"What?"
"I forbade him to speak the language of the white women, and he disobeyed me. He had words in that tongue with the white boy from the next street."
Sankwei was astounded.
"We are living in the white man's country," said he. "The child will have to learn the white man's language."
"Not my child," answered Pau Lin.
Sankwei turned away from: her. "Come, little one," said he to his son, "we will take supper tonight at the restaurant, and afterwards Yen shall see a show."
Pau Lin laid down the dish of vegetables which she was straining and took from a hook a small wrap which she adjusted around the boy.
"Now go with thy father," said she sternly.
But the boy clung to her—to the hand which had punished him. "I will sup with you," he cried, "I will sup with you."
"Go," repeated his mother, pushing him from he. And as the two passed over the threshold, she called to the father: "Keep the wrap around the child. The night air is chill."
Late that night, while father and son were peacefully sleeping, the wife and mother arose
