181
T H E K I N G ’ S B U S I N E S S
May, 1941
Junior King's Business By MARTHA S. HOOKER Member of F acultyB ible Institute of Los Angeles
enough, when Grandfather had sug gested a long gown for Sunday, now that she was ten years old. But she had never dreamed that it would be of silk. Why, he didn’t even know that she had wanted one, for she hadn’t told him. Grandfather was more than kind to her; he spoiled her, she knew, but she had never thought for a moment that he would approve of a silk gown for a gatekeeper’s granddaughter! "How did you know?” she asked him a few minutes later as she /turned be fore him to let him see what a little lady she looked in her silk gown. But Grandfather only laughed and wouldn’t tell her. She wondered whether he had over heard her and Little Box, the newly arrived orphan from Shanghai, playing at “wishes” the other day. She had wished for a blue silk gown, and Little Box had agreed to help her wish for it, though he thought it was a queer thing to be so unhappy over. She remembered, yet, her surprise and secret shame when Little Box had wished for nothing be cause he had a home and his stomach was never hungry for food any more. And here she had been unhappy over a blue gown! “But, anyway,” she assured herself, “my wish did come true! Little Box will be pleased to know that, since he helped me wish.” In all North China there was no hap pier girl than Fu-yong, the next day when she wore her blue silk gown to Sunday-school and church. She was the admiration and envy of all the other girls, and her head was almost giddy with joy. She didn’t hear very much of the sermon that day! The blue silk gown was enjoyed and admired for many weeks, and FU-yong wore it on every occasion for which she could invent an excuse to do so. Then, one day, Grandfather Lan real ized that Fu-yong had not worn the blue gown for a whole week. Although the
A PEACH-COLORED FROCK FOR HAPPINESS Bÿ A nne H azelton *
Y ES,” Fu-yong heard old Mr. Li saV to her grandfather, “my daughter-in-law heard today that Shanghai next week can be hers.” Fu-yong leaned back against the brick wall that surrounded the Mission com pound and drew her blue-trousered knees close up under her chin. Behind her the warm sun, shining through the Chinese acacia tree leaves, made dancing patterns on the old bricks of the Mis sion courtyard. The low voices of her grandfather and his old friend came from the open window of the gatehouse, but Fu-yong wasn’t really interested in what they were saying, though she won dered idly about the little orphan that was coming. This was her favorite seat. She loved to watch the people going by. There was always something of interest in the big street toward which the Mission com pound faced. And the many visitors who came and went through the gate always had a word of greeting for Fu-yong,' the gatekeeper’s little granddaughter. But today Fu-yong was not watching the people, though-there were many of them. There was a far-away expression on her face, and her dark eyes were unhappy. Fu-yong was not living up to the meaning of her name, “Always Happy,” today! “It is a boy of seven years,” she heard Mr. Li say happily. Then, more gravely: “His parents were killed when Shanghai was bombed, gnd he, poor boy, has been in a refugee camp since. We hardly can wait until he comes and we can make up to him for the suffering he has seen.” Fu-yong shuddered. She didn’t like to hear about war, but the grown-ups talked a lot about it these days. For a moment she forgot her own unhappi ness in wondering about the children whose parents had been killed. A loud creaking noise, next door, broke into her thoughts, and she promptly forgot the little boy from Shanghai. This was what she had been waiting for. The big red lacquered door, with its brass hinges and lock that were always kept wonderfully polished, swung slowly open. Two rickshaw men who had been dozing in the shade of the wall sprang to their rickshaws and whirled *Missionary of the China Inland Mission .
them to position in front of the gate. Through the gateway stepped a young girl and an older woman. Both were dressed in beautiful, long, slim-fitting silk gowns, and their shining black hair swung free in the modem bobbed effect. , Fu-yong’s eyes followed the figure of the young girl, and she took in every detail of the flowered silk gown. “Oh, ¡f I could have a silk gown like that!” she exclaimed enviously and watched the two rickshaws with the gay occupants disappear from sight. Every day Wang Lan-mei (Fu-yong knew her name only through the neigh bors’ gossip, for the wealthy Wang family kept aloof from' those about them) and her mother went somewhere. Each day they wore new and lovely silk gowns, and each day little Fu-yong watched them and w i s h e d for a silk gown, too. “If I only had one such gown I would be happy.” Fu-yong sighed heavily, got up, and went inside. She was sitting at the table, a few days later, when her grandfather called her. She had been practicing her writ ing, which her grandfather insisted on her learning, even if she were but a girl. But she gladly put down the brush, covered over the ink-slab, and hurried into the courtyard at his call. The tailor had come with her gown, Grandfather said, so she went to try it on. But her surprise and joy knew no
one of the orphans being sent here from
bounds when Tailor Fan unfolded the cloth wrapper and revealed a beautiful gown of clear-blue silk. She just couldn’t b e l i e v e her eyes! She had been surprised
“If I only . . .” Fu-yong sighed.
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