CHAPTER II.
Orphaned Through Opium.
According to our Chinese books, when a son is born
he sleeps on a bed, he is clothed in robes, he plays
with gems, his cry is princely loud; as an emperor,
he is clothed in purple, and he is the king of the home.
But when a daughter is born she sleeps on the ground,
she is clothed in a wrapper, she plays with a tile;
she cannot be either good or evil, and has only to prepare
wine and food without giving any cause of grief
to her parents. So, being a girl, I learned to play
with broken tiles, and found them as good as gems.
When I was about three years old, something dreadful
happened. Another baby was born—and it was a girl.
I didn't mind at all, as I wanted someone to play with,
and a girl is as good as a boy—better, I think. But
our proverb says, "Eighteen beautiful daughters are
not equal to one son, even though he be lame." My
father was dreadfully angry, and beat mother; so she
was miserable, and cried a good deal. After a few
days I missed my baby sister, and when I asked where
she was, someone laughed, and pointed to a pond, near
by. I didn't know then what he meant; but sister
never came back, so I had to play alone.
About this time I was betrothed. Practically all girls are, in China, and at a very early age. My father said girls were a useless expense, so he wanted to get me off his hands as soon as possible. So a lucky day
