"What is it? What is it?" quavered Lae Choo, who understood a little English.
The second customs officer regarded her pityingly.
"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
