The Pagan Madonna

At half after eight--about the time Ling Foo slid off his stool--the

tender from the transport sloshed up to the customs jetty and landed Jane,

a lone woman among a score of officers of various nationalities. But it

really wasn't the customs jetty her foot touched; it was the outer rim of

the whirligig.

Some officer had found an extra slicker for her and an umbrella. Possibly

the officer in olive drab who assisted her to the nearest covered 'ricksha

and directed the placement of her luggage.

"China!"

"Yes, ma'am. Mandarin coats and oranges, jade and jasmine, Pekingese and

red chow dogs."

"Oh, I don't mean that kind!" she interrupted. "I should think these poor

'ricksha boys would die of exposure."

"Manchus are the toughest human beings on earth. I'll see you in the

morning?"

"That depends," she answered, "upon the sun. If it rains I shall lie abed

all day. A real bed! Honour bright, I've often wondered if I should ever

see one again. Fourteen months in that awful world up there! Siberia!"

"You're a plucky woman."

"Somebody had to go. Armenia or Siberia, it was all the same to me if I

could help." She held out her hand. "Good-night, captain. Thank you for

all your kindness to me. Ten o'clock, if it is sunshiny. You're to show me

the shops. Oh, if I were only rich!"

"And what would you do if you had riches?"

"I'd buy all the silk at Kai Fook's--isn't that the name?--and roll myself

up in it like a cocoon."

The man laughed. He understood. A touch of luxury, after all these

indescribable months of dirt and disease, rain and snow and ice, among a

people who lived like animals, who had the intelligence of animals. When

he spoke the officer's voice was singularly grave: "These few days have been very happy ones for me. At ten--if the sun

shines. Good-night."

The 'rickshas in a wavering line began to roll along the Bund, which was

practically deserted. The lights shone through slanting lattices of rain.

Twice automobiles shot past, and Jane resented them. China, the flowery

kingdom! She was touched with a little thrill of exultation. But oh, to

get home, home! Never again would she long for palaces and servants and

all that. The little wooden-frame house and the garden would be paradise

enough. The crimson ramblers, the hollyhocks, the bachelor's-buttons, and

the peonies, the twisted apple tree that never bore more than enough for

one pie! Her throat tightened.