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the Old Buddha gave a party to the American ladies. Somehow upon that occasion Helen had told the chief lady-in-waiting that she would like to bring her son to pay his respects to the Empress. The lady had laughed, had said something to the Empress, who was in one of her unaccountable moods, alternating between childishness and tyranny. Then the lady had said, “Our ancient Ancestor says she would like to see a foreign little boy. Please bring him on the next feast day, which is the Crack of Spring.”
    Upon a cold day William had gone with his mother to the Imperial Palace and had waited hours in an icy anteroom. At the hour of noon a tall eunuch had summoned them at last into The Presence. William had walked behind his mother and at the command of the eunuch had bowed very low before the spectacular old woman sitting on a glittering dragon throne. It was understood even then that no Americans were required to prostrate themselves.
    The Empress was in a good mood. The brilliant and still wintry sun streamed across the tiled floors and fell upon her gold encrusted robes and upon her long jeweled hands lying over her knees. William saw first the embroidered edge of her yellow satin robe, and then lifting his eyes higher, he saw the fabulous hands and then the ends of her long jade necklace and so his eyes rose at last to the enameled face, to the large shining eyes, to the elaborate jeweled headdress. Eunuchs and ladies, seeing this boldness of this child, waited for the royal fury. It did not fall. In the eyes of the young handsome American boy the Empress saw such worship, such admiring awe, that she laughed. Then everybody laughed except William, who stood gazing at her without response. Suddenly the mood changed. The Empress frowned, waved her encased fingertips, and turned away her head.
    The Chief Eunuch stepped forward instantly and hurried them away.
    â€œWhy did the Empress get angry with me?” William asked his father when at home he was once again warmed and fed.
    â€œWho can understand the heart of the Empress?” he replied.
    Mrs. Lane hastened to speak. “William, we must remember that you are the only American boy who has ever seen the great Empress Dowager of China. That’s the important thing, isn’t it?”
    Dr. Lane had not liked this.
    â€œHelen, in the sight of God, all are alike,” he had reminded his wife.
    â€œOf course, I know that,” she replied. “But we aren’t God, are we? The Empress is still the Empress and there is no use in pretending that William has not had a great honor, for he has. It’s a wonderful thing and I must say that if I hadn’t had the courage to push forward and ask for it, he would not have had the chance.”
    Dr. Lane, thinking now of his son, sighed as he so often did, without knowing it. Helen had not changed very much. Sometimes, although she observed quite carefully all the outward forms of religion, he feared that at heart she was nevertheless a worldly woman.
    William, who had been named for Helen’s father, not his, had grown up clever and proud. Whether the boy’s heart had ever been touched he did not know. Perhaps a boy’s heart was never touched until the dews of young manhood fell upon it. Dr. Lane remembered even himself as a callous youth until suddenly one day when he was almost twenty he had perceived that life was a gift in his hand, to be used or wasted. God had spoken to him at that moment.
    The Chinese dinner gong struck softly, and he turned the oil lamp low. It was a fine bit of furnishing, something Helen had contrived from a Ming jar. She had a taste for luxury. Outside Peking it might not have been fitting to a minister of Christ who secretly believed in poverty, but in Peking the houses of the diplomats were so much richer that this house was not remarkable. The fantastic extravagance of the Imperial Court set the atmosphere of the city. Yet the old Empress was