THE LITTLE ALMOND BLOSSOM

MO CHUN called her the little Almond Blossom, as she was so bright and beautiful, and she loved her so. Her real name was Gum Sing, and she was, so the mother thought, the prettiest thing in all the big Chinatown of San Francisco.

Gum Sing’s father kept a store, where they sold all sorts of fine china and silk. She often went to her father’s store, but never alone. Oh, no! she was too precious to be trusted out alone, and then she was too young to find her way through the winding streets, and the doors all looked alike to her, so the mo chun or the nurse always accompanied her.

Gum Sing had such a round, dimpled face, and there always seemed to be kisses lurking in the dimples. And she had the merriest little laugh,—just like music to her mother. It was not enough for mo chun to see this little face every day, and to sleep on the hard pillow with it at night. No, that was not enough, for how could any one ever have enough of so fair a thing? So the father and mother agreed that their little Almond Blossom must have her picture taken. That was a great day in the house of Gum. Such an event had never happened before.

Now Gum Sing did not know at all what it meant to have her picture taken, but she knew by the smiles on her mother’s face, and by the careful and proud manner in which she was being arrayed, that it could be no small thing, and that some way or other she was expected to look as beautiful and as much like the almond flower as she could, as that was sacred to the Chinese.

With delight she saw that she was to wear her lavender silk blouse. “Oh, mo chun,” she giggled, “I likee wear ho chun’s big gold watch.”

Now, although the little mother did not think it just exactly the proper thing for any one so tiny as Gum Sing to wear a watch and chain, yet this was such an important event—and such a proud moment for her—that she could see no harm in letting her have her way about it this time. She insisted upon carrying mo chun’s big fan, too, and it certainly did look very wonderful to see it clasped in the tiny brown hand.

The trousers of pink silk were so bright and pretty, and the dainty little sandals had been embroidered by mo chun herself.

When all was ready, ho chun appeared on the scene, and the happy party started out for the photograph gallery of Hen Yin Gock.

“I so happy—I so glad,” giggled the little Gum Sing, not knowing just what she was happy about, only she was such a happy little thing always, and being the only child had so much love given her. At last they reached the place. There did not seem to be anything wonderful about it. There was a window with a lot of pictures in it, and a crowd of Chinamen were jostling each other to see them. Then they ascended the stairway and rapped on the door, and some one called out in Chinese, “Yap loi le,” which means “Come in.”

They went in, and the man talked to them pleasantly, but when he went and put his head under a black curtain on some kind of a box, then Gum Sing thought it was time to complain. This was too much! She cried: “Mo chun—I no likee—will it hurt? I ’flaid the big dlagon come out of the box.” (The nurse had evidently been telling her stories about the big Chinese dragon.)

Then the good Hen Yin Gock came out from the curtain, and assured her that there was no danger. He brought out two lovely yellow roses in a vase, and put them on a small table with a bright cover, and then told Gum Sing: “If you heap good girl, and do what I say, I give you the floweh, pletty soon.”

Then he also placed on the table a flute, with gaily colored tassels, and then the cunningest little jar, which looked very much as if it might contain preserved ginger, and she was just thinking how much she liked preserved ginger when the man said: “Now keep still! look light at this box!” (The little mother trembled; could it be that after all there was something horrible in the box?) “There is a little bird in this box, and you may see it fly out if you are quiet. Now!—all leady!” (ready).

Gum Sing was so full of giggles that she could hardly be quiet, and the dimples chased each other all over her sunny face. The father and mother gazed with love and admiration at the beauty of their little almond flower, with one hand thrown carelessly on the table and the other grasping the fan.

“There!” at last said the photographer.

Gum Sing wanted to know what it was all about, yet she could not seem to find out. But several days after that, when ho chun was out on the pavement in front of their home, putting some China lilies in a bowl of water, a man came, and handed him a little package. Gum Sing was all curiosity in a minute.

“Oh, ho chun, what is it? Let me see!” she cried, and mo chun was almost as eager. So the father opened the package while they waited wonderingly, and there, before their eyes, on pieces of polished cardboard—could it be?—yes, yes!—the picture of their little Almond Blossom—big watch, fan, dimples, giggle and all.

But Gum Sing wonders to this day why the bird did not come out of the box.