The lawyer nodded carelessly; his eyes were intent upon the cigarette which would not take the fire from the match. “Then you go get paper. If Hom Hing not can give you five hundred dollars—I give you perhaps what more that much.” She slipped a heavy gold bracelet from her wrist and held it out to the man. Mechanically he took it. “I go get more!” She scurried away, disappearing behind the door through which she had come. “Oh, look here, I can’t accept this,” said James Clancy, walking back to Hom Hing and laying down the bracelet before him. “It’s all right,” said Hom Hing, seriously, “pure China gold. My wife’s parent give it to her when we married.” “But I can’t take it anyway,” protested the young man. “It is all same as money. And you want money to go to Washington,” replied Hom Hing in a matter of fact manner. “See, my jade earrings—my gold buttons—my hairpins—my comb of pearl and my rings—one, two, three, four, five rings; very good—very good—all same much money. I give them all to you. You take and bring me paper for my Little One.” Lae Choo piled up her jewels before the lawyer. Hom Hing laid a restraining hand upon her shoulder. “Not all, my wife,” he said in Chinese. He selected a ring—his gift to Lae Choo when she dreamed of the tree with the red flower. The rest of the jewels he pushed toward the white man. “Take them and sell them,” said he. “They will pay your fare to Washington and bring you back with the paper.” For one moment James Clancy hesitated. He was not a sentimental man; but something within him arose against accepting such payment for his services. “They are good, good,” pleadingly asserted Lae Choo, seeing his hesitation. Whereupon he seized the jewels, thrust them into his coat pocket, and walked rapidly away from the store. IV Lae Choo followed after the missionary woman through the mission nursery school. Her heart was beating so high with happiness that she could scarcely breathe. The paper had come at last—the precious paper which gave Hom Hing and his wife the right to the possession of their own child. It was ten months now since he had been taken from them—ten months since the sun had ceased to shine for Lae Choo. The room was filled with children—most of them wee tots, but none so wee as her own. The mission woman talked as she walked. She told Lae Choo that little Kim, as he had been named by the school, was the pet of the place, and that his little tricks and ways amused and delighted every one. He had been rather difficult to manage at first and had cried much for his mother; “but children so soon forget, and after a month he seemed quite at home and played around as bright and happy as a bird.” “Yes,” responded Lae Choo. “Oh, yes, yes!” But she did not hear what was said to her. She was walking in a maze of anticipatory joy.