by Jane Andrews
THE STORY OF PEN-SE.
Dear children, have you ever watched the sun set? If you live in thecountry, I am almost sure you have many times delighted yourselveswith the gold and rosy clouds. But those of you who live in the citydo not often have the opportunity, the high houses and narrow streetsshut out so much of the sky.
I am so happy as to live in the country; and let me tell you where Igo to see the sun set.
The house in which I live has some dark, narrow garret stairs leadingfrom the third story into a small garret under the roof, and manyand many a time do I go up these narrow stairs, and again up to thescuttle-window in the roof, open it, and seat myself on the top stepor on the roof itself. Here I can look over the house-tops, and evenover the tree-tops, seeing many things of which I may perhaps tell youat some time; but to-night we are to look at the sunset.
Can you play that you are up here with me, looking past the houses,past the elm-trees and the low hills that seem so far away, to wherethe sun hangs low, like a great red ball, so bright that we can hardlylook at it? Watch it with me. Now a little part has disappeared; nowit is half gone, and in a minute more we see nothing but the train ofbright clouds it has left behind.
Where did it go?
It seemed to slip down over the edge of the world. To-morrow morning,if you are up early, you will see it come back again on the otherside. As it goes away from us to-night, it is coming to somebody wholives far away, round the other side of the world. While we had thesunshine, she had night; and now, when night is coming to us, it ismorning for her.
I think men have always felt like following the sun to the unknownWest, beyond its golden gate of setting day, and perhaps that has ledmany a wanderer on his path of discovery. Let us follow the sun overthe rolling earth.
The sun has gone; shall we go, too, and take a peep round there to seewho is having morning now?
The long, bright sunbeams are sliding over the tossing ocean, andsparkling on the blue water of a river upon which are hundreds ofboats. The boats are not like those which we see here, with whitesails or long oars. They are clumsy, square-looking things, withoutsails, and they have little sheds or houses built upon them. We willlook into one, and see what is to be seen.
There is something like a little yard built all around this boat;in it are ducks,--more ducks than you can well count. This is theirbedroom, where they sleep at night; but now it is morning, and theyare all stirring,--waddling about as well as they can in the crowd,and quacking with most noisy voices. They are waking up Kang-hy, theirmaster, who lives in the middle of the boat; and out he comes from thedoor of his odd house, and out comes little Pen-se, his daughter, wholikes to see the ducks go for their breakfast.
The father opens a gate or door in the basket-work fence of the ducks'house, and they all crowd and hurry to reach the water again, afterstaying all night shut up in this cage. There they go, tumbling anddiving. Each must have a thorough bath first of all; then the olddrake leads the way, and they swim off in the bright water along theshore for a hundred yards, and then among the marshes, where they willfeed all day, and come back at night when they hear the shrill whistleof Kang-hy calling them to come home and go to bed.
Pen-se and her father will go in to breakfast now, under the bambooroof which slides over the middle part of the boat, or can be pushedback if they desire. As Kang-hy turns to go in, and takes off hisbamboo hat, the sun shines on his bare, shaved head, where only onelock of hair is left; that is braided into a long, thick tail, andhangs far down his back. He is very proud of it, and nothing wouldinduce him to have it cut off. Now it hangs down over his loose bluenankeen jacket, but when he goes to work he will twist it round uponthe crown of his head, and tuck the end under the coil to keep it outof the way. Isn't this a funny way for a man to wear his hair? Pen-sehas hers still in little soft curls, but by and by it will be braided,and at last fastened up into a high knot on the top of her head, asher mother's is. Her little brother Lin already has his head shavedalmost bare, and waits impatiently for the time when his single lockof hair will be long enough to braid.
When I was a child it was a very rare thing to see people such asthese in our own land, but now we are quite familiar with these oddways of dressing, and our streets have many of these funny names ontheir signs.
Shall we look in to see them at breakfast? Tea for the children aswell as for the father and mother. They have no milk, and do not liketo drink water, so they take many cups of tea every day. And here,too, are their bowls of rice upon the table, but no spoons or forkswith which to eat it. Pen-se, however, does not need spoon or fork;she takes two small, smooth sticks, and, lifting the bowl to hermouth, uses the sticks like a little shovel. You would spill the riceand soil your dress if you should try to do so, but these childrenknow no other way, and they have learned to do it quite carefully.
The sticks are called chopsticks; and up in the great house on thehill, where Pen-se went to carry fish, lives a little lady who hasbeautiful pearl chopsticks, and wears roses in her hair. Pen-se oftenthinks of her, and wishes she might go again to carry the fish, andsee some of the beautiful things in that garden with the high walls.Perhaps you have in your own house, or in your schoolroom, pictures ofsome of the pretty things that may have been there,--little childrenand ladies dressed in flowery gowns, with fans in their hands;tea-tables and pretty dishes, and a great many lovely flowers andbeautiful birds.
But now she must not stop to think. Breakfast is over, and the fathermust go on shore to his work,--carrying tea-boxes to the store of agreat merchant. Lin, too, goes to his work, of which I will by and bytell you; and even Pen-se and her little sister, young as they are,must go with their mother, who has a tanka-boat in which she carriesfresh fruit and vegetables, to the big ships which are lying offshore. The two little girls can help at the oars, while the mothersteers to guide the boat.
I wish I could tell you how pleasant it is out on the river thisbright morning. A hundred boats are moving; the ducks and geesehave all gone up the stream; the people who live in the boats havebreakfasted, and the fishermen have come out to their work. Thisis Lin's work. He works with his uncle Chow, and already his bluetrousers are stripped above his knees, and he stands on the wetfishing-raft watching some brown birds. Suddenly one of them plungesinto the water and brings up a fish in its yellow bill. Lin takes itout and sends the bird for another; and such industrious fishermenare the brown cormorants that they keep Lin and his uncle busy all themorning, until the two large baskets are filled with fish, and thenthe cormorants may catch for themselves. Lin brings his bamboo pole,rests it across his shoulders, hangs one basket on each end, and goesup into the town to sell his fish. Here it was that Pen-se went onthat happy day when she saw the little lady in the house on the hill,and she has not forgotten the wonders of that day in the streets.
The gay sign-posts in front of the shops, with colors flying; the busyworkmen,--tinkers mending or making their wares; blacksmiths with alltheir tools set up at the corners of the streets; barbers withgrave faces, intently braiding the long hair of their customers;water-carriers with deep water-buckets hung from a bamboo pole likeLin's fish-baskets; the soldiers in their paper helmets, wadded gowns,and quilted petticoats, with long, clumsy guns over their shoulders;and learned scholars in brown gowns, blue bordered, and golden birdson their caps. The high officers, cousins to the emperor, have thesacred yellow girdle round their waists, and very long braided tailshanging below their small caps. Here and there you may see a high,narrow box, resting on poles, carried by two men. It is the only kindof carriage which you will see in these streets, and in it is a ladygoing out to take the air; although I am sadly afraid she gets butlittle, shut up there in her box. I would rather be like Pen-se, apoor, hardworking little girl, with a fresh life on the river, and ahard mat spread for her bed in the boat at night. How would you liketo live in a boat on a pleasant river with the ducks and geese? Ithink you would have a very jolly time, rocked to sleep by the tide,and watched over by the d
ancing boat-lights. But this poor ladycouldn't walk, or enjoy much, if she were allowed. Shall I tell youwhy? When she was a very little girl, smaller than you are, smallerthan Pen-se is now, her soft baby feet were bound up tightly, the toesturned and pressed under, and the poor little foot cramped so thatshe could scarcely stand. This was done that her feet might nevergrow large, for in this country on the other side of the world one isconsidered very beautiful who has small feet; and now that she is agrown lady, as old perhaps as your mamma, she wears such little shoesyou would think them too small for yourself. It is true they are verypretty shoes, made of bright-colored satin, and worked all overwith gold and silver thread, and they have beautiful white soles ofrice-paper; and the poor lady looks down at them and says to herselfproudly, "Only three inches long." And forgetting how much thebandages pained her, and not thinking how sad it is only to be ableto hobble about a little, instead of running and leaping as childrenshould, she binds up the feet of Lou, her dear little daughter, in thegreat house on the hill, and makes her a poor, helpless child; notso happy, with all her flower-gardens, gold and silver fish, andbeautiful gold-feathered birds, as Pen-se with her broad, bare feet,and comfortable, fat little toes, as she stands in the wet tanka-boat,helping her mother wash it with river-water, while the leather shoesof both of them lie high and dry on the edge of the wharf, until thewet work is done.
But we are forgetting Lin, who has carried his fish up into the townto sell. Here is a whole street where nothing is sold but food. Ishould call it Market Street, and I dare say they do the same in a wayof their own.
What will all these busy people have for dinner to-day? Fatbears'-paws, brought from the dark forest fifty miles away,--thesewill do for that comfortable-looking mandarin with the red ball onthe top of his cap. I think he has eaten something of the same kindbefore. A birds'-nest soup for my lady in the great house on the hill;birds' nests brought from the rocks where the waves dash, and thebirds feel themselves very safe. But "Such a delicious soup!" saidMadam Faw-Choo, and Yang-lo, her son, sent the fisherman again to theblack rocks for more.
What will the soldiers have,--the officer who wears thick satin boots,and doesn't look much like fighting in his gay silk dress? A stew offat puppies for him, and only boiled rats for the porter who carriesthe heavy tea-boxes. But there is tea for all, and rice, too, as muchas they desire; and, although I shouldn't care to be invited to dinewith any of them, I don't doubt they enjoy the food very much.
In the midst of all this buying and selling Lin sells his fish, someto the English gentleman, and some to the grave-faced man in the bluegown; and he goes happily home to his own dinner in the boat. Riceagain, and fried mice, and the merry face and small, slanting blackeyes of his little sister to greet him. After dinner his father hasa pipe to smoke, before he goes again to his work. After all, why noteat puppies and mice as well as calves and turtles and oysters? And asfor birds'-nest soup, I should think it quite as good as chicken pie.It is only custom that makes any difference.
So pass the days of our child Pen-se, who lives on the great riverwhich men call the child of the ocean. But it was not always so.She was born among the hills where the tea grows with its glossy,myrtle-like leaves, and white, fragrant blossoms. When the tea-plantswere in bloom, Pen-se first saw the light; and when she was hardlymore than a baby she trotted behind her father, while he gathered theleaves, dried and rolled them, and then packed them in square boxes tocome in ships across the ocean for your papa and mine to drink.
Here, too, grew the mulberry-trees, with their purple fruit and white;and Pen-se learned to know and to love the little worms that eat themulberry-leaves, and then spin for themselves a silken shell, and fallinto a long sleep inside of it. She watched her mother spin off thefine silk and make it into neat skeins, and once she rode on hermother's back to market to sell it. You could gather mulberry-leaves,and set up these little silkworm boxes on the windowsill of yourschoolroom. I have seen silk and flax and cotton all growing in apleasant schoolroom, to show the scholars of what linen and silk andcotton are made.
Now those days are all past. She can hardly remember them, she was solittle then; and she has learned to be happy in her new home on theriver, where they came when the fire burned their house, and thetea-plants and the mulberry-trees were taken by other men.
Sometimes at night, after the day's work is over, the ducks havecome home, and the stars have come out, she sits at the door of theboat-house, and watches the great bright fireflies over the marshes,and thinks of the blue lake Syhoo, covered with lilies, where gildedboats are sailing, and the people seem so happy.
Up in the high-walled garden of the great house on the hill, thenight-moths have spread their broad, soft wings, and are flittingamong the flowers, and the little girl with the small feet lies on hersilken bed, half asleep. She, too, thinks of the lake and the lilies,but she knows nothing about Pen-se, who lives down upon the river.
See, the sun has gone from them. It must be morning for us now.
