while Kon Ying and her sisters still gazed at the contents of the windows.
The big doll seemed to be saying: “I am yours, Kon Ying!—take me!” while it held out its wobbly arms in entreaty. Its painted lips seemed as if they might be forming pretty Chinese words of good wishes for the Moon Festival.
Kon Ying’s little celestial heart longed for it with a terrible longing, but the glass was between them, and so—her heart could only ache in silence. It could not happen, anyway. When did anything nice ever happen to her? She had always been in the way, and there were no toys to spare for her—little “Enough Hawks.”
She was so absorbed in gazing at the doll that she did not see the highbinder, away back in the shop. Her nose was pressed against the glass, and her dirty little fingers had left ten marks, but she did not know; she would not have cared if she had known. Suddenly, as she gazed, something wonderful happened. A big blue arm reached into the window from the shop, and slim fingers with long Chinese nails closed upon the doll, lifting it out of the window, to disappear from the gaze of the enraptured children. It seemed to blink its slanting eyes in farewell as it departed.
The pale yellow ivory face of little Kon Ying appeared to grow even more pale as she screamed out, in that little nasal voice of hers: “She gone—the moon labbit no can get her now to bling to me. Heap bad spirit catch ’em doll: I so solly—I so solly.”
It seemed to her that when the doll had gone from her sight it had taken with it the very heart out of her body, and she did not care to linger now, so they passed on, to other sights and sounds.
On a flower-laden balcony some one was twanging on a sam yun (banjo), but even music had no charm for her now, because—the DOLL was gone. She would never see it again; the bad spirits had taken it. Perhaps it was because she had neglected to pray to the god lately. She had even dared, when no one was looking, to make a horrible face at him, and tell him she hated him. She did this because her little heart was so heavy; no one seemed to care for her, and the god never made anything nice happen to her, nor paid any attention to her little prayers. Never mind! she would pray to the moon rabbit after this; perhaps it would hear her prayer. After she had decided upon this course she was anxious to get back to her home. The children were all getting tired now, and their wooden sandals dragged heavily upon the narrow pavements.
“We go home now,” said mo chun; “Maybe moon labbit come to-night.”
At last they reached their home, and the tired children ascended the stairway. Kon Ying set to work to offer her sacrifices, as she was tired and wanted to go to bed. She had nothing to offer the moon rabbit except her old broken doll; so she placed it on a table and burned her incense sticks, and everybody thought she was praying to the god. But she was not; she knew,—and the god knew. At last she laid her tired head on the hard couch.
It seemed to her she had only been there a minute, when there came a great glare of light and the sound of Chinese flutes. The lattice window opened, and in marched a troop of tiny Chinamen, dressed in purple and gold. Each one carried a stick of lighted incense for a torch, making the room as bright as day.
They marched right up to where Kon Ying lay, and the most richly dressed one said: “Kon Ying, our queen has prepared a banquet for you; will your highness please to accept the invitation?”
Kon Ying was frightened at first, but something within her seemed to speak the words: “I shall be pleased to obey the commands of your queen;” and she made a curtsey to the royal messenger.
“Be prepared to go when the time comes!” he said, and vanished with his company.
By and by there was another glare of lights, and the sound of music. The lattice opened again, and there flitted in a crowd of the dearest little Chinese ladies, all clad in pink silk blouses, with lavender trousers, and pretty little golden sandals. They had so many diamonds in their hair and ears that it almost put out little Kon Ying’s eyes. They each carried a tiny Chinese lantern, which shed a soft light.
The most beautiful one now approached Kon Ying and said: “The queen has sent you a royal robe; please put it on, and we will hasten to the moon.”
Again the little girl gasped out: “Your highness’ commands shall be obeyed;” and slipping from her couch she stood shivering upon the floor, while the moon-maidens arrayed her in a robe of palest lavender.
“Our queen heard your prayer, and has sent us to carry you to her kingdom,” they said; and spreading out the wide Chinese sleeves of her gown until they looked just like wings, they told her to come, and away through the window she flew with them.
She felt as light as a feather, and could not resist the pleasure of making one real ugly face at the god as she passed. There stood on the street in front of the house a row of the dearest little sedan chairs, all glittering with gold, and carried by huge white rabbits. Before she could say a word they had opened the door for her, and placing her inside, flew away,—away from the squatty little god and the smell of incense, away from the great shining lanterns of the dragon, and the narrow, crooked streets, and into air that was so pure it seemed like a delicious nectar.
Kon Ying leaned from the window of her sedan chair and gazed at all the wondrous beauty of the sky. As they passed through the milky way some tiny star-fairies handed her a jewelled glass of the richest milk. She was very glad, for it seemed a long time since her supper of rice and tea. She was far away from the lights of the city now, and surrounded by the dazzling radiance of the stars. One very large star seemed to be the queen, and all the little stars bowed down before it, chanting the sweetest melody.
They were getting nearer and nearer the moon now, and, oh, how very large it was! To Kon Ying it had always seemed no larger than a small Chinese lantern, but now, as she came nearer, it seemed greater than the whole world. Soon she could see it no more, and the white rabbits told her that they were already in the moon. It was the most beautiful country. The velvet grass was covered with the sacred almond blossom petals, and their perfume was sweeter far than any incense. They passed through a long avenue of pure white chrysanthemums, which showered their petals upon them like snow. At the end of this avenue the chairs were stopped, and cunning little white-rabbit pages assisted them gently to the ground. A tender light flooded the place, and when Kon Ying raised her eyes she saw before her a throne, draped with the flags of the Imperial Court of China,—yellow silk, with blue dragons embroidered upon them,—and on the throne sat the queen,—the good moon rabbit who had heard her prayer.
This queen was busily engaged in pounding rice, pounding it into a powder, and then sending it down to earth, to be eaten during the Moon Festival and the China New Year. She wore a pink gauze dress all covered with glittering spangles, and as Kon Ying approached the queen was singing:
It sounded very pretty, as the queen had quite a sweet voice, and Kon Ying soon found herself singing it with all the others. The queen extended one soft white paw in greeting, but kept on pounding rice with the other.
All the dear little Chinese ladies and men now seated themselves around the throne. The white-rabbit pages handed each one a different musical instrument, and there burst forth the loveliest music that Kon Ying had ever heard. She found that she could play quite as well as any of them, which was a great surprise to her, as she had never before even touched a musical instrument.
After the music the queen ordered refreshments served, and they entered a bower of almond blossoms and China lilies, seating themselves at a long table, where they were served by a lot of tiny white-rabbit pages. They ate with ivory chopsticks set with diamonds. The queen sat at the head of the table, and could hold the chopsticks in her paws quite as well as any one. What a feast that was! Yet plenty of funny things happened, even if it was a royal company. The queen forgot herself, and stuck her nose right into a bowl of hot rice, at which there was a general giggle. A page quickly brought a finger-bowl and sponged the burnt nose, so it was all right.
There were all sorts of good Chinese things to eat,—delicious chah (tea) in little handleless bowls, all kinds of pretty moon-cakes, little biscuit made of almond meal; watermelon seed, and many other things. When the feast was ended the queen said that each of them could make one wish, and it would be gratified. Kon Ying did not have to hesitate long over her wish.
She knew what she wanted more than anything in the world, and she remembered that she had prayed to the rabbit, so perhaps—perhaps—“Oh, dear queen!” she said at last in her piping little voice, “I be so good if only—if only—I could have—a doll, like the one in the shop window; oh, if I could—if I could.”
Her eyes were full of tears as she finished, for it meant so much to her. The good moon rabbit replied: “You shall have your wish, little one, for you are a good child.”
Kon Ying now bade farewell to the queen and all the dear little Chinese people, and jumping into the sedan chair was soon whirling away once more, and in a short while found herself entering the window of her own home, and placing her tired body on the bed. When she awoke the next morning she remembered the queen’s promise, and—what was that on her bed, close beside her? A queer looking package, and on it, written in Chinese letters, “For good little Kon Ying, from the moon labbit.” Hastily tearing open the packet she saw disclosed—the DOLL! She fancied the god frowned when he saw it.
That night, when the narrow Chinese streets were gay with the many lanterns, and sweet with the fragrant almond blossom and lily, and the happy crowds were thronging the streets, the old highbinder passed the door. He smiled as he saw little Kon Ying seated in the doorway, holding the DOLL in her arms, and with rapture unspeakable in her childish eyes.
“Where you catch ’em?” he inquired in a jovial tone.
“Oh, I so happy,” she said. “I went to the moon last night, and the moon labbit did bling me the DOLL.”
And the highbinder smiled.
SUEY HIP was a little Chinese girl. She did not have a bright, cheerful home, but lived in a cellar, with steps going down from the street. It was dark and smoky down there, but of course it did not seem so bad to Suey Hip as it would to those who have always had a nice home, because she had never known anything else.
Sometimes the children of a wealthy Chinese merchant would toddle by in their richly embroidered robes, and their feet were so small they could hardly walk. Suey Hip would sit on the top of the steps, and when she wished, play on the pavement in front of her home. And, oh, how she did long for some of those pretty garments! But her mo chun worked very hard to get what she had by sewing for the Chinese stores, and there was no way to get anything more.
Now one day when Suey Hip sat on the step sunning herself, and looking with longing eyes at the people as they passed, there came a little American girl, walking with her papa through the streets. Suey Hip was very bashful, and hung her head, and scraped her little sandals on the pavement as they passed before her.
“Hello, little one,” said the man, in such a kind voice that Suey Hip looked up, and as she did so, caught sight of something in the little Dorothy’s arms that put her little motherly heart all in a glow, and she no longer felt afraid. What was it she saw? Why, just the loveliest big doll, with eyes that opened and shut, and it was dressed all in pink silk. Oh, the wonder and delight that sparkled in the dark eyes as she gazed. It seemed too beautiful to be anything but a dream, and she cried as she looked into the sweet face of little Dorothy: “Oh, what is it? Where you catch ’em?”
Dorothy laughed as she replied: “Why, this is my dollie; Santa Claus brought it to me last Christmas.”
“Sanny Claw? Who Sanny Claw?—what’s Clismas?” eagerly inquired the child.
“Don’t you know what Christmas is?” said Dorothy. “Why, Christmas is the loveliest time of all the year. It is then that we hang up our stockings, and in the night while we are asleep Santa Claus comes down the chimney, and fills our stockings with the loveliest things—dolls and toys and candy, and, oh—just everything.”
All this time Dorothy’s papa stood listening in amused silence, as he thought it best to let the children carry on their conversation in their own way.
“I wish I was you,” said Suey Hip. “Sanny Claw no come here; we no have Clismas; you think he ever come—bling me doll?”
Just then Dorothy’s papa spoke and said: “I tell you what to do. You get your mamma to write a note in Chinese to Santa, and we will come to-morrow and get the note and I will see that Santa Claus gets it. It is now just one month until Christmas, and who knows what may happen in that time?”
“You come again to-mollow?” eagerly inquired the child, and Dorothy said, “Yes—yes, we will, won’t we, papa?”
“Yes, dear, we will come again to-morrow.”
When they had passed out of sight along the narrow streets, Suey Hip toddled down the dark steps into the cellar she called home, and going to her mother, who sat sewing by a tiny latticed window, she exclaimed:
“Oh, mo chun! little ’Melican girl she say Sanny Claw come evvy yeah—bling doll—bling candy, toy, evvything. She say you lite note to Sanny Claw; tell him come bling me doll Clismas.”
After a great deal of explanation she made her little brown mother understand, and although she herself could not really believe that anything so nice could happen to her child, yet she had a mother’s tender heart, and was willing to do all the child asked of her. So she left her work, and went to a little table where there were some odd-looking writing materials, Suey Hip watching her eagerly all the while, and taking up a slender brush-stick, dipped it in an ink-like mixture, and began to make queer Chinese letters up and down the long slip of red paper. After much effort it was finished, and given to Suey Hip. She placed it carefully in a little
Suey Hip was very much dressed up
vase, and went out again to play on the streets.
She was so excited that night that she could hardly eat her supper of rice and tea and little sweetened cakes. She was almost too much excited to burn her incense before the little god in the corner, but she managed to get through with it, and was then put to bed. Next day at the same hour Suey Hip’s face had been scrubbed until it fairly shone, and her thick black hair was pasted down and braided into a long queue. She wore her best trousers and blouse of light blue silk, and little red sandals. Suey Hip was very much dressed up.
The shy little mother, who had also come out on the pavement to watch for the Americans, put her fan up to hide her face when she saw them coming, and quietly as a mouse slipped down the steps again. Suey Hip eagerly handed them the note which was to mean so much to her. Dorothy’s mama had come with them this time, and when she caught a glimpse of the timid little Chinese mother peeping eagerly up at them, she, with her kind woman’s heart, stepped down into the dark cellar, and stretched out both her white hands to meet the little brown hands of the mother who lived in a cellar.
She managed to make herself understood, and there was a good deal of low talking, and mysterious signs between the two mothers, but they understood, as mothers will; and papa pretended he did not see and hear. Dorothy told Suey Hip it was just a month until Christmas, and that would not be very long—just four little weeks, which would soon pass. Then Mrs. Suey shyly asked them to come in and have a cup of tea, which, served in the dearest little bowls, proved to be the best they had ever tasted.
After that there were a great many calls from Dorothy and her mama, and a great deal more of that mysterious whispering between the two mothers, until at last it was announced that the very next day would be Christmas. “Oh, too good—too good,” said Suey Hip, as she toddled around, too delighted to be quiet one minute.
It seemed as if the day would never pass, but after awhile the shadows began to fall on the narrow streets, and the big lanterns were lighted, and made everything beautiful; and Suey Hip knew that she was the only child in all the big Chinatown who would hang up her stocking that night.
The hour had come. She got out her very best pair of cream-colored stockings, and with trembling little fingers hung them securely to the foot of her couch, and was soon in the land of dreams. In the midst of her dream she awoke with a start. She wondered if he had been here yet. It was so dark, but oh—she felt as if she just couldn’t wait. But she knew mo chun was tired, and she did not wish to awaken her, so she crept softly to the foot of the bed, and groped around in the dark, for her stockings. Once she almost fell off the bed, but finally her little hands found what she sought, and she felt the stockings.
They were all lumpy and fat,—what could be in them? In the top of one she felt something large—something with hands and feet and hair. Oh, joy! could it be? But she must wait and see.
Oh, how glad she was when she heard mo chun moving, and saw the first glimmer of the day steal into their cellar home! With one bound she was out of bed, and mo chun was as glad as she, for really and truly, in the dark night, the “ ‘Melican Sanny Claw” had by some means crept down there, and just filled her stockings with good things. The thing with hands and feet and hair was a real doll, with big blue eyes that opened and shut, and yellow hair and a blue silk dress. It had on the dearest little shoes and earrings, bracelets, a necklace, and a nice big hat.
Oh, how she hugged it to her heart, and could scarcely put it down long enough to see what else was there. Not only were the stockings full, but there were lovely things all around. There was the nicest little trunk for dollie, all full of pretty dresses and wraps, and there was doll furniture, and the daintiest set of doll dishes. It seemed to the poor little Chinese girl that she had everything in the world there was to have, and—what do you suppose? Poked in through the little latticed window they found a package, and on it the words—
“FOR MAMA SUEY, FROM
SANTA CLAUS.”
When her trembling hands had eagerly opened it, what should she find but a whole lot of gold money? Oh, how happy she was! Now she would not have to work so hard, and strain her eyes at night by the dim candle. Now, they could have some pork whenever they wished, and they pictured all the happiness it would bring them. When Dorothy’s papa and mama came that day they found the happiest hearts in the whole big city, and when they saw the joy that had come into this little cellar home, they were glad that they had given the note to dear old “Sanny Claw.”
She sometimes longed to get out, she and her two little brothers
Mun Chee had a wonderful dream one night. Being a little Chinese aristocrat, she had never played just as the common people’s children play, and in her little heart she sometimes longed to get out, she and her two little brothers, and run wild through the narrow Chinese streets, and to be as free as the winds, just as the children of poor people might do; but she could not do this. So much was due to her station in life, as she was to be a Chinese lady some far-off day. So one night,—just the night before Easter,—after she had fallen asleep on her couch of bamboo, she dreamed a dream as beautiful as a poor child—a child of a coolie even might dream, for dreams are free to all, rich and poor. Perhaps it was because she had gone to sleep wondering if her house would be visited by the Easter rabbit, of which an American friend had told her; perhaps—but then, it does not matter what the reason was, for suddenly she felt some soft little taps on her eyelids, and a warm breath fanned her cheek, and opening her eyes she beheld the dearest, cunningest little rabbit—a white one, with bright pink eyes. It was perched on the edge of her bed, and had awakened her by tapping her Oriental eyelids with its soft white paws. It looked so gentle that she loved it right away, and said: “Who are you?”
It replied in a tiny voice: “If it please your highness, I am the queen of the Easter rabbits; I thought you might like to go with me for a little visit to my realm, the beautiful Easterland.”
“Oh, I likee go,” said Mun Chee. “It must be all light to visit a queen. Yes, yes, I will go, but how?”
“Trust to me, and you shall arrive safely; I will carry you on my back.”
“You? Why, you too small; I such a big girl; you no can cally me.”
“Wait and see!” said Queen Bunny, and with that she began to grow and grow and grow, right before Mun Chee’s astonished eyes, and pretty soon she was as big as a horse.
“Oh, how could you do it?” gasped the little Chinese girl.
“Because I am in league with the fairies, and have all power,” the queen said. “Jump on my back, if it please your ladyship, and we will hasten away.”
She jumped gracefully to the back of the rabbit, and clasped her plump arms tightly around its neck. They bounded up, up, until they were so high in the air that they could not see the world below.
“I neveh knew that labbits could fly,” said she.
“Well, all rabbits cannot fly,” said the queen, “only those of royal blood. There are rabbits and rabbits, you know, just as there are people and people. My sceptre is a white Easter lily, and whoever it touches is at once possessed of unlimited power.”
Now they came to the land of the birds, where they were fairly intoxicated with the beautiful music thrilling from the throats of these feathered songsters. Some of the trees were bright blue, and were filled with all kinds of blue birds; then a yellow tree, something like the acacia, was filled with canaries, making the air fairly alive with song. So they floated on, until the songs of the birds were but an echo.
Then came Candy-land. My! how good it smelled in this wonderful place—all pepper-minty and nice! and what a variety of trees there were—some big, big trees, just full of Chinese preserved ginger! and how Mun Chee did long to put her strong white teeth into some of it! Then there were trees so soft and white that they looked almost as if they were covered with snow; but it really was only white marsh-mallows. Then there were tiny Chinese fairies running all around, pulling bon-bons apart, and squealing with delight when they popped.
Then came Monkey-land, and this was the funniest of all, and even made a little Chinese girl laugh. Some of them were playing a game of base-ball with cocoanuts, and Mun Chee was all the time afraid one of them would get hit in the head; but they seemed to know just how to avoid that. Some of them ran up and asked her to stay to dinner with them, and then, when they thought she was not looking, they made such horrible faces at her that she was glad she had not accepted their invitation. After she had watched several games she hurried on again, looking back once, to see some of the monkeys throwing kisses at her and others making the ugliest faces. That might have been their way of being polite, though she really could not say, as she was not up in the etiquette of monkeys.
Next came the land of bears. There were all kinds,—black, brown, and white. She was scared at first, but the rabbit queen assured her they were harmless, and warranted not to hug. They were dancing some kind of a queer dance, and one silky white one, that looked just like a rug she had at home, came and asked if the little celestial aristocrat would honor him with the next dance. A look from the eyes of Queen Bunny told her she had better accept, and she did so, smiling graciously upon the bear. Around they went, in a giddy whirl, her queue flying in the wind, until it seemed to Mun Chee that everything was going around with them, and she panted: “If it’s just the same to you, I’d rather sit out the rest of this dance.”
“Certainly, your highness,” growled old bruin, and when she was seated he brought her a dish of sweetened snowballs, which were quite refreshing.
When she told them good-by this same bear could not resist the temptation of giving her just a teeny-weeny hug, but it didn’t hurt, and she was quite sure he meant it as a mark of especial favor.
Next came the land of cats. Each land had its queen, and here it was Queen Malta, an immense maltese cat with large, yellow eyes. Such a purring as they made when they saw Mun Chee and Queen Bunny approaching! It was not often they were honored by royalty. The queen approached them, walking on her hind legs, her long silky tail held by a page,—a tiny white kitten, dressed in gauze and spangles.
“In what way shall it please your gracious majesties to be entertained?” said Queen Malta; but to any one else it would have sounded like “Miaouw—miaouw—miaouw—”
Mun Chee replied: “I likee some music.”
Thereupon the queen tapped a silver bell, and there sprang lightly into view a perfect chorus of the most beautiful cats. After curtseying to the royal guests they began the music, and they sang the funniest songs imaginable. Mun Chee laughed till her little sides ached, but when she applauded, the noise scared away all the cats, and they scampered off, regardless of good manners. Queen Malta called them back, and explained matters, however, and the program was carried out without any further commotion. Mun Chee would like to have lingered for quite a while in each of these strange countries, but Queen Bunny told her it was approaching the hour when they were expected at the Easter castle, and so, after a few more swift turns through the air, they began to descend softly, softly, until faint strains of music fell upon their ears.
It was a triumphant march of welcome, and the notes rose glad and high. Soon Mun Chee felt her feet touch the soft grass, and unclasping her arms from about the rabbit’s neck, she stood and gazed about her in a perfect bewilderment of rapture. This was so different from any of the other countries; everywhere the eye rested upon the soft green tracery of leaves and trees, great beds of delicate fern, and flowers of every hue. Through an avenue of tall, waxen Easter lilies she was conducted by two tiny white rabbits, and as they walked, a glorious anthem sounded from all the great Easter lilies, and the golden clappers clanged musically against their satin whiteness.
All the while there was a strange and wonderful perfume filling the air, even sweeter than the scent of the punks burned before the joss in the temple. Some of the lilies bent down and kissed the dear little Chinese maiden as she passed, and their breath was sweeter than any perfume. After being royally entertained in the palace of pure white pearl the child was conducted into the queen’s garden, where a feast was spread under the shade of some tall ferns. Being seated, they were served to delicious tea, in dainty cups, shaped like Easter lilies. Many good things were placed before the little girl, who was very hungry, after her long flight through the air, and nothing in her own home had ever tasted half so good as did these dishes served by the dear little white rabbits.
After much chatting and laughing the strange meal was ended, and the rabbit queen presented Mun Chee with a large basket of pearl and silver, lined with blue and yellow, the colors of the Imperial Court of China, and announced that they would now start out in search of Easter eggs. “Oh, what fun!” said Mun Chee, clapping her hands for joy. A white rabbit page went by her side, and carried her basket. Soon they came to a dense forest of fern, and Mun Chee heard a high, squeaky voice saying:
“How queer!” thought Mun Chee, “to tell me about it. Well, if it has velly long legs I betteh quit looking on the glound, and look up.” She did so, and away back among the ferns she saw some funny bright eyes peeping at her.
“Why, it is a stok” (stork), she exclaimed.
With that the stork came forward, and extended a long claw in greeting, and, pointing to a large nest artfully concealed among the ferns, he said: “You may take what you see, and welcome.”
“Oh, thank you!” she said, and taking several of the very large eggs, placed them carefully in her basket.
“Oh, they won’t break,” said Queen Bunny. “The eggs in Easterland are warranted not to break.”
And now the soft trill of a canary rippled from a tree,—a tiny tree, that a child could easily reach. Sure enough, there was the dearest little canary, perched on a branch, singing sweetly,—
There in the little nest were a lot of the tiniest eggs, and all bright yellow, just the color of Mrs. Canary herself.
“Oh, you gentle little thing—you so good to give me youh cunning little eggs.”
“Don’t mention it!” said Canary.
Then a white dove cooed from its house near by,—
Her gift was six eggs, pure white, with just the tiniest little pink polkadots in them. While she was admiring them she heard a gentle purr, which seemed to come from the ground under her feet, and looking down she saw peeping from a moss-lined hole in the ground a pair of pink eyes, and a white, soft paw, as the voice of this Easter rabbit purred,—
“Well, I likee find what no one else has found,” she said; and putting her hand into the moss-lined nest, she drew out—not an egg, as she had expected, but six of the tiniest baby rabbits, no bigger than her thumb.
“Oh, you cunning little babies! You shall go and live with me,” said Mun Chee; and thanking the Easter rabbit, she passed on to the home of a blue-bird, on a swinging bough, and heard her singing,—
What a beautiful blue they were, to be sure! just like the sky. Then a loud cackling fell upon her ear, and she could distinguish the words,—
She saw that the queer voice came from a bright red little hen, who gave her some beautiful eggs when she had given the bread.
Following the sound of a sharp voice she walked along the path until she came to a most beautiful peacock, gorgeous in the spread of its wonderful plumage.
This pleased her more than any of the others, because the peacock feather is sacred to the Chinese, and is used in their temples where they pray to the joss. The peacock’s offering was a very large bunch of these brilliant feathers, to take to her mo chun, while it said in a queer, sharp voice,—
“Now for the last place,” said Queen Bunny; and following the sound of a terrible screeching noise, they climbed a ladder into a tall tree, and there was a beautiful American eagle. It was not cross a bit, as eagles usually are, but was singing,—
It seemed to Mun Chee that the best came last, for these were such beautiful eggs, and so different from any of the others. Her basket was quite full now, and as she saw the shade growing more dense beneath the trees she thought it must be quite time for her to return to her own home. So, after bidding good-by to all the royal company of white rabbits, and having her arms filled with the fragrant China lilies, she sprang upon the queen’s back once more, and sped away—away—far from the Easter palace—the palace of a dream.
PING PONG was not a game, but a dear little Chinese boy, who was eagerly looking forward to something which was almost like an American Christmas. The Chinese do not have any Christmas, but they have something else which serves the purpose, as far as their eager little hearts are concerned, and that is, the Festival of the Moon. Ping Pong’s round, fat, and very dirty face looked something like a moon as he leaned over the counter in his father’s drug store, and watched him weigh and mix portions of dried lizards and snakes for his customers; for the Chinese use dried lizards and snakes, and all sorts of funny things, for medicine.
It would seem so very queer to an American child, but it did not strike little Ping Pong as being at all out of the way, and he would probably have thought it just as strange to know that people took powders and pills. He thought when he grew up to be a “velly big man” like his father, he would either be a druggist or a highbinder, or better still he might be both; yet, a highbinder was one who always sought a way of killing people he did not like, and a druggist sometimes killed people he really did like,—but that was always through mistake, of course.
Ping Pong and his dear little sister Ping Yet were teasing the good-natured father to take them to the joss house. That was indeed a queer idea. Why should two children wish to go to the temple to pray to the joss? Surely the father could pray enough for himself and his family, too. But he never liked to refuse any reasonable request of his children, so he asked advice of the little mother, who was engaged in some very mysterious occupation which compelled her to keep the kitchen door locked. Mo chun opened the door cautiously, and, peeping out, whispered to ho chun, who smiled in a peculiar way. “What foh you likee go joss house, you hai tongs?” (babies), she now asked, and Ping Pong replied: “We likee play to good joss to bling us pletty moon-cakes.”
The mother had to giggle at that, in her dear little Chinese way, for she knew a good deal about moon-cakes, and knew about the white rabbit. But she was not going to tell all she knew, just now, so she only smiled in her sweet mother way, and gave her consent to their going.
It was just getting dark when they left, and the proud father started out to the joss house with a happy child on each side of him, and two small brown hands clasped tightly in his big brown ones. They had never been to the temple before, but they had heard it was a very good thing to do when one wanted anything very badly.
“How pletty the big dlagon lantehns look!” they exclaimed.
Yes, the big lanterns did indeed look pretty, as they gleamed and swayed in front of every door in the big Chinatown of San Francisco, and looked like big golden moons, almost as big as the moon in which the white rabbit lived. The streets were very gay at this season, and the shops were full of people buying gifts.
Little Ping Yet made a very pretty picture as she shyly patted down the narrow streets with her embroidered sandals, wide silken trousers, and blue silk blouse richly embroidered by the loving fingers of her dear mo chun. Her polished hair was done in a queue.
The moon rabbit must surely have passed this way, for the windows were all full of little cakes shaped like the moon. They thought that all the year, while they were flying kites, popping fire-crackers, and playing in the street in front of their home, the white rabbit must be always pounding rice.
It took them a very long time to get to the joss house, because there were so many interesting things on the way. Ping Pong, in boyish eagerness, pressed his little nose and dirty fingers right up against the glass in one place, or at least he thought it was the glass, until he fell right in, with his nose on a candy pagoda thirteen stories high, and then he found out his mistake. That glass happened to be broken out, and he was very much embarrassed. The gingerbread peacock seemed to glare scornfully at him as his ho chun pulled him out, and the painted gods and goddesses seemed to smile on him in a pitying way.
Little Ping Yet was as much ashamed as if she herself had fallen with her nose on a Chinese pagoda, and she hid her face with her wide silken sleeves. But the shopkeeper was good natured and said, with a kindly pat of the button on top of Ping Pong’s round Chinese cap, “Neveh mind! that’s all light; you heap good samen jai and ne jai (boy and girl). I hope you get heap plenty moon-cake flom the white labbit.”
They wandered on in happy abandon, until they reached the long steps, which, ho chun informed them, led up to the temple of the good Joss. They had so often wondered what the joss looked like; was he a big rabbit, or a peacock, or perhaps a dragon with scaly sides and spitting fire? They secretly hoped, in their innocent little hearts, that if it was a “dlagon” he would refrain from spitting fire while they were there. When they thought of what might await them, they were almost sorry they had come, and their timid little hearts beat fearfully against their blouses; but the touch of ho chun’s strong hand was reassuring, and they reflected that surely there could be nothing so very dreadful up there, or he would not have taken them.
First they passed through a room where some Chinamen were selling long narrow red-paper packages of incense sticks. Ho chun bought one, and the men spoke kindly to the boy and girl, and they passed on. Up another flight of steps they went, until it seemed as if they must be almost as high up as the moon. A strong odor of incense greeted their nostrils, and it seemed good, for they were accustomed to it, as it was always burning at home before the different gods and ancestral tablets.
The odor grew stronger, and they heard some one beating the big gong. Soon they had placed their sandalled feet upon the last step, and their oblique eyes were fairly dazzled with the sparkle and beauty of it all.
“Where joss? I likee see him,” they both exclaimed in awed whispers, while ho chun pointed to the gaudy altar, gay with its brass carvings and rosettes of red paper. Bright peacock feathers were plentiful, and seemed to stare at them with a thousand eyes. Back of it all, in a sheltered recess, was the joss. They heaved a sigh of relief that he was not a dragon. An American child would have thought him perfectly hideous, but the Chinese children have such different ideas, and they exclaimed rapturously, “Oh, velly pletty joss! heap fine god; me likee.”
Perhaps they thought it best to say very nice things of him in his presence, however, because it would never do to offend him, or he might not allow the white “labbit” to visit them. So they ventured quite near, and spoke in tones he could not fail to hear.
After a whispered consultation with ho chun they opened the pretty red-paper package, and each took from it two incense sticks, and their father having lighted them, the children waved them several times right under the nose of the great and high one, and bowed their little heads to the floor a great many times, meanwhile asking in their innocent little way that the good joss would please make the white rabbit bring them something nice. When they had finished, they placed the rest of the incense sticks in the great brass urn in front of the joss, and the sacred ashes fell down and helped to fill it up. Every time they had bowed their heads the big gong had been beaten, and at first the noise had frightened them, but finally they grew to like it.
Ho chun thought that while they were there, they had better try throwing the fortune sticks, as he knew it would please them, so he picked up a tall round box, full of bamboo sticks, and explained it to them. They first asked the joss “Will we get any moon-cakes?” Then each in turn took the box and shook it until one stick fell out, when they picked it up, and ho chun read the Chinese number on it, then looked in a book and found out what that number said. Fortunately the answer was favorable, and they felt happy now. That meant that they might really expect some gift from the moon rabbit.
Before going home they all stepped out on the beautiful balcony on which were swinging the biggest lanterns they had ever seen, and they leaned over the edge, where there were great pots of the pretty China lily in blossom, with red papers tied around the stems, and looked at the hundreds of people passing below them. The grown-up people all had their arms full of bundles, and little three-cornered brown paper parcels. All was noisy and happy and bright, because it was the eve of the Moon Festival, and the shopping must all be done before the rabbit should come.
Down the long steps they went again, and into the crowded street, where all was joy and delight, and mysterious whispering.
“Oh, that pletty pagoda!” said Ping Pong, “I so ’flaid the labbit no bling me pagoda, I think ho chun betteh get.”
Ho chun laughed and said, “No! I wait and see if the labbit come, I think bimeby he come and bling pagoda; I no can tell—we wait and see.”
But what if he should forget to bring one? and they were such beautiful pagodas, and all made of candy. The little round faces were sober for a while, thinking how very dreadful it would be if, after all, the rabbit did not come, or, if he did come, and should forget to bring the much-desired pagoda.
They were very tired when at last they reached their home, over which gleamed the big golden Chinese letters of welcome, and in a little bowl beside the door burned the punk sticks, day and night, to keep the evil spirits from entering their home. Their tired little legs could hardly climb the stairs, but at last they were there, and had tumbled into the mother’s loving arms, and had been kissed and questioned thoroughly.
Mo chun was really astonished to hear of the glorious time they had enjoyed, and of the many wonders they had seen. When they mentioned the pagoda she was suddenly seized with the giggles, and her laughter was so merry and contagious that they all laughed till their sides ached, though the children could not have told why they laughed. The mother and father knew why, but they would not tell. The hour had come, and indeed it was long past the hour when they should have gone to bed, but then the beautiful Moon Festival came only once a year, and so they might be allowed a few privileges. They were finally asleep on their beds of matting, and the mother looked tenderly at the rosy little faces as she went into the kitchen—the kitchen which for some reason had been locked all day.
Well, morning came at last, as it always does, and before the sun was up Ping Pong and his sister jumped out of bed, exclaiming: “Oh, mo chun, has the white labbit been?”
Oh, what were all those beautiful things on the table? Why, the whole room was changed. When they had gone to bed the night before, there was nothing there but just the things that belonged in the room, and now—and now— The white rabbit had