“Lord, what fools we mortals be!” she soliloquized as she walked home alone. “I ought to have known. What else could Pau Tsu have thought?—coming from a land where women have no men friends save their husbands. How she must have suffered under her smiles! Poor, brave little soul!” IN THE LAND OF THE FREE I “See, Little One—the hills in the morning sun. There is thy home for years to come. It is very beautiful and thou wilt be very happy there.” The Little One looked up into his mother’s face in perfect faith. He was engaged in the pleasant occupation of sucking a sweetmeat; but that did not prevent him from gurgling responsively. “Yes, my olive bud; there is where thy father is making a fortune for thee. Thy father! Oh, wilt thou not be glad to behold his dear face. ’Twas for thee I left him.” The Little One ducked his chin sympathetically against his mother’s knee. She lifted him on to her lap. He was two years old, a round, dimple-cheeked boy with bright brown eyes and a sturdy little frame. “Ah! Ah! Ah! Ooh! Ooh! Ooh!” puffed he, mocking a tugboat steaming by. San Francisco’s waterfront was lined with ships and steamers, while other craft, large and small, including a couple of white transports from the Philippines, lay at anchor here and there off shore. It was some time before the _Eastern Queen_ could get docked, and even after that was accomplished, a lone Chinaman who had been waiting on the wharf for an hour was detained that much longer by men with the initials U. S. C. on their caps, before he could board the steamer and welcome his wife and child. “This is thy son,” announced the happy Lae Choo. Hom Hing lifted the child, felt of his little body and limbs, gazed into his face with proud and joyous eyes; then turned inquiringly to a customs officer at his elbow. “That’s a fine boy you have there,” said the man. “Where was he born?” “In China,” answered Hom Hing, swinging the Little One on his right shoulder, preparatory to leading his wife off the steamer. “Ever been to America before?” “No, not he,” answered the father with a happy laugh. The customs officer beckoned to another. “This little fellow,” said he, “is visiting America for the first time.” The other customs officer stroked his chin reflectively. “Good day,” said Hom Hing. “Wait!” commanded one of the officers. “You cannot go just yet.” “What more now?” asked Hom Hing. “I’m afraid,” said the first customs officer, “that we cannot allow the boy to go ashore. There is nothing in the papers that you have shown us—your wife’s papers and your own—having any bearing upon the child.” “There was no child when the papers were made out,” returned Hom Hing. He spoke calmly; but there was apprehension in his eyes and in his tightening grip on his son. “What is it? What is it?” quavered Lae Choo, who understood a little English. The second customs officer regarded her pityingly.