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 CHAPTER II.

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