THE GIRL WHO WALKED WITHOUT FEAR.

Lyttelton Times, Volume CXVI, Issue 16749, 2 January 1915, Page 3

THE GIRL WHO WALKED WITHOUT FEAR.

(By LOUISE RICE.)

Snow! A city smothered in snow, all its harsh sounds dulled, all its unlovely sights softened. Snow that blurred the street, lights that were struggling out through the dusk and made the electric signs show mysteriously pendent above earth. Snow that picked out cominonplaco buildings in lines of beauty. Snow that piled up around a man’s feet and sifted down his collar, that chilled his marrow and rejoiced his soul —if he had a spark of boy left in him. In a word, a snowy, blowy, cold, frosty regular Christmas Eve; tho kind you see on picture post-cards, with tho regular muffled people hurrying by with the regular Christmas Evo parcels, and the regular wreaths in the windows, and the regular icicles hanging from windows and doorways—everything, in fact, that most of us like to see on Christmas Eve.

Bill Benton, however, did not liko to see it. Truth to tell, there wasn’t a thing in the whole world which Bill could have specified at that moment that he would have liked to see. When your pockets are empty of everything but yoursfingers, and your shoes leak, and you have no overcoat, or family, or friends, or health, and it is all your own fault, you are not likely to care very much what your eyes rost on. When you have no place to go and no work, no prospect of any, and you are hungry and ill, the most regular Christmas Eve that evor was won’t help you. Bill moved one foot and then the other, clumsily,' like a half-frozen bear. He was so miserable that he was only half alive. Somewhere in the back of his consciousness there -ran tho river: the river, sullen and angry, all choppy with ice, where a man might lie and forget that life had been a ghastly joke. Across the street from Bill, traffic policeman O’Connor, pink, clean, aggressively trim, with an eye as blue and a smile as winning as ever even an Irishman owned, walked tho prescribed ten feet to and from his blanketed horse, keeping one eye on the snarl of traffic at the corner and tho other on tho crossing where opposing lines of people scurried whenever he held up his white-gloved hand. Bill hated that policeman a little more than ho hated anything else. He hated him for his strong, healthy figure, and for the money that- must jingle in his pockets, and for tlie place- he held in the world. But most of all, he hated him for his smile. Bill knew that it was only a question of time when O'Connor would see him, and with just that srnilo would sternly say: “Move on now, you!” Hating the policeman, Bill shifted his feet and blinked at the crowd, which was growing thicker. The Salvation Army Santa Claus on the opposite corner rang his bell - frantically. The’ cars which crawled by began to bo lit from within,' so that they looked like some monstrous kind of glow-worm as they inched themselves along among tho black specks which wero men and women. O'Connor held his hand up again. The cars and the waggons and taxicabs and express trucks slowed down, and the flood of humanity poured over tho crossing. Among them, approaching Bill, there came a figure so pretty and impossible that he thought he must bo making her up. “I’m seein’ things,” said Bill. She woro tho dress of a Chinese girl: A soft silken coat, the deep blue of clear night skies, fell almost to her foot. Rich embroidery in dull gold and crimson bordered tho hem in strange Oriental figures, which repeated themselves on the wide, flowing sleeves. A skirt of the same dull gold was short enough to show the heelless embroidered shoes on her' slender feet. Her dark, sleek hair was parted aud brought down over her ears: aud she was hatless.

“Yes, sir—l’m seein' things. I need a meal, that’s what!” said Bill to himself.

The girl came across, slipping » little on the snow, bub confident and smiling, indescribably sweet and modest and alien among the furred and hatted throng. On the sidewalk she paused and looked about, her lips parted slightly, showing her small, white teeth. Bill stood quite still. None of his numerous experiences had taught him how to treat, a figment of one’s own brain. He was too intent on her to notice that other people woro staring too as they hurried by.

Sho drifted nearer till sho was almost at tho doorway in whoso shallow depression he was huddling for shelter. On the blasts of cold air came some faint fragrance that was very unlike the rank perfumes the shop-girls exhaled. She stood there a. while, intent on tho crowds, her strange, slanting eyes alight. Then sho caught sight of Bill in his doorway, looking at her with awe; and, perhaps because he was the only person ,in all that throng who was standing still, she spoke to him —in a purer English than Bill often heard. “Is it not wonderful, sir, all this concourse of people?” she said. “Never have I seen so many—not in all my life—not even in Hong Kong.” The last words wore oddly inflected, but otherwise sho might) have been an American girl speaking.

Bill readjusted bis attitude. This was no phantom of an empty stomach, but just a Chink. “Uh—huh,” ho granted, iion-commitally. “I had to come out and see them,” she continued. “Christmas Eve is such a wonderful time. To think of our Lord as a little cliild—no wondei nil you Christians smile and aro so J °Bill searched his vocabulary, and found it wanting. “You bet!” he finally got out with an effort. Hie girl smiled. “ There is something so marvellous in this land of tho Flowery Flag, as we call it in China. Life here must bo so beautiful, free from foolish beliefs, and without fearAnd to think that each one—every ono j, pr p j s a Christian —oh, that is most wonderful of all!”. “Christians!” Bill exploded. “Not. much all of ’em ain’t!” “ Perhaps not as perfect as thoy could wish. But none of us is that.” “I just guess not!” '<■ ftut if we persevere we shall all attain to holiness. Bill took a hasty stop nearer and looked down at her curiously. “ Say,” lio demanded, “ what’s your lay, anyhow?” - “‘Lay? 1 do not understand

What d’.vou mean, stun din’ talkin’ to a fell* like . this? ”. , , A lovely salmon pink spot spread over each" dark check. “ Should I not do so? In this Christian land surely I need fear no one? —hero whore men reverence women and treat them always with kindness. Is it not so?” ‘^ Say, oan A’ ou beat it?” Bill inquired of the arc-light. “ You must bo a little off,” ho suggested, bringing bis eyes down to her. “Off?” t< yell. Wliat d’you mean with all that talk about a Christian land—an’ an’ all that? She fell back a little from him, and looked incredulous. “Why—are you not a Christen, sjr?” With tho words a slow and solemn „i,,'t„« of bells rang out, somewhere r awav; and out of the snow, tho Monk dirty snowcat his feet, there a viW> **th * church-spire

glittering among its wintry trees, and rows of white houses with green blinds set in snowy yards. Who was it that had asked that question long ago? Long ago, before the river, sullen and angry, called for a man? Why, it was the old minister, of course. The slouchy old man, with g re y JH ur > whose coat was always shiny. William Benton had laughed—that young William who wanted the best of the world, and who was so tired of living with his mother and father and sister m the white house near the school. \es, lie liad laughed. And, then, what had ho done? He had taken the train for Now York. . .. 0 re you not —a —Christian r ■ tolled tho bells. “God help me!” That was what Bill said. Then he lifted his eyes and saw that vesper service in the church down tho street was beginning; the bells had just ceased to ring. IYaffio policeman O’Connor, with hm eyes everywhere as a policeman s should be, saw Bill lurch heavily, and came swiftly ovor to him. <i Move on now, you. O Connor admonished, with tho smile and the mandatory gesture which were as much a part of him as his uniform. He expected Bill to move away, with a muttered curse, but instead of that the man looked at him doggedly, almost fiercely. “ Say, officer his voice was 'thick, but there was a vibrant timbre to it— yon don know where a fella could get a jo , dt> “'uh—mm—,” replied O’Connor “I might if the fella wasn’t just lookm for a night’s lodging.” _ Bill continued to gaze at the Irishman. “Say,” he demanded, are you a Christian?” O’Connor turned a beautnul pink. “Aw course I am!” lie sputtered. “AVell, I’m not, but maybe— Say, did you see that Chink girl—that little Chink girl that was hero a muiute ago: Where’d she got to, anyway? Well, she asked mo that. bunny thing. Old man Talbot asked mo that onco, years ago. Funny, ain’t it?” O’Connor ran a practised eyo over Bill’s big frame and sunken eyes. “You’re sick,” he said. “ No, I ain’t. At least-, I wouldn t be if I could get somethin’ to eat. I believe’’—Bill laughed, just the ghost of a laugh—“ I believe I m converted. That’s what they used to call it—back home.” “You’re sick,” O’Connor repeated, authoritative kindness in his voice. “I thought you were just a bum. Here, you take this card over to Sister Agatha, at tho House of Mercy you know, over on Twelfth Street—and she’ll look after you. Tell her I’ll be around in a day or two to seo how you are. Aw, cut. that out. Mov* on, can’t you!” Meanwhile the Chinese girl walked on among the holiday throng. A good many people glanced at her, and some of them almost stopped, as if she had spoken, for there was a deep question in her slanting, heavy-lidded eyes. At a corner she stopped and spoke to a newsboy. “Will you have the great kindness to tell mo how I shall go to find what you call a —department store?” Tlie hoy stared and shifted his papers. “ Youso take tho Sixt Avenoo f- - ” he said finally, “ an’ you pass a - ;h of ’em. Say, do youso know how to travel round this burg?” A delicious, half-shy smile dimpled her cheek. “ Oh, yes, I think soAnd if I do not, some one will always direct me, will they not? In this Christian laud I walk without fear.” The boy whistled shrilly between his teeth. “ Say. where’d you escape from, you—you Queen of tho MoviesP”. he demanded. “It is true that I have run away from my dear friends, but only for a little while. It is just to see the lovely Christmas Eve in this Christian land that I have come out.” “ You’re strong on that Christian stuff, ain't you?” She evidently did not understand his words, but the mocking smile on his lips- was quite plain. The smile on her face went away. “ Are you not a Christian,” my little brother?” she inquired. The hoy eyed her, ready to give his derisive whistle again, but Ivor small, earnest face daunted him. “I "dunno,” ho muttered, wriggling his feet. “ Say, here’s your car. You tell the conductor to let you off at Toidy-toid Street—see?” Then Michael Scerbo, Italian by birth hut American by adoption, returned to his corner, sold six papers, jostled a now boy off of his particular spot, bloiy on his fingers, and said: “Gee!”

Which needs interpretation. That night Father Danell, of tho Church of our Lady of Sorrows, heard tho confession of a small boy who had not performed that rite for several years. It was all mixed with “ a littlo Chink goil,” which proved difficult for tlio good father to understand; but it was a satisfactory confession, and Michael Scerbo whistled happily through his teeth as ho crossed himself by tho holywater font.

Sixth Avenue cars are always crowded with the rarest assortment of New York’s rare types, so that the entrance of a small Chinese girl, of modest demeanor, made no more than a ripple on the surface of the one to which Michael Seer bo bad assigned his chance acquaintance. She accepted a strap from the hands of a coloured girl. Before her sat a lady—really a lady, so far as fine simplicity and immaculateness can prove that intangible quality. Somehow one got the impression that she was not accustomed to riding in street-cars—that some untoward accident had separated her from the motor which usually purred beneath her dainty feet. By her sat a German mother with two sturdy, struggling youngsters in her lap. • The Chinese girl reached down cud tenderly patted the head of the tiniest. “ The babies—they are always so sweet,” she said to the mother, who broke into a happy mixture of German and English at this'attention. The girl smiled, showing a dimple in her cheek. “ I know not the German,” she said. THo children, pleased with the bright colour on the silk coat, loaned across the immaculate lady to clutch at it. The Chinese.girl’s smile deepened, as she let chubby fingers stroke the silk flowers.

“ The babies, though, they speak a language all women caii understand,' she said—this to the lady as a fat baby-hand grasped her perfectly gloved fingers! | The lady held the hand for a moment, held it, and crushed it so that tho baby drew back in alarm. Then she lifted pain-haunted eyes. “You aro right, my child : they speak a. language that women understand —but sometimes that language is bitter.” Blue eyes, Occidental to the last curve of their palo lashes, looked into brown eyes, Oriental to the last fold of their strange lids. Tho German woman looked up, too, and the children, feeling something pass through their sensitive hearts, were still. The brown eyes deepened and glowed. It was as if light from a star radiated from their depths. “I understand,” the Chinese girl said softly. “ But in a Christian land, to lose is so different. There *is the hope, the Resurrection hope, when the dead in Christ shall rise. Littlo children first of all, 1 like to think.”

The ladv’s eyes filled with tears, and her head drooped. “Du lieber Gotti” the German woman said, and kissed her two children.

When the two women looked up, a momeut after, the swaying silken coat was gone. As if by common consent, they turned to each other, and spoke ! of tho children, and then of all ch£U 1

dren. It was tho first time the lady had been able to do that for a long time.

On the main floor of a big department store Miss Jennie Mac Allister powdered her nose, sold a celluloid whisk-broom bolder, ruffled up the frill of her blouse and sighed. She was pale, and a grim line lay around tho gallant smile on her lips. The store keeps open until ten o’clock on the five nights preceding Christmas Eve, and on that night it. closes only when customers stop coming, and that is sometimes midnight. Miss Mac Allister came of Scotch ancestry. It showed in the pale gold of her liair and in the strength of her rather spare figure. Her companion at tho celluloid counter was Yetta Zabriskie, strong and lean, too, with dark, crinkled hair and a piquant littlo face, like a dark pansy. “Yes, sir;’’ Yotta was saying to a worried-looking man, “ those brush and comb sets is imported—very special at two ninety-eight. Would you liko to look at the manicure set that matches it?”

“ Don’t push ’im ” Miss Mac Allister admonished, adroitly stooping above Yetta’s tiny ear. “ Don’t you see, he’s just a boob? Yes, ma’am, these hair-pin holders are very chic —seventynine cents, marked down from a. dollar.”

“Here—C-a-s-h !” both girls shrilled. “Gee, but I’m tired,” Miss MacAllister confided to her mate, as there was a lull in celluloid. _ “Seems liko this Christmas biz was just got up go’s to make more’n half the people in. the world work themselves to death. Wo get our supper money, an’ a dollar extry for the week, an’ then we spend six weeks gettin’ over it. My feet hurt so’s I can’t feel ’em any more. Jso, ma’am, vro have no more of the celluloid umbrella-handles at one ninety-eight, but I can show you—Tho old muff I You'd think I’d insulted her.” “ We have not this Christmas, we Jews,” Yetta replied, “ but we must work for it, just the same.” “ Well, I ain’t so much of a Christian myself. 1 think you Jews are all right. ’ You got more 6ense than to turn everything upside down once a year liko this. Right before stocktaking too. What’s the xtse of workin’ your head off, I say. ‘ Merry Christmas!’ Yah I It makes me sick. All tho merry Christmas I get is sore feet and losin’. a chanct to go with—with that fella I was tollin’ you about, Yetta—to a swell dance. An’ to-mor-row I’ll be so tired that I’ll have to stav in bed.”

‘ ? My mother, she will have hot soup for mo when I go homo ,to-night.” “ Yell—you’re lucky, you are. I gotta live in a room the size of a peanut, and I ain’t had! a mother sinco I was a kid.”

‘ ‘ Mothers—they are nice.” “ That’s where you’re right.” Someone was coming down the almost deserted aisle, smiling a little as she looked from side to side. “ Gee!” murmured Miss Mac Allister, “ jes’ look at this Chink that’s cornin’, Yetta.”

“I seen ’em once, in China,town, but I ain’t never seen one walkin' round liko this. Ain’t she the sweet lookor, though!” v The Chinese girl paused in front of Miss Mac Allister, and looked over tho table full of dainty toilet articles.

“ These are very pretty things,” she said. “ What is the cost of this brush P”

“One ninety-eight.” Both salesstated tlie sum, breathless with interest.

“It is nice. Tho bristles are good. I think that I will take it. And this little boxP” ' Business instincts awoke Miss MacAllister from her lethargy of excitement. “That’s a swell littlo box,” she declared. “ There’s a pincushion on the side and there’s two layers inside; seep One twenty-nine, marked down from two dollars.” Tho long, slim brown fingers touched tho box delicately, and tho hand of Miss Mac Allister over so lightly. “ I think I will take it. I am buying some Christmas presents for those l love, and that is a great pleasure, is it not?”

“It sure is!” Miss Mac Allister’s eyes wero travelling all over the silk coat, the sleek hair, and down to the embroidered shoes. “ Yell, it sure is,” she repeated, and smiled! into tho dark eves which met hors with so much candour and trust.

“ This i§ my first Christmas in America. It is very exciting.” “ Did you—did you just come over from China?”

“ Yes, l hnvo just arrived at New York. Wo came through from San Francisco.” “Oh ! That's somo. journey.” “ J have wanted to come to America for so long.” “ Mow’d you learn to speak English so good?”

“ Oh—l have lived sinco I was a small child in the mission in Hong Kong, with the missionaries, and now they have come here to bring some of us Chinese girls to study. To-night they promised us that to-morrow we should go out, but I—” the dimplo deepened in her cheek—“ I was most naughty, and I ran away! They are meeting old friends—they will not miss me—and tho other girls "will not tell.” She leaned over tho counter, tho imago of roguish girlhood. “It was such fun. And I wanted to buy some presents for a surprise.” “Mean to sav you jes’ landed' in Noo York, and you got tho nerve to

go walkin’ round by yourself at this bour of th’night?” ; “ But there is nothing to fear m a Christian land like America. Even in China, when a- girl meets a Christian she feels safe.”

Yetta and Miss NacAllister moved uneasily, staring alternately at each ether and at the Chinese girl, who trailed happily at them. “ So I do not fear,” she concluded; “ but now that I have completed my shopping I will go. My dear friends might not know how strong is my understanding of this country.” Miss Mac Allister reached out a hard littlo hand and caught the silk sleeve. “ Say, you’re a funny one, yon are,” she said.

“FunnyP Do I make you laugh?” “IluhP I mean you’re queer. I ain’t never seen a Chinese girl before, jes’ walkin’ round. You gonna stay m America?”

“ I will stay here for four yeans. Then I must go back to help my people ” “ What’s tho matter with ’em?” “ So few are Christians.”

“Oh! Say, wliat’s China like?” “Very beautiful—some of it, but in Hong Kong we have no enow like this. “ Gee, that’s fine. I hate the snow.”

“ But it is so pretty.” “ Yell—it ain’t so bad. I like it in the country'. Gee, you oughta see tho snow up where I usta live when I was a kid. It’s a littlo town ’way up in Noo York State. You talk about snow being pretty. You oughta see it there 1” “ It is a small village, your homeP” “ Yell—one o’ those little towns where nothin’ ever happens except when the boys go fishin’!” “ That is liko my home where I was bom. When the fishing is good, and when the rice is ripe—-those are the most important things in all the year. But I loft there when I was little. Last year my friends took me up there to see it. It is a little village, Shen Tau—there is only one big market, you can buy’ everything

“ I guess all little towns are alike.” “There is a little river and a bridge ”

“ The railroad has a 6mall bridge across the river at my home.” • “ And at night there is a lantern to light the bridge.’’ “ A lantern P Gee, ain’t that kinda dim?”

“ The moon—it shines nearly always. Beneath the bridge the houses are along tho shore.”

“ Tliey’s some grand bungalows near the river at my home. . . .” “I think of that little Shen Tau often, but there is no one there now—my mother is dead.” “ So’s mine. Gee, don’t it beat all how much wc’ro alike!”

“But now I am happy, for I have dreamed all my life or being in a Christian land ”

“ A ..Christian —Say, kidd’o, you’re makin’ a mistake there.”

The floorwalker came along just then, very erect, very formal. Casting his eyas toward the ceiluloid counter, he saw Yetta Zabriskie and Jennie Mac Allister selling goods. The nature of tho customer made him stare for a moment, but as it was in the regular process of trade he passed on with only’ a moment’s pause. “ I will take those things to my friends for the beautiful Christmas tomorrow. And I think I must say goodnight.” ‘ ‘ Take care of yourself as you’re going home, girlie. Don’t let anybody speak to you, you know.” “Why should I not?” “ ‘ The fear of tho Lord is the beginning of wisdom 1’ ” “Huh?” “Do you not understand that?” “ I—l dunno what you mean.” “ The missionaries tell us to say that, whenever we are afraid. We are so afraid at first. But now many are like me, and fear nothing.” n Why don’t you?” “Because I am a Christian. Are you not- one also?” Miss Mac Allister started to laugh, then she flushed and looked down; then she leaned over and patted tho glowing, dusky face. “ You’re all right, that’s what you are, you—you little Chink!” she said', between laughing and crying. They leaned together across the counter, drawn by the sweet magnetism which binds girlhood the world over.

“Say, what’s your name?” whispered Miss Mac Allister.

“Wei Lnli,” answered the little Oriental. “It means joy. Good-bye! I will come to seo you soon. The peaco of the Lord be with you!”

Tho quaint salutation fell from the full lips quito naturally. She smiled and passed down tho aisle, indescribably sweet and gentle, and alien. Miss Mac Allister blew her noso vigorously and glanced consciously at Miss Zabriskie.

“ She is lofely,” that young lady conceded, ostentatiously ignoring Miss Mac Allister’s brimming eyes.

“Say—ain’t she? Did you hear what she asked me? Gee! 1 never heard that since I was a littlo girl. Tho deaconess in our church usta ask me that regular. Sbo usta ask all the kids that. I tell you, Yetta, I wish I could go up there an’ live. Wasn’t that great what she said about the bridge an’ the lantern, an’ all. back there at her home? It didn’t seem like talkin’ about China, did it? • I tell you what, Yetta —” She began to pilo up. the trinkets with which the counter was-strewn, and the colour j-ose in her face—“ I guess I can straggle along a while longer by myself, even if I ain’t got no mother.” The floorwalker camo by, scanning the place. Only a few straggling customers were loft on the door. He turned a stern eye on the two girls.

“Close up!” ho barked. “See that your salesbooks are correct—and ” Ho paused 1 . All over the city there was the clash of bells, softened into weird harmony by the fog. From tho harbour a whistle or two sounded. In every vibration of the . city there was a stir ponetrated by the bells. The floorwalker suddenly smiled and sat down on a stool in front of Miss MacAllister.

“Merry Christmas, girls!” he said. “My, you look tired, Miss MacAllister. It’s been a bard week, hasn’t it?” Miss MacAllistor’s eyes still held their misty radiance. “Yeh—kinda,” she conceded, “but say, Christmas is great, though, ain’t it?”