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Mr. Pan was worried about his mother. He had been worried about her when she was in China, and now he was worried about her in New York, although he had thought that once he got her out of his ancestral village in the province of Szechuen and safely away from the local bullies, who took over when the distant government fell, his anxieties would be ended. To this end he had risked his own life and paid out large sums of sound American money, and he felt that day when he saw her on the wharf, a tiny, dazed little old woman, in a lavender silk coat and black skirt, that now they would live happily together, he and his wife, their four small children and his beloved mother, in the huge safety of the American city.

It soon became clear, however, that safety was not enough for old Mrs. Pan. She did not even appreciate the fact, which he repeated again and again, that had she remained in the village, she would now have been dead, because she was the widow of the large landowner who had been his father and therefore deserved death in the eyes of the rowdies in power.

Old Mrs. Pan listened to this without reply, but her eyes, looking very large in her small withered face, were haunted with homesickness.

“There are many things worse than death, especially at my age,” she replied at last, when again her son reminded her of her good fortune in being where she was.

He became impassioned when she said this. He struck his breast with his clenched fists and he shouted, “Could I have forgiven myself if I had allowed you to die? Would the ghost of my father have given me rest?”

“I doubt his ghost would have traveled over such a wide sea,” she replied. “That man was always afraid of the water.”

Yet there was nothing that Mr. Pan and his wife did not try to do for his mother in order to make her happy. They prepared the food that she had once enjoyed, but she was now beyond the age of pleasure in food, and she had no appetite. She touched one dish and another with the ends of her ivory chopsticks, which she had brought with her from her home, and she thanked them prettily. “It is all good,” she said, “but the water is not the same as our village water; it tastes of metal and not of earth, and so the flavor is not the same. Please allow the children to eat it.”

She was afraid of the children. They went to an American school and they spoke English very well and Chinese very badly, and since she could speak no English, it distressed her to hear her own language maltreated by their careless tongues. For a time she tried to coax them to a few lessons, or she told them stories, to which they were too busy to listen. Instead they preferred to look at the moving pictures in the box that stood on a table in the living room. She gave them up finally and merely watched them contemplatively when they were in the same room with her and was glad when they were gone. She liked her son’s wife. She did not understand how there could be a Chinese woman who had never been in China, but such her son’s wife was. When her son was away, she could not say to her daughter-in-law, “Do you remember how the willows grew over the gate?” For her son’s wife had no such memories. She had grown up here in the city and she did not even hear its noise. At the same time, though she was so foreign, she was very kind to the old lady, and she spoke to her always in a gentle voice, however she might shout at the children, who were often disobedient.

The disobedience of the children was another grief to old Mrs. Pan. She did not understand how it was that four children could all be disobedient, for this meant that they had never been taught to obey their parents and revere their elders, which are the first lessons a child should learn.

“How is it,” she once asked her son, “that the children do not know how to obey?”

Mr. Pan had laughed, though uncomfortably. “Here in America the children are not taught as we were in China,” he explained.

“But my grandchildren are Chinese nevertheless,” old Mrs. Pan said in some astonishment.

“They are always with Americans,” Mr. Pan explained. “It is very difficult to teach them.”

Old Mrs. Pan did not understand, for Chinese and Americans are different beings, one on the west side of the sea and one on the east, and the sea is always between. Therefore, why should they not continue to live apart even in the same city? She felt in her heart that the children should be kept at home and taught those things which must be learned, but she said nothing. She felt lonely and there was no one who understood the things she felt and she was quite useless. That was the most difficult thing: She was of no use here. She could not even remember which spout the hot water came from and which brought the cold. Sometimes she turned on one and then the other, until her son’s wife came in briskly and said, “Let me, Mother.”

So she gave up and sat uselessly all day, not by the window, because the machines and the many people frightened her. She sat where she could not see out; she looked at a few books, and day by day she grew thinner and thinner until Mr. Pan was concerned beyond endurance.

One day he said to his wife, “Sophia, we must do something for my mother. There is no use in saving her from death in our village if she dies here in the city. Do you see how thin her hands are?”

“I have seen,” his good young wife said. “But what can we do?”

“Is there no woman you know who can speak Chinese with her?” Mr. Pan asked. “She needs to have someone to whom she can talk about the village and all the things she knows. She cannot talk to you because you can only speak English, and I am too busy making our living to sit and listen to her.”

Young Mrs. Pan considered. “I have a friend,” she said at last, “a schoolmate whose family compelled her to speak Chinese. Now she is a social worker here in the city. She visits families in Chinatown and this is her work. I will call her up and ask her to spend some time here so that our old mother can be happy enough to eat again.”

“Do so,” Mr. Pan said.

That very morning, when Mr. Pan was gone, young Mrs. Pan made the call and found her friend, Lili Yang, and she explained everything to her.

“We are really in very much trouble,” she said finally. “His mother is thinner every day, and she is so afraid she will die here. She has made us promise that we will not bury her in foreign soil but will send her coffin back to the ancestral village. We have promised, but can we keep this promise, Lili? Yet I am so afraid, because I think she will die, and Billy will think he must keep his promise and he will try to take the coffin back and then he will be killed. Please help us, Lili.”

Lili Yang promised and within a few days she came to the apartment and young Mrs. Pan led her into the inner room, which was old Mrs. Pan’s room and where she always sat, wrapped in her satin coat and holding a magazine at whose pictures she did not care to look. She took up that magazine when her daughter-in-law came in, because she did not want to hurt her feelings, but the pictures frightened her. The women looked bold and evil, their bosoms bare, and sometimes they were only a little silk stuff over their legs and this shocked her. She wondered that her son’s wife would put such a magazine into her hands, but she did not ask questions. There would have been no end to them had she once begun, and the ways of foreigners did not interest her. Most of the time she sat silent and still, her head sunk on her breast, dreaming of the village, the big house there where she and her husband had lived together with his parents and where their children were born. She knew that the village had fallen into the hands of their enemies and that strangers lived in the house, but she hoped even so that the land was tilled. All that she remembered was the way it had been when she was a young woman and before the evil had come to pass.

She heard now her daughter-in-law’s voice, “Mother, this is a friend. She is Miss Lili Yang. She has come to see you.”

Old Mrs. Pan remembered her manners. She tried to rise but Lili took her hands and begged her to keep seated.

“You must not rise to one so much younger,” she exclaimed.

Old Mrs. Pan lifted her head. “You speak such good Chinese!”

“I was taught by my parents,” Lili said. She sat down on a chair near the old lady.

Mrs. Pan leaned forward and put her hand on Lili’s knee. “Have you been in our own country?” she asked eagerly.

Lili shook her head. “That is my sorrow. I have not and I want to know about it. I have come here to listen to you tell me.”

“Excuse me,” young Mrs. Pan said, “I must prepare the dinner for the family.”

She slipped away so that the two could be alone and old Mrs. Pan looked after her sadly. “She never wishes to hear; she is always busy.”

“You must remember in this country we have no servants,” Lili reminded her gently.

“Yes,” old Mrs. Pan said, “and why not? I have told my son it is not fitting to have my daughter-in-law cooking and washing in the kitchen. We should have at least three servants: one for me, one for the children and one to clean and cook. At home we had many more but here we have only a few rooms.”

Lili did not try to explain. “Everything is different here and let us not talk about it,” she said. “Let us talk about your home and the village. I want to know how it looks and what goes on there.”

Old Mrs. Pan was delighted. She smoothed the gray satin of her coat as it lay on her knees and she began.

“You must know that our village lies in a wide valley from which the mountains rise as sharply as tiger’s teeth.”

“Is it so?” Lili said, making a voice of wonder.

“It is, and the village is not a small one. On the contrary, the walls encircle more than one thousand souls, all of whom are relatives of our family,”

“A large family,” Lili said.

“It is,” old Mrs. Pan said, “and my son’s father was the head of it. We lived in a house with seventy rooms. It was in the midst of the village. We had gardens in the courtyards. My own garden contained also a pool wherein are aged goldfish, very fat. I fed them millet and they knew me.”

“How amusing.” Lili saw with pleasure that the old lady’s cheeks were faintly pink and that her large beautiful eyes were beginning to shine and glow. “And how many years did you live there, Ancient One?”

“I went there as a bride. I was seventeen.” She looked at Lili, questioning, “How old are you?”

Lili smiled, somewhat ashamed, “I am twenty-seven.”

Mrs. Pan was shocked. “Twenty-seven? But my son’s wife called you Miss.”

“I am not married,” Lili confessed.

Mrs. Pan was instantly concerned. “How is this?” she asked. “Are your parents dead?”

“They are dead,” Lili said, “but it is not their fault that I am not married.”

Old Mrs. Pan would not agree to this. She shook her head with decision. “It is the duty of the parents to arrange the marriage of the children. When death approached, they should have attended to this for you. Now who is left to perform the task? Have you brothers?”

“No,” Lili said, “I am an only child. But please don’t worry yourself, Madame Pan. I am earning my own living and there are many young women like me in this country.”

Old Mrs. Pan was dignified about this. “I cannot be responsible for what other persons do, but I must be responsible for my own kind,” she declared. “Allow me to know the names of the suitable persons who can arrange your marriage. I will stand in the place of your mother. We are all in a foreign country now and we must keep together and the old must help the young in these important matters.”

Lili was kind and she knew that Mrs. Pan meant kindness. “Dear Madame Pan,” she said. “Marriage in America is very different from marriage in China. Here the young people choose their own mates.”

“Why do you not choose, then?” Mrs. Pan said with some spirit.

Lili Yang looked abashed. “Perhaps it would be better for me to say that only the young men choose. It is they who must ask the young women.”

“What do the young women do?” Mrs. Pan inquired.

“They wait,” Lili confessed.

“And if they are not asked?”

“They continue to wait,” Lili said gently.

“How long?” Mrs. Pan demanded.

“As long as they live.”

Old Mrs. Pan was profoundly shocked. “Do you tell me that there is no person who arranges such matters when it is necessary?”

“Such an arrangement is not thought of here,” Lili told her.

“And they allow their women to remain unmarried?” Mrs. Pan exclaimed. “Are there also sons who do not marry?”

“Here men do not marry unless they wish to do so.”

Mrs. Pan was even more shocked. “How can this be?” she asked. “Of course, men will not marry unless they are compelled to do so to provide grandchildren for the family. It is necessary to make laws and create customs so that a man who will not marry is denounced as an unfilial son and one who does not fulfill his duty to his ancestors.”

“Here the ancestors are forgotten and parents are not important,” Lili said unwillingly.

“What a country is this,” Mrs. Pan exclaimed. “How can such a country endure?”

Lili did not reply. Old Mrs. Pan had unknowingly touched upon a wound in her heart. No man had ever asked her to marry him. Yet above all else she would like to be married and to have children. She was a good social worker, and the head of the Children’s Bureau sometimes told her that he would not know what to do without her and she must never leave them, for then there would be no one to serve the people in Chinatown. She did not wish to leave except to he married, but how could she find a husband? She looked down at her hands, clasped in her lap, and thought that if she had been in her own country, if her father had not come here as a young man and married here, she would have been in China and by now the mother of many children. Instead what would become of her? She would grow older and older, and twenty-seven was already old, and at last hope must die. She knew several American girls quite well; they liked her, and she knew that they faced the same fate. They, too, were waiting. They tried very hard; they went in summer to hotels and in winter to ski lodges, where men gathered and were at leisure enough to think about them, and in confidence they told one another of their efforts. They compared their experiences and they asked anxious questions. “Do you think men like talkative women or quiet ones?” “Do you think men like lipstick or none?” Such questions they asked of one another and who could answer them? If a girl succeeded in winning a proposal from a man, then all the other girls envied her and asked her special questions and immediately she became someone above them all, a successful woman. The job which had once been so valuable then became worthless and it was given away easily and gladly. But how could she explain this to old Mrs. Pan?

Meanwhile Mrs. Pan had been studying Lili’s face carefully and with thought. This was not a pretty girl. Her face was too flat, and her mouth was large. She looked like a girl from Canton and not from Hangchow or Soochow. But she had nice skin, and her eyes, though small, were kind. She was the sort of girl, Mrs. Pan could see, who would make an excellent wife and a good mother, but certainly she was one for whom a marriage must be arranged. She was a decent, plain, good girl and, left to herself, Mrs. Pan could predict, nothing at all would happen. She would wither away like a dying flower.

Old Mrs. Pan forgot herself and for the first time since she had been hurried away from the village without even being allowed to stop and see that the salted cabbage, drying on ropes across the big courtyard, was brought in for the winter. She had been compelled to leave it there and she had often thought of it with regret. She could have brought some with her had she known it was not to be had here. But there it was, and it was only one thing among others that she had left undone. Many people depended upon her and she had left them, because her son compelled her, and she was not used to this idleness that was killing her day by day.

Now as she looked at Lili’s kind, ugly face it occurred to her that here there was something she could do. She could find a husband for this good girl, and it would be counted for merit when she went to heaven. A good deed is a good deed, whether one is in China or in America, for the same heaven stretches above all.

She patted Lili’s clasped hands. “Do not grieve anymore,” she said tenderly. “I will arrange everything.”

“I am not grieving,” Lili said.

“Of course, you are,” Mrs. Pan retorted. “I see you are a true woman, and women grieve when they are not wed so that they can have children. You are grieving for your children.”

Lili could not deny it. She would have been ashamed to confess to any other person except this old Chinese lady who might have been her grandmother. She bent her head and bit her lip; she let a tear or two fall upon her hands. Then she nodded. Yes, she grieved in the secret places of her heart, in the darkness of the lonely nights, when she thought of the empty future of her life.

“Do not grieve,” old Mrs. Pan was saying, “I will arrange it; I will do it.”

It was so comforting a murmur that Lili could not bear it. She said, “I came to comfort you, but it is you who comfort me.” Then she got up and went out of the room quickly because she did not want to sob aloud. She was unseen, for young Mrs. Pan had gone to market and the children were at school, and Lili went away telling herself that it was all absurd, that an old woman from the middle of China who could not speak a word of English would not be able to change this American world, even for her.

*  *  *  *  *

Old Mrs. Pan could scarcely wait for her son to come home at noon. She declined to join the family at the table, saying that she must speak to her son first.

When he came in, he saw at once that she was changed. She held up her head and she spoke to him sharply when he came into the room, as though it was her house and not his in which they now were.

“Let the children eat first,” she commanded, “I shall need time to talk with you and I am not hungry.”

He repressed his inclination to tell her that he was hungry and that he must get back to the office. Something in her look made it impossible for him to be disobedient to her. He went away and gave the children direction and then returned.

“Yes, my mother,” he said, seating himself on a small and uncomfortable chair.

Then she related to him with much detail and repetition what had happened that morning; she declared with indignation that she had never before heard of a country where no marriages were arranged for the young, leaving to them the most important event of their lives and that at a time when their judgment was still unripe, and a mistake could bring disaster upon the whole family.

“Your own marriage,” she reminded him, “was arranged by your father with great care, our two families knowing each other well. Even though you and my daughter-in-law were distant in this country, yet we met her parents through a suitable go-between, and her uncle here stood in her father’s place, and your father’s friend in place of your father, and so it was all done according to custom though so far away.”

Mr. Pan did not have the heart to tell his mother that he and his wife Sophia had fallen in love first, and then, out of kindness to their elders, had allowed the marriage to be arranged for them as though they were not in love, and as though, indeed, they did not know each other. They were both young people of heart, and although it would have been much easier to be married in the American fashion, they considered their elders.

“What has all this to do with us now, my mother?” he asked.

“This is what is to do,” she replied with spirit. “A nice, ugly girl of our own people came here today to see me. She is twenty-seven years old and she is not married. What will become of her?”

“Do you mean Lili Yang?” her son asked.

“I do,” she replied. “When I heard that she has no way of being married because, according to the custom of this country, she must wait for a man to ask her—”

Old Mrs. Pan broke off and gazed at her son with horrified eyes.

“What now?” he asked.

“Suppose the only man who asks is one who is not at all suitable?”

“Here she has no choice,” Mr. Pan agreed, “unless she is very pretty, my mother, when several men may ask and then she has choice.” It was on the tip of his tongue to tell how at least six young men had proposed to his Sophia, thereby distressing him continually until he was finally chosen, but he thought better of it. Would it not be very hard to explain so much to his old mother, and could she understand? He doubted it. Nevertheless, he felt it necessary at least to make one point.

“Something must be said for the man also, my mother. Sometimes he asks a girl who will not have him, because she chooses another, and then his sufferings are intense. Unless he wishes to remain unmarried he must ask a second girl, who is not the first one. Here also is some injustice.”

Old Mrs. Pan listened to this attentively and then declared, “It is all barbarous. Certainly it is very embarrassing to be compelled to speak of these matters, man and woman, face to face. They should be spared; Others should speak for them.”

She considered for a few seconds and then she said with fresh indignation, “And what woman can change the appearance her ancestors have given her? Because she is not pretty is she less a woman? Are not her feelings like any woman’s; is it not her right to have husband and home and children? It is well-known that men have no wisdom in such matters; they believe that a woman’s face is all she has, forgetting that everything else is the same. They gather about the pretty woman, who is surfeited with them, and leave alone the good woman. And I do not know why heaven has created ugly women always good but so it is, whether here or in our own country, but what man is wise enough to know that? Therefore his wife should be chosen for him, so that the family is not burdened with his follies.”

Mr. Pan allowed all this to be said and then he inquired, “What is on your mind, my mother?—”

Old Mrs. Pan leaned toward him and lifted her forefinger. “This is what I command you to do for me, my son. I myself will find a husband for this good girl of our people. She is helpless and alone. But I know no one; I am a stranger, and I must depend upon you. In your business there must be young men. Inquire of them and see who stands for them, so that we can arrange a meeting between them and me; I will stand for the girl’s mother. I promised it.”

Now Mr. Pan laughed heartily. “Oh, my mother!” he cried. “You are too kind, but it cannot be done. They would laugh at me, and do you believe that Lili Yang herself would like such an arrangement? I think she would not. She has been in America too long.”

Old Mrs. Pan would not yield, however, and in the end he was compelled to promise that he would see what he could do. Upon this promise she consented to eat her meal, and he led her out, her right hand resting upon his left wrist. The children were gone and they had a quiet meal together, and after it she said she felt that she would sleep. This was good news, for she had not slept well since she came, and young Mrs. Pan led her into the bedroom and helped her to lie down and placed a thin quilt over her.

When young Mrs. Pan went back to the small dining room where her husband waited to tell her what his mother had said, she listened thoughtfully.

“It is absurd,” her husband said, “but what shall we do to satisfy my mother? She sees it as a good deed if she can find a husband for Lili Yang.”

Here his wife surprised him. “I can see some good in it myself,” she declared. “I have often felt for Lili. It is a problem, and our mother is right to see it as such. It is not only Lili—it is a problem here for all young women, especially if they are not pretty.” She looked quizzically at her husband for a moment and then said, “I too used to worry when I was very young, lest I should not find a husband for myself. It is a great burden for a young woman. It would be nice to have someone else arrange the matter.”

“Remember,” he told her, “how often in the old country the wrong men are arranged for and how often the young men leave home because they do not like the wives their parents choose for them.”

“Well, so do they here,” she said pertly. “Divorce, divorce, divorce!”

“Come, come,” he told her. “It is not so bad.”

“It is very bad for women,” she insisted. “When there is divorce here, then she is thrown out of the family. The ties are broken. But in the old country, it is the man who leaves home and the woman stays on, for she is still the daughter-in-law and her children will belong to the family, and however far away the man wants to go, she has her place and she is safe.”

Mr. Pan looked at his watch. “It is late and I must go to the office.”

“Oh, your office,” young Mrs. Pan said in an uppish voice, “what would you do without it?”

They did not know it but their voices roused old Mrs. Pan in the bedroom, and she opened her eyes. She could not understand what they said for they spoke in English, but she understood that there was an argument. She sat up on the bed to listen, then she heard the door slam and she knew her son was gone. She was about to lie down again when it occurred to her that it would be interesting to look out of the window to the street and see what young men there were coming to and fro. One did not choose men from the street, of course, but still she could see what their looks were.

She got up and tidied her hair and tottered on her small feet over to the window and opening the curtains a little she gazed into the street really for the first time since she came. She was pleased to see many Chinese men, some of them young. It was still not late, and they loitered in the sunshine before going back to work, talking and laughing and looking happy. It was interesting to her to watch them, keeping in mind Lili Yang and thinking to herself that it might be this one or that one, although still one did not choose men from the street. She stood so long that at last she became tired and she pulled a small chair to the window and kept looking through the parted curtain.

Here her daughter-in-law saw her a little later, when she opened the door to see if her mother-in-law was awake, but she did not speak. She looked at the little satin-clad figure, and went away again, wondering why it was that the old lady found it pleasant today to look out of the window when every other day she had refused the same pleasure.

It became a pastime for old Mrs. Pan to look out of the window every day from then on. Gradually she came to know some of the young men, not by name but by their faces and by the way they walked by her window, never, of course looking up at her, until one day a certain young man did look up and smile. It was a warm day, and she had asked that the window be opened, which until now she had not allowed, for fear she might be assailed by the foreign winds and made ill. Today, however, was near to summer, she felt the room airless and she longed for freshness.

After this the young man habitually smiled when he passed or nodded his head. She was too old to have it mean anything but courtesy and so bit by bit she allowed herself to make a gesture of her hand in return. It was evident that he belonged in a china shop across the narrow street. She watched him go in and come out; she watched him stand at the door in his shirt sleeves on a fine day and talk and laugh, showing, as she observed, strong white teeth set off by two gold ones. Evidently he made money. She did not believe he was married, for she saw an old man who must be his father, who smoked a water pipe, and now and then an elderly woman, perhaps his mother, and a younger brother, but there was no young woman.

She began after some weeks of watching to fix upon this young man as a husband for Lili. But who could be the go-between except her own son?

She confided her plans one night to him, and, as always, he listened to her with courtesy and concealed amusement. “But the young man, my mother, is the son of Mr. Lim, who is the richest man on our street.”

“That is nothing against him,” she declared.

“No, but he will not submit to an arrangement, my mother. He is a college graduate. He is only spending the summer at home in the shop to help his father.”

“Lili Yang has also been to school.”

“I know, my mother, but, you see, the young man will want to choose his own wife, and it will not be someone who looks like Lili Yang. It will be someone who—”

He broke off and made a gesture which suggested curled hair, a fine figure and an air. Mrs. Pan watched him with disgust. “You are like all these other men, though you are my son,” she said and dismissed him sternly.

Nevertheless, she thought over what he had said when she went back to the window. The young man was standing on the street picking his fine teeth and laughing at friends who passed, the sun shining on his glistening black hair. It was true he did not look at all obedient; it was perhaps true that he was no more wise than other men and so saw only what a girl’s face was. She wished that she could speak to him, but that, of course, was impossible. Unless—

She drew in a long breath. Unless she went downstairs and out into that street and crossed it and entered the shop, pretending that she came to buy something! If she did this, she could speak to him. But what would she say, and who would help her cross the street? She did not want to tell her son or her son’s wife, for they would suspect her and laugh. They teased her often even now about her purpose, and Lili was so embarrassed by their laughter that she did not want to come anymore.

Old Mrs. Pan reflected on the difficulty of her position as a lady in a barbarous and strange country. Then she thought of her eldest grandson, Johnnie. On Saturday, when her son was at his office and her son’s wife was at the market, she would coax Johnnie to lead her across the street to the china shop; she would pay him some money, and in the shop she would say he was looking for two bowls to match some that had been broken. It would be an expedition, but she might speak to the young man and tell him—what should she tell him? That must first be planned.

This was only Thursday and she had only two days to prepare. She was very restless during those two days, and she could not eat. Mr. Pan spoke of a doctor whom she indignantly refused to see, because he was a man and also because she was not ill. But Saturday came at last and everything came about as she planned. Her son went away, and then her son’s wife, and she crept downstairs with much effort to the sidewalk where her grandson was playing marbles and beckoned him to her. The child was terrified to see her there and came at once, and she pressed a coin into his palm and pointed across the street with her cane.

“Lead me there,” she commanded and, shutting her eyes tightly, she put her hand on his shoulder and allowed him to lead her to the shop. Then to her dismay he left her and ran back to play and she stood wavering on the threshold, feeling dizzy, and the young man saw her and came hurrying toward her. To her joy he spoke good Chinese, and the words fell sweetly upon her old ears.

“Ancient One, Ancient One,” he chided her kindly. “Come in and sit down. It is too much for you.”

He led her inside the cool, dark shop and she sat down on a bamboo chair.

“I came to look for two bowls,” she said faintly.

“Tell me the pattern and I will get them for you,” he said. “Are they blue willow pattern or the thousand flowers?”

“Thousand flowers,” she said in the same faint voice, “but I do not wish to disturb you.”

“I am here to be disturbed,” he replied with the utmost courtesy.

He brought out some bowls and set them on a small table before her and she fell to talking with him. He was very pleasant; his rather large face was shining with kindness and he laughed easily. Now that she saw him close, she was glad to notice that he was not too handsome; his nose and mouth were big, and he had big hands and feet.

“You look like a countryman,” she said. “Where is your ancestral home?”

“It is in the province of Shantung,” he replied, “and there are not many of us here.”

“That explains why you are so tall,” she said. “These people from Canton are small. We of Szechuen are also big and our language is yours. I cannot understand the people of Canton.”

From this they fell to talking of their own country, which he had never seen, and she told him about the village and how her son’s father had left it many years ago to do business here in this foreign country and how he had sent for their son and then how she had been compelled to flee because the country was in fragments and torn between many leaders. When she had told this much, she found herself telling him how difficult it was to live here and how strange the city was to her and how she would never have looked out of the window had it not been for the sake of Lili Yang.

“Who is Lili Yang?” he asked.

Old Mrs. Pan did not answer him directly. That would not have been suitable. One does not speak of a reputable young woman to any man, not even one as good as this one. Instead she began a long speech about the virtues of young women who were not pretty, and how beauty in a woman made virtue unlikely, and how a woman not beautiful was always grateful to her husband and did not consider that she had done him a favor by the marriage, but rather that it was he who conferred the favor, so that she served him far better than she could have done were she beautiful.

To all this the young man listened, his small eyes twinkling with laughter.

“I take it that this Lili Yang is not beautiful,” he said.

Old Mrs. Pan looked astonished. “I did not say so,” she replied with spirit. “I will not say she is beautiful and I will not say she is ugly. What is beautiful to one is not so to another. Suppose you see her sometime for yourself, and then we will discuss it.”

“Discuss what?” he demanded.

“Whether she is beautiful.”

Suddenly she felt that she had come to a point and that she had better go home. It was enough for the first visit. She chose two bowls and paid for them and while he wrapped them up she waited in silence, for to say too much is worse than to say too little.

When the bowls were wrapped, the young man said courteously. “Let me lead you across the Street, Ancient One.”

So, putting her right hand on his left wrist, she let him lead her across and this time she did not shut her eyes, and she came home again feeling that she had been a long way and had accomplished much. When her daughter-in-law came home she said quite easily, “I went across the street and bought these two bowls.”

Young Mrs. Pan Opened her eyes wide. “My mother, how could you go alone?”

“I did not go alone,” Old Mrs. Pan said tranquilly. “My grandson led me across and young Mr. Lim brought me back.”

Each had spoken in her own language with helpful gestures.

Young Mrs. Pan was astonished and she said no more until her husband came home, when she told him. He laughed a great deal and said, “Do not interfere with our old one. She is enjoying herself. It is good for her.”

But all the time he knew what his mother was doing and he joined in it without her knowledge. That is to say, he telephoned the same afternoon from his office to Miss Lili Yang, and when she answered, he said, “Please come and see my old mother again. She asks after you every day. Your visit did her much good.”

Lili Yang promised, not for today but for a week hence, and when Mr. Pan went home he told his mother carelessly, as though it were nothing, that Lili Yang had called him up to say she was coming again next week.

Old Mrs. Pan heard this with secret excitement. She had not gone out again, but every day young Mr. Lim nodded to her and smiled, and once he sent her a small gift of fresh ginger root. She made up her mind slowly but she made it up well. When Lili Yang came again, she would ask her to take her to the china shop, pretending that she wanted to buy something, and she would introduce the two to each other; that much she would do. It was too much, but, after all, these were modern times, and this was a barbarous country, where it did not matter greatly whether the old customs were kept or not. The important thing was to find a husband for Lili, who was already twenty-seven years old.

So it all came about, and when Lili walked into her room the next week, while the fine weather still held, old Mrs. Pan greeted her with smiles. She seized Lili’s small hand and noticed that the hand was very soft and pretty, as the hands of most plain-faced girls are, the gods being kind to such women and giving them pretty bodies when they see that ancestors have not bestowed pretty faces.

“Do not take off your foreign hat,” she told Lili. “I wish to go across the street to that shop and buy some dishes as a gift for my son’s wife. She is very kind to me.”

Lili Yang was pleased to see the old lady so changed and cheerful and in all innocence she agreed and they went across the street and into the shop. Today there were customers, and old Mr. Lim was there too, as well as his son. He was a tall, withered man, and he wore a small beard under his chin. When he saw old Mrs. Pan he stopped what he was doing and brought her a chair to sit upon while she waited. As soon as his customer was gone, he introduced himself, saying that he knew her son.

“My son has told me of your honored visit last week,” he said. “Please come inside and have some tea. I will have my son bring the dishes, and you can look at them in quiet. It is too noisy here.”

She accepted his courtesy, and in a few minutes young Mr. Lim came back to the inner room with the dishes while a servant brought tea.

Old Mrs. Pan did not introduce Lili Yang, for it was not well to embarrass a woman, but young Mr. Lim boldly introduced himself, in English.

“Are you Miss Lili Yang?” he asked. “I am James Lim.”

“How did you know my name?” Lili asked, astonished.

“I have met you before, not face to face, but through Mrs. Pan,” he said, his small eyes twinkling. “She has told me more about you than she knows.”

Lili blushed. “Mrs. Pan is so old-fashioned,” she murmured. “You must not believe her.”

“I shall only believe what I see for myself,” he said gallantly. He looked at her frankly and Lili kept blushing. Old Mrs. Pan had not done her justice, he thought. The young woman had a nice, round face, the sort of face he liked. She was shy, and he liked that also. It was something new.

Meanwhile old Mrs. Pan watched all this with amazement. So this was the way it was: The young man began speaking immediately, and the young woman blushed. She wished that she knew what they were saying but perhaps it was better that she did nor know.

She turned to old Mr. Lim, who was sitting across the square table sipping tea. At least here she could do her duty. “I hear your son is not married,” she said in a tentative way.

“Not yet,” Mr. Lim said. “He wants first to finish learning how to be a Western doctor.”

“How old is he?” Mrs. Pan inquired.

“He is twenty-eight. It is very old but he did not make up his mind for some years, and the learning is long.”

“Miss Lili Yang is twenty-seven,” Mrs. Pan said in the same tentative voice.

The young people were still talking in English and not listening to them. Lili was telling James Lim about her work and about old Mrs. Pan. She was not blushing anymore; she had forgotten, it seemed, that he was a young man and she a young woman. Suddenly she stopped and blushed again. A woman was supposed to let a man talk about himself, not about her.

“Tell me about your work,” she said. “I wanted to be a doctor, too, but it cost too much.”

“I can’t tell you here,” he said. “There are customers waiting in the shop and it will take a long time. Let me come to see you, may I? I could come on Sunday when the shop is closed. Or we could take a ride on one of the riverboats. Will you? The weather is so fine.”

“I have never been on a riverboat,” she said. “It would be delightful.”

She forget her work and remembered that he was a young man and that she was a young woman. She liked his big face and the way his black hair fell back from his forehead and she knew that a day on the river could be a day in heaven.

The customers were getting impatient. They began to call out and he got up. “Next Sunday,” he said in a low voice. “Let’s start early. I’ll be at the wharf at nine o‘clock.”

“We do not know each other,” she said, reluctant and yet eager. Would he think she was too eager?

He laughed. “You see my respectable father, and I know old Mrs. Pan very well. Let them guarantee us.”

He hurried away, and old Mrs. Pan said immediately to Lili, “I have chosen these four dishes. Please take them and have them wrapped. Then we will go home.”

Lili obeyed, and when she was gone, old Mrs. Pan leaned toward old Mr. Lim.

“I wanted to get her out of the way,” she said in a low and important voice. “Now, while she is gone, what do you say? Shall we arrange a match? We do not need a go-between. I stand as her mother, let us say, and you are his father. We must have their horoscopes read, of course, but just between us, it looks as though it is suitable, does it not?”

Mr. Lim wagged his head. “If you recommend her, Honorable Old Lady, why not?”

Why not, indeed? After all, things were not so different here, after all.

“What day is convenient for you?” she asked.

“Shall we say Sunday?” old Mr. Lim suggested.

“Why not?” she replied. “All days are good, when one performs a good deed, and what is better than to arrange a marriage?”

“Nothing is better,” old Mr. Lim agreed. “Of all good deeds under heaven, it is the best.”

They fell silent, both pleased with themselves, while they waited.