“I don’t like this part of the business,” he muttered. The first officer turned to Hom Hing and in an official tone of voice, said: “Seeing that the boy has no certificate entitling him to admission to this country you will have to leave him with us.” “Leave my boy!” exclaimed Hom Hing. “Yes; he will be well taken care of, and just as soon as we can hear from Washington he will be handed over to you.” “But,” protested Hom Hing, “he is my son.” “We have no proof,” answered the man with a shrug of his shoulders; “and even if so we cannot let him pass without orders from the Government.” “He is my son,” reiterated Hom Hing, slowly and solemnly. “I am a Chinese merchant and have been in business in San Francisco for many years. When my wife told to me one morning that she dreamed of a green tree with spreading branches and one beautiful red flower growing thereon, I answered her that I wished my son to be born in our country, and for her to prepare to go to China. My wife complied with my wish. After my son was born my mother fell sick and my wife nursed and cared for her; then my father, too, fell sick, and my wife also nursed and cared for him. For twenty moons my wife care for and nurse the old people, and when they die they bless her and my son, and I send for her to return to me. I had no fear of trouble. I was a Chinese merchant and my son was my son.” “Very good, Hom Hing,” replied the first officer. “Nevertheless, we take your son.” “No, you not take him; he my son too.” It was Lae Choo. Snatching the child from his father’s arms she held and covered him with her own. The officers conferred together for a few moments; then one drew Hom Hing aside and spoke in his ear. Resignedly Hom Hing bowed his head, then approached his wife. “’Tis the law,” said he, speaking in Chinese, “and ’twill be but for a little while—until tomorrow’s sun arises.” “You, too,” reproached Lae Choo in a voice eloquent with pain. But accustomed to obedience she yielded the boy to her husband, who in turn delivered him to the first officer. The Little One protested lustily against the transfer; but his mother covered her face with her sleeve and his father silently led her away. Thus was the law of the land complied with. II Day was breaking. Lae Choo, who had been awake all night, dressed herself, then awoke her husband. “’Tis the morn,” she cried. “Go, bring our son.” The man rubbed his eyes and arose upon his elbow so that he could see out of the window. A pale star was visible in the sky. The petals of a lily in a bowl on the window-sill were unfurled. “’Tis not yet time,” said he, laying his head down again. “Not yet time. Ah, all the time that I lived before yesterday is not so much as the time that has been since my little one was taken from me.” The mother threw herself down beside the bed and covered her face.