Little Almond Blossoms 5

Little Almond Blossoms 5

THE MOON RABBIT_

 

[Illustration: _Little Priest_]

 

 

It was the eve of the Moon Festival. The homes and the people of

Chinatown were gay within and gay without, and the incense-laden air was

full of the holiday spirit. The Moon Festival with the Chinese is

something like the American Christmas, only it lasts longer, extending

into their New Year.

 

Kon Ying had not been very happy in her little life, for she had always

been made to feel that she was one too many in the home. She had three

sisters older than herself, and the Chinese do not like so many

daughters,--they would rather have sons; so when she arrived in the

small home, it was decided to call her Kon Ying, which means “enough

hawks.” After her had come a baby brother, who was petted and spoiled in

every way possible, because he was a boy. As he was the only son, the

parents soon resorted to a queer Chinese method. They shaved his head

and called him “little priest,” allowing him to be adopted by another

family. This was done to deceive the bad spirits, and make them think

they cared no more for their child than for a despised priest, and had

thought so little of him that they had even allowed another family to

adopt him.

 

Little Kon Ying had been left to herself a great deal, and so had

thought of many things. Perhaps

 

[Illustration: _She and one of her sisters were on the step in front of

their home_]

 

she had thought more of the Moon Rabbit than anything else, and wondered

in her childish way why it had never remembered her. She and one of her

sisters were on the step in front of their home talking about it, when

she saw her brother across the street, in front of the joss house. He

was richly dressed, and pretended he did not know her.

 

The streets were beautiful to-night, so, after much persuasion, _mo

chun_ had promised to take the children to see the shop windows. Soon

the mother appeared at the door, where in a little bowl punks were

always kept burning for the god, and in her high-pitched Chinese voice

told the children she was ready. Kon Ying was happy for once. She was

happy to-night, because she was strong and young, and the Chinese world

was beautiful. And, someway, she felt that the rabbit would really

remember her to-night.

 

On they went, one after another, in true Chinese fashion, but never

losing sight of the polished hair of _mo chun_ in front of them.

 

How gay it all was, and how bright! The great irregular rows of big

round lanterns looked like a lot of moons, and surely the rabbit’s own

moon could not be more beautiful. They could scarcely tear themselves

away from the bakeshop windows, which were full of cakes of all kinds.

Some were shaped like the moon, and some were made into tall Chinese

pagodas, a fish, a horse, or something of the kind. Some had on them the

picture of the white rabbit, who is always pounding out rice in the

moon. On others were painted beautiful gods and goddesses. _Mo chun_ was

telling them that when good little Chinese children were all asleep the

mysterious rabbit would come to the shops and purchase the pretty

things, to leave in the homes of the children.

 

Kon Ying was thinking as she pressed her cunning little nose up against

the cold glass: “I likee know if I been good enough this time. I help

_mo chun_--I play (pray) to joss heap plenty time; maybe the moon labbit

come--maybe, I no _sabe_” (understand). She only knew that she had done

her best, always; but perhaps the wonderful rabbit would not think so.

Never mind! she would pray once more to the ugly little old god at

home, before she went to sleep.

 

Soon they came to the toy shops. She felt as if she could stay forever,

for there were toys of all kinds, and no one would ever know how good

they seemed to a poor little Chinese girl who had never had any toys.

The only one she had ever possessed was an old broken doll she had once

found upon a trash heap, but she had treasured it as no doll was ever

before treasured, and had given it all the pent-up love in her little

starved heart. She had even named it “Kin Leen” (golden lily), and

pretended that it was a fine aristocratic lady, with “little feet.” She

had bound its feet with strips of cloth, and it was to this doll that

she had gone with all her troubles; but no one knew this. If her proud

brother had known he would have teased her unmercifully.

 

There were so many lovely pagodas in the window, and some of them were

several feet high. She would like one of these, but knew she might as

well long for the moon. There was something in the window which she

would rather have than a pagoda or anything else, and she longed for it

so intensely that a real prayer must have gone out from her little

innocent heart. It was a doll!--a Chinese doll, with big slanting eyes,

like Kon Ying’s own, and the most gorgeous dress of flowered silk.

 

Suddenly it dawned upon her what she would do when she got home. Instead

of praying to the god on the shelf she would pray to the moon rabbit,

and beg and beg of it to bring her a doll. If she could only have one of

those gorgeous creatures, with the tuft of black hair on its head, and

the wobbly feet and arms, and painted cheeks and lips, she would surely

never ask for anything else. There were other dolls in plenty, but none

so beautiful. They were only bits of wood, with eyes, nose, and mouth

painted on them. If she had not seen the big one she might have cared

for those, but now--she would never care for them; she had seen the

queen.

 

She gasped out, in her shrill childish voice: “Oh, _mo chun_!

Why--why--won’t the moon labbit bling me doll?”

 

Before the mother could reply, a kind hand was laid upon the polished

head of the little girl, and a man’s kind voice said: “The moon labbit

_will_ bling you doll, and all the little sistehs too.”

 

Looking up, she saw that the voice came from the lips of a notorious

highbinder--a friend of her father’s.

 

The man had been to their home many times. She had liked him, for he

always had a kind word for children, and last New Year he had even

brought them some cunning little mandarin oranges, and a package of

Chinese candy. He was said to be a very bad man, but he loved children.

Speaking a few words of holiday greeting, he passed on into the shop,

while Kon Ying and her sisters still gazed at the contents of the

windows.

 

The big doll seemed to be saying: “I am yours, Kon Ying!--take me!”

while it held out its wobbly arms in entreaty. Its painted lips seemed

as if they might be forming pretty Chinese words of good wishes for the

Moon Festival.

 

Kon Ying’s little celestial heart longed for it with a terrible longing,

but the glass was between them, and so--her heart could only ache in

silence. It could not happen, anyway. When did anything nice ever happen

to her? She had always been in the way, and there were no toys to spare

for her--little “Enough Hawks.”

 

She was so absorbed in gazing at the doll that she did not see the

highbinder, away back in the shop. Her nose was pressed against the

glass, and her dirty little fingers had left ten marks, but she did not

know; she would not have cared if she had known. Suddenly, as she gazed,

something wonderful happened. A big blue arm reached into the window

from the shop, and slim fingers with long Chinese nails closed upon the

doll, lifting it out of the window, to disappear from the gaze of the

enraptured children. It seemed to blink its slanting eyes in farewell as

it departed.

 

The pale yellow ivory face of little Kon Ying appeared to grow even more

pale as she screamed out, in that little nasal voice of hers: “She

gone--the moon labbit no can get her now to bling to me. Heap bad

spirit catch ’em doll: I so solly--I _so_ solly.”

 

It seemed to her that when the doll had gone from her sight it had taken

with it the very heart out of her body, and she did not care to linger

now, so they passed on, to other sights and sounds.

 

On a flower-laden balcony some one was twanging on a _sam yun_ (banjo),

but even music had no charm for her now, because--the DOLL was gone. She

would never see it again; the bad spirits had taken it. Perhaps it was

because she had neglected to pray to the god lately. She had even dared,

when no one was looking, to make a horrible face at him, and tell him

she hated him. She did this because her little heart was so heavy; no

one seemed to care for her, and the god never made anything nice happen

to her, nor paid any attention to her little prayers. Never mind! she

would pray to the moon rabbit after this; perhaps it would hear her

prayer. After she had decided upon this course she was anxious to get

back to her home. The children were all getting tired now, and their

wooden sandals dragged heavily upon the narrow pavements.

 

“We go home now,” said _mo chun_; “Maybe moon labbit come to-night.”

 

At last they reached their home, and the tired children ascended the

stairway. Kon Ying set to work to offer her sacrifices, as she was tired

and wanted to go to bed. She had nothing to offer the moon rabbit except

her old broken doll; so she placed it on a table and burned her incense

sticks, and everybody thought she was praying to the god. But she was

not; she knew,--and the god knew. At last she laid her tired head on the

hard couch.

 

It seemed to her she had only been there a minute, when there came a

great glare of light and the sound of Chinese flutes. The lattice window

opened, and in marched a troop of tiny Chinamen, dressed in purple and

gold. Each one carried a stick of lighted incense for a torch, making

the room as bright as day.

 

They marched right up to where Kon Ying lay, and the most richly dressed

one said: “Kon Ying, our queen has prepared a banquet for you; will your

highness please to accept the invitation?”

 

Kon Ying was frightened at first, but something within her seemed to

speak the words: “I shall be pleased to obey the commands of your

queen;” and she made a curtsey to the royal messenger.

 

“Be prepared to go when the time comes!” he said, and vanished with his

company.

 

By and by there was another glare of lights, and the sound of music. The

lattice opened again, and there flitted in a crowd of the dearest little

Chinese ladies, all clad in pink silk blouses, with lavender trousers,

and pretty little golden sandals. They had so many diamonds in their

hair and ears that it almost put out little Kon Ying’s eyes. They each

carried a tiny Chinese lantern, which shed a soft light.

 

The most beautiful one now approached Kon Ying and said: “The queen has

sent you a royal robe; please put it on, and we will hasten to the

moon.”

 

Again the little girl gasped out: “Your highness’ commands shall be

obeyed;” and slipping from her couch she stood shivering upon the floor,

while the moon-maidens arrayed her in a robe of palest lavender.

 

“Our queen heard your prayer, and has sent us to carry you to her

kingdom,” they said; and spreading out the wide Chinese sleeves of her

gown until they looked just like wings, they told her to come, and away

through the window she flew with them.

 

She felt as light as a feather, and could not resist the pleasure of

making one real ugly face at the god as she passed. There stood on the

street in front of the house a row of the dearest little sedan chairs,

all glittering with gold, and carried by huge white rabbits. Before she

could say a word they had opened the door for her, and placing her

inside, flew away,--away from the squatty little god and the smell of

incense, away from the great shining lanterns of the dragon, and the

narrow, crooked streets, and into air that was so pure it seemed like a

delicious nectar.

 

Kon Ying leaned from the window of her sedan chair and gazed at all the

wondrous beauty of the sky. As they passed through the milky way some

tiny star-fairies handed her a jewelled glass of the richest milk. She

was very glad, for it seemed a long time since her supper of rice and

tea. She was far away from the lights of the city now, and surrounded by

the dazzling radiance of the stars. One very large star seemed to be the

queen, and all the little stars bowed down before it, chanting the sweetest melody.