The little scholar had turned back to tell her this.
"Nay," said Pau Tsu gently. "There are no bad omens. It is time for the flower to wither and die. It cannot live always."
"Poor flower!" compassionated the child.
"Not so poor!" smiled Pau Tsu. "The flower has seed from which other flowers will spring, more beautiful than itself!"
"Ah, I will tell my mother!"
The little child ran off, her queue dangling and flopping as she loped along. The teachers watched her join a group of youngsters playing on the curb in front of the quarters of the Six Companies. One of the Chiefs in passing had thrown a handful of firecrackers amongst the children, and the result was a small bonfire and great glee.
It was seven years since Liu Venti and Pau Tsu had begun their work in San Francisco's Chinatown; seven years of struggle and hardship, working and waiting, living, learning, fighting, failing, loving—and conquering. The victory, to an onlooker, might have seemed small; just a modest school for adult pupils of their own race, a few white night pupils, and a free school for children. But the latter was in itself evidence that Liu Venti and Pau Tsu had not only sailed safely through the
