The next morning Tuen commenced her simple round of duties, in which she was instructed by the women of the inner court. At first her work was only to draw water, help with the washing and do the drudgery, and her lot was often hard, but it did not escape the watchful Wang that she was quick and willing, so one day she said to her:

"Tuen, there is much spinning to be done, and if your fingers are very nimble I will teach you to manage the wheel. But mind you, if you are all thumbs you will have to stay where you are."

So that was the way it came about that Tuen was soon seated at the little spinning-wheel, with its three spindles, pulling out interminable lengths of cotton thread from the fleecy rolls in her hand, and above the soft, insistent buzzing of the wheel she could hear the voices of the others as they talked among themselves. She listened attentively to all they said, as she worked, with both feet, the treadle of her singing wheel, and her face was flushed with pride at the importance of her new position. She sat silent, never once raising her eyes from her work, but in all the Flowery Kingdom there was not that day a prouder girl, and she felt so grateful to Wang that when dark came, and she had to put up her work, she could not help from giving her a good hug.

"I like this so much better than the kitchen labor," she whispered, "and I intend to work harder than I ever did in all my life. Only let me stay here, dear Wang."

And when Wang promised, she went to sleep so happy.

Thus the weeks went by, and Tuen's face grew full, and her arms round and plump, and she forgot all about what it was to be hungry, and was quite satisfied. She still often thought about her dear ones, but she no longer wept to see them as she had once done, and in place of crying because she would never live with them again, she commenced to think of them as so rich and fine in their own home, and all because of her.

Once as they all sat spinning, a young woman said dolefully:

"Oh how I wish I had little feet! Every one knows that I am but a common laborer as soon as they see me coming."

"The Viceroy's wife has such pretty ones," Wang answered. "They are not more than two inches long."

"Such feet are not for the poor like us," sighed the first speaker. "Why, mine must be over ten inches long. I don't suppose any one will ever marry me."

"Just look what long ones Tuen has and be consoled," another said laughingly. "Surely, the child's growth has been in one direction only."

"She had better bind a piece of cloth tight around them every night, so they wont grow while she is asleep," someone suggested.

"I don't want little feet," Tuen answered, for the first time taking part in the conversation. "I am a Tartar, and they never bind their feet. My mother told me so."

"What stupidity!" said the woman nearest Tuen contemptuously.

"No it is not stupidity," the girl replied firmly. "My father was a very learned man—he belonged to the literati—" looking proudly around her to see the effect of this announcement, "and he said the custom of binding the feet became the fashion because an Empress was once born with club feet, and then all the officers of the court wrapped up their daughters so that the poor Empress would not feel bad when she looked at her own.

"Your father must be very smart to tell you such a likely tale as that," one of her companions retorted sarcastically. "It's a wonder he did not become a story-teller upon the street, for surely all would have flocked to listen to him."

"I once heard the Viceroy tell the mistress that the men of the country originated the idea of binding the women's feet, so they would not go gadding about," Wang interposed. "It truly is a good way to keep them at home."

"I bound the feet of my little girl," said one of the women, "and oh, how she did cry. But I didn't mind that, for I was determined that when she grew up she should have a husband, and no man wants a woman with big feet. And it's better never to be born than to be born a girl, any way, and it's also better to have never been born than not to have a husband. She would not sleep at night, but lay sobbing that they hurt her so, and begging me to take the bandage off. Of course I did not listen to her, and had she lived her feet would have been as small perhaps as those of the Viceroy's wife; but when she died every one said I ought to be glad to get rid of a girl, and that there would be one mouth less to feed."

"Were you glad?" asked Tuen.

The woman shook her head.

"No," she said. "I loved her if she was a girl."

"My father and my mother both loved me," Tuen told them with a sigh, "and they would not have sold me if they had not been hungry. Then they did not want to do it, but I made them."

"And you are a lot better off," Wang said.

"I would have rather been poor all my life and stayed with them," was Tuen's answer.

"She is a strange child," one of them whispered to her neighbor. "She says such very stupid things."

"Talking of story-tellers," cried one of them, "reminds me that once on the Festival of the Dead as I went to the hills to worship at the grave of my husband's ancestors, I heard a man tell such a wonderful story. If I had had any cash I would have given it to him. It was all about a great lady whose husband pretended to be dead and afterwards came back to life and cut her head off. He said he knew a great many delightful tales that he had read in books, and I would have loved to listen to him all day, but my husband said a woman could not understand such things."

"Oh I would love to read," Tuen breathed eagerly, and the women laughed at this speech and said she was truly foolish. Tuen blushed and hung her head, and after this she was silent.

* * * * * * *

A year had passed since Tuen came to live at the Viceroy's yÂmen, and in that time she had grown taller, fairer, and now was budding into womanhood, or at least so it was considered in that land, where girls of twelve years old are thought mature enough to marry. She had become a great favorite with every one in the palace on account of her amiable disposition and kindness to every one, and even the Viceroy's wife had forgotten her former prejudice and took a kindly interest in her. Wang, seeing that her fingers were nimble and her hand steady, had long ago promoted her to a place before the embroidery frame, and was delighted to see how skilful the girl was with the needle. She taught Tuen to embroider on delicate silks and crÊpes the most beautiful flowers in nature's garden, and many strange creeping things that were said to live at the bottom of the sea and turn yellow if the sun shone on them, so they must always be worked in glittering gilt thread, bright as the sunshine. And such charming colors as she day by day painted in with her needle! No wonder that finally she made many garments for little Tung-li, the only child of the proud Viceroy, and gorgeous robes they were to behold. At last Wang's pride in her pupil caused her to suggest that Tuen should make a tunic for the Viceroy as a present on the coming New Year, for it is the Chinese custom to exchange gifts at that season. So Tuen went to work on a piece of lustrous purple satin, and scattered over it half-open pink buds, and crimson blossoms, and yellow flowers strung together with gold thread, and upon the breast of it she worked the golden lily. Very proud was she of her handiwork when the last stitch had been taken and she held it up before Wang's admiring gaze, and truly it was a robe fit to be worn by the Emperor himself.

"How can I ever repay you, dear Wang," Tuen cried, "for teaching me to do this? If it only brings me favor with the Viceroy I shall be so happy!"

And Wang, not understanding the secret Tuen had locked within her heart, answered half laughing, but perhaps with a grain of seriousness under the jest:

"By having me for your maid, little one, when you become a great lady."

"Indeed, indeed I will," the girl answered heartily, "and for even more than my maid. You shall be my friend, my mother."

And this promise she did not forget.