Many conflicting emotions have torn the heart of poor little Tuen since she sat among the fallen idols in the lonely temple, and she has learned that life may be a hateful thing, even to the young. After long weeks of privation and hopelessness, after the bitter disappointment of finding that even in the great city of Lu Chang food and clothing were not for those who could not buy, she realized suddenly with that exaltation of martyrdom that comes to strong women in all climes and in all ages, that she must be the sacrifice offered for the happiness of her dear ones.

So one day she went to the despairing Niu Tsang and said quietly:

"Father, do not longer grieve. I have found a way out of all our trouble."

He looked at her in amazement, and she went on quickly:

"I am young and strong, but, alas! a useless burden to you. I have thought about it for long, and yesterday when I heard it said on the street that many strings of cash are paid for girls like me, I knew I could be the one to save you. If you can only sell me to some great mandarin, the price will be enough to enable you to go back to the home of our ancestors, there to pass your days in peace."

"Never!" her father cried vehemently. "You do not know what you are talking about. Sell you to be a slave, you in whose veins flows the blood of the unconquerable Tartars, whose people have been mandarins and rulers,—sell you to some despot master? By the memory of Confucius, never!"

"Do not answer me to-day, father," she said slowly, knowing that the pangs of hunger which would come with the morrow were stronger than love or pride or any other human feeling. "Only think it over, and remember that I must work anyway, and a woman's lot is ever hard. 'T is so ordained by the gods. Consider well before you refuse to procure comfort for all by such simple means."

Niu Tsang shook his head with stern determination, for although it is not a Chinese custom to care for the girls of the household, in the long days he and Tuen had journeyed together he had become deeply attached to his wise little daughter, and he was most unwilling to part with her. But he weighed well her words, and goaded on by cruel shameless hunger, that remembers neither blood nor conscience, he at last consented to her plan.

"The iron hand of poverty crushes the spirit of the proudest," he murmured sadly.

It so happened that on the third morning after Tuen had talked with him, the Viceroy of the province, seated in a sedan borne by eight attendants, for the number of these chair-bearers is a sign of official rank, came to the Ching-hwang-miau (City Guardian's Temple) to worship. Now in front of this temple was always a numerous gathering, composed of venders of different wares, idlers, and beggars, and among this throng stood Niu Tsang and his family. Too proud to descend to the level of a common beggar, and unable to find work, he now waited for a fitting opportunity to dispose of Tuen, since that seemed the only means left by which he could repair his fallen fortunes. As the Viceroy, alighting from his chair, entered the portal, Tuen crept closer to her father and whispered: "Offer me to him when he comes out. He is a great man, with much money, and doubtless has many slaves."

A glow of hope kindled in the eyes of Niu, although he sighed heavily, and leaving the mother and her baby at a little distance he took Tuen and went up opposite the entrance. It seemed hours to the waiting girl, so intense was her anxiety, before the Viceroy appeared, though in reality his devotions were very short. When he saw that she and her father barred the way to his sedan he made an imperious gesture for them to stand aside, but Niu Tsang saluted him humbly, but did not move. There was even a quiet dignity about him that did not escape the Viceroy, as he said in a trembling voice:

"I crave your forgiveness, oh illustrious sir, but I have a most beautiful possession—all unworthy that I am—and as poverty presses hard upon me I now offer it to you."

"And what is it?" the Viceroy questioned impatiently, yet attracted by something in the manner of the man before him.

"Behold it," Niu answered, taking Tuen by the hand and drawing her from behind him, where she had hitherto stood unnoticed.

Her appearance it must be confessed was not attractive, for her loose outer robe was soiled and frayed, and the petticoat hanging below it was in tatters. Her face, which under other circumstances would doubtless have been round and plump, was now pinched and worn, and her lips were almost bloodless. A mass of uncombed hair hung to her waist, a faint pink flush, born of excitement, burned through the olive of her cheeks, and her little mouth quivered piteously as she waited with downcast eyes the verdict of this august personage.

"Beautiful, did you say?" the Viceroy questioned, with a sarcastic inflection in his voice that stung the sensitive Tuen to the quick, and caused her to raise her soft, solemn eyes to him with a pleading, half-reproachful look, while the flush on her cheeks deepened to crimson.

"Umh—she is not ugly," he said with sudden condescension. "And now tell me of her age, her home, and what she can do,—then will we talk of the price."

"She is no beggar maid," her father answered, lifting his head, "for I, her father, belong to the literati in my own province, and her people have ever been great ones. But alas! the wild rebellion swept through our land, and we saw our home in ruins, our all destroyed. Starvation must be our lot if we stayed there, so I started for Lu Chang, bringing my family, hoping here to find work. But I have failed, and Tuen is now my only hope. She is young and strong and fair, a valuable possession to the one who buys her. She is also wise and good, of most amiable disposition, and quick in learning woman's work, for her hands are deft and her mind alert. Because such girls are rare and cannot be often bought, the price for her is no petty sum," Niu concluded, anxious now to drive a good bargain.

After much haggling the amount was at last agreed upon, and Tuen listening wondered that so many strings of cash should be paid for a useless girl. "Far, far more than I am worth," she told herself with deep humility.

"Bring her to my yÂmen[3] to-morrow at midday," the Viceroy said as he got into his sedan, "and the money will then be paid you."

Tuen gazed after him as one fascinated. To her excited imagination he looked as stern and pitiless as the gods she had worshipped in her far-away home, and the splendor of his appearance had awed her. Her father was divided between grief at her fate, and the joy at the thought of the great wealth that would be his on the morrow, for the sum agreed upon was enough to make him comfortable the remainder of his life in that land where necessities cost but little and luxuries are almost unknown.

The family of Niu Tsang spent that night in the open space in front of the temple, and scarce had Tuen fallen asleep when she was awakened by a great commotion. She heard loud cries in the street, mingled with the incessant beating of drums and cymbals, and moving lights and grotesque figures were all around her. Springing to her feet she uttered a piercing shriek, for her first thought was that the Viceroy had come for her.

"Don't let him have me—don't let him have me," she screamed wildly.

"Hush!" her father commanded. "Do you not see that this is the procession of the Rain Dragons? The drought has been very long, and the people try to please the gods, so that we may have cooling showers."

Tuen rubbed her eyes, and slipping close to her mother watched eagerly the strange gathering that now came in sight. In front was a surging crowd, uttering cries of delight, and behind came a throng of men bearing aloft huge, hideous dragons. The heads of these serpents were made of thin paper with lights inside, and their eyes were red as fire, while their wide-open mouths gaped hungrily. Their bodies were made of semi-transparent cloth over hoops of bamboo, and men walked underneath holding them high in the air with sticks which they so moved that the dragons made their way along in undulating heaps, much to the delight of the populace. But Tuen viewed it all very seriously.

"Will the dragons let it rain now, father?" she inquired anxiously.

"Oh, I suppose so," he answered carelessly. "They will if they are ready to, and if they are not—well, it will still be dry. And now, Tuen, you must go to sleep again, for the Viceroy will not want a blinking, stupid girl. He will say that I cheated him."

"Did you, father?" she questioned fearfully, but her father only chuckled and said nothing, and poor Tuen had a new thought to torment her.

With all these things on her mind it was long before she could go to sleep, and when her weary eyes could keep open no longer, she was pursued in her dreams by a horrible dragon with yawning, cruel mouth, and gleaming eyes, and when helplessly she sank down before this awful object,—lo! it turned into the Viceroy.

The dream was not reassuring, and when the morrow came she could not forget it.