In the City.

Lohe attached himself to the party of fish carriers, because he did not wish them to get away before binding themselves to go to the gold fields. A two hours' walk diagonally across the island brought them to a high point of land above the city of Hongkong. Below them the white houses shimmered in the moonlight, stretching row after row like steps down to the harbor, and out on the glistening sea many large vessels lay at anchor. The carriers put down their burden to rest for a time before descending into the streets of the city.

"The barbarians of the West are a capable people after their fashion," said Lohe. "See what a great city they have built here where a few years ago there were only a half dozen or more bamboo huts. And, too, each day their power increases. Over there another great building with towers reaching to the very sky is going up. What can it be?"

"One of their pagodas," answered Lihoa, "and down there is the school in which one of my nephews is being instructed in the learning of the West. The white-faced women with the long veils brought him up because my sister exposed him when a baby. They found and cared for him in the great white house where a light burns in the window; there they bring up the children which our women are not able to care for. Let us go down and see what is going on at this time of the night."

Lohe and Lihoa went down to the long low orphanage in which the Sisters of Mercy care for a hundred or more foundlings. The shutters were drawn, but they found a tiny hole through which they could peep. In the dormitory they saw four rows of small white beds, all spread with beautiful white linen, and in each little bed lay a child. The most of them were asleep, but a few were crying and fretting—for Chinese babies have quite as many troubles as American children. Some of the nuns were walking up and down between the rows of beds, lovingly tucking up the fretful little beings, giving the bottle to some, and rocking others with the utmost patience. Hardly did they quiet one before another began to whimper, and so it went on. Shaking their heads the two Chinamen slipped away. They had seen for themselves the love and patience with which the Sisters care for these poor deserted infants.

"I thought we were going to find them putting the children's eyes out," said Lohe, "when I heard the cries in there. These women show greater love for these babes than their own mothers."

"Yes, yes," answered Lihoa. "It is wonderful. I wish our priests would do for our children what the foreigners do for them."

Without further delay Lihoa went to Nona, the fish dealer, who lived in one of the alleys near the harbor. All night long he watched and waited for the fishermen who came to him from all parts of the island. Complaining as he took what Lihoa had brought, he weighed the fish and poured the oysters out in a heap to estimate their value, then handed the old Chinaman a tael ($1.50) and several sapecks.

"What? Is that all you are going to give me, when you know that the sum must be divided among twenty families?" complained Lihoa. "To-morrow morning in the market you will get three times that amount for the beautiful fish."

"Well—and why not? When I take inferior things to the market, I have to content myself with a small price.—Not a sapeck more for you," answered the dealer.

"Now then, Nona, don't be surprised if you get no more fish from us. We are going into a more profitable business. We are going to the distant Goldland, and shall come back rich men."

"What? What do you mean, you fools?" cried Nona. "Do you want to be drowned? Well, if you get back with whole skins you'll be doing well, and no matter how much gold you get, the rich Natse will have it all before you are through with him."

"As far as drowning is concerned, we could drown easily in the business in which we are now engaged, and as to Natse's getting our gold, we'll attend to that." With these words Lihoa put the money in his pocket and started with his followers to the harbor, where, behind one of the warehouses, they laid down and took a nap.

At break of day they went to interview Natse, who was trying to get three hundred men to sail on the "St. George". When they arrived, he had just engaged a hundred or more, and there seemed no likelihood of there being a place for Lihoa and his followers, "though Lohe's people always had the preference". "But", said Natse, "if you have some one among your people who understands the language of the West well enough to act as interpreter, perhaps I can arrange for you and a dozen or more of your friends to go."

Then an idea popped into old Lihoa's head: "Wait until to-night, and I will bring you an answer," he said. "I think I can get an interpreter."

Lihoa sent his companions to the hamlet with the command, that those who wished to go on the trip to the Goldland were to get ready immediately, and he betook himself straight to the College of the Holy Saviour. There he asked to see the foreign teacher. Father Somazzo came into the reception room, and learned to his utter astonishment that the old Chinaman had called to demand his beloved pupil, little Peppo. Quietly the priest listened while the old man spoke, then took a pinch of snuff, and said: "My dear friend, for twelve years we have had this boy in our care, and have spent much time and money on him, and now that he is old enough to be of use, you ask us to give him to you. You are unreasonable. Prove in the court that the child is yours, and then, that we took him illegally, and you can have him. He has not been brought up in your religion, as you know, but is a Christian. We have many plans and hopes for him, and I am sure he will not care to leave us. Go, and may peace attend you."

"But I am the boy's uncle, and an uncle has paternal power over his sister's children according to Chinese law. I know the boy by the birthmark on his wrist," said Lihoa.

"Take your claims into court, and we will settle them there. In the meantime may peace attend you," repeated the missioner as he left the man.

Lihoa expected a refusal, for he was not so simple-minded as to believe that the child would be given over to him without ado, but the answer that he received, according to his way of thinking, justified his kidnapping his nephew. He knew a Chinese youth, who was a servant at the seminary, and to him he went for help to carry out his plan of getting possession of Peppo. In a nearby tavern he waited for Totu—for that was the youth's name—knowing that while the missioners and their pupils were at table, he was accustomed to come here for a glass of saki, a wine made from burnt rice. When he entered, Lihoa went and sat down beside him, addressed him as cousin, and ordered and paid for a second glass of saki. The two conversed for a time in low tones, then finally Totu said:

"Agreed! The day after to-morrow, at the New Year's celebration, I'll see to it that you get your nephew, but may the gods of the sea destroy your ship, if you do not pay me the money you say you will. I must have three tael to-morrow, for this may cost me my job, and you know, 'No penny, no paternoster'." Lihoa promised what Totu asked, and the two separated.