“Come on, we don’t want to get into any trouble,” Reginald said.
“This way,” Lydia said, ignoring him. She turned down one of the narrow, twisting streets. They had gone no more than a few feet when they rounded a corner and saw before them a small child, sitting naked in the street, screaming.
The reason for the infant’s terror was evident, for it was surrounded by a pack of wild-looking dogs. From the marks on the child’s arms and legs, the animals had already bitten her once or twice, and they were now circling the child as if making ready to rush upon her.
“Stop that,” Lydia cried. She picked up a stone and threw it, catching the biggest dog on the rump and making him yelp.
She threw another stone and ran forward. The dogs backed away, but only a short distance, yapping and snarling as she snatched the baby up in her arms.
“There, there,” Lydia said, cradling the infant. “It’s all right, you’re safe now. Where do you suppose the parents are, anyway? This child might have been killed.”
“I think that was the idea,” Reginald said.
Lydia’s mouth fell open. “But—surely, you don’t mean....”
“It’s a girl,” Reginald said, pointing.
Lydia glanced down, blushing to have such an anatomical detail pointed out to her by a boy. In the next instant she was filled with horror, as the full import of Reginald’s remark became clear to her.
Before she could speak, however, a group of Chinese burst from the house before which they were standing. The woman in the lead snatched the infant from Lydia’s arms. She was speaking too fast for Lydia, with her scant grasp of the language, to understand much, but there was no question that she was angry with the foreign devils for “interfering where they had no business.”
“Come on, we’d better go,” Reginald said, taking her arm again and urging her back the way they had come.
Lydia went with him, though she kept looking back in dismay at the group, now grown to nearly a dozen. The Chinese were still scolding them angrily, the baby still crying, though less shrilly than before.
“It’s horrible,” she said, when they had gone round the corner and were out of sight.
“They’re heathens,” Reginald said matter-of-factly. “If a baby turns out to be a girl, they just put it out in the street for the dogs or the pigs to eat. I’m surprised they don’t cook it themselves—”
“Stop it,” she said sharply. “Papa says it’s because they’re poor. They can’t afford to invest all the expense of raising a daughter, knowing that when she’s grown she’ll marry and go to work for someone else.”
Despite her defense of the Chinese, however, the incident had left her badly shaken. It was one thing to be told that girl children were sometimes left to die by their destitute parents; it was quite another to see it being done, and to be able to do nothing to prevent it.
All of a sudden, China had lost a great deal of its romance for her.
* * * * * * *
Like all but the meanest of Chinese towns, this one was surrounded by a crenellated wall, and they had come to the gate.
“Let’s go outside,” Reginald said, taking her arm again.
“Do you think we ought to?” she asked. “Aren’t you afraid of the Chinese?”
“There’s lots fewer of them out here.” When she still held back, he added in a pleading tone, “Come on, this may be the last I’ll see you in a long time, maybe forever.”
She shuddered, his words seeming to her a grim prophecy, but she relented. From outside, they could look down upon the rice paddies, crescent-shaped patches descending one below the other, so that they could be easily flooded, with firs and bamboos growing in the hollows.
Reginald led them to one of the little groves of bamboo, and when they had passed into its green shade they seemed quite removed from all the bustle and commotion of the city. This she had not resisted at all, for she found the bamboo groves enchanted places in which she could forget the horror that still lingered in her mind. Here she could imagine herself a princess, in the midst of fantastic adventures.
Reginald cleared his throat nervously, reminding her of his presence. If only, she thought, he were more of a prince.
“So today’s your birthday, is it?” he asked.
His voice was higher pitched than usual, and she gave him a puzzled glance, wondering what on earth was making him so nervous all of a sudden. Maybe he was more frightened of the Chinese than he’d let on.
“Yes,” she said. “Mama’s making me a cake and Papa went to the market to get me a present, though of course he didn’t say so.”
“Sweet sixteen, and never been kissed,” Reginald said, attempting a laugh that came out a gurgle.
“I don’t think that’s any concern of yours,” she replied archly, her face coloring.
“Well, come on then, give us a kiss,” he said, seizing her all of a sudden in a clumsy embrace.
“I won’t,” she cried, struggling to free herself. “Let go of me, how dare you, you silly boy!”
“I’m not a boy anymore, Pa said I could carry a gun on the trip back to Shanghai—and I’ll show you, too, if you’ll just hold still a minute.”
She flung her head to and fro, avoiding his attempts to plant his mouth on hers. She had almost broken free of his arms when her foot slipped and, to her dismay, she fell to the ground. In an instant he was upon her, his weight threatening to crush her. It was harder in this position to elude him, and she felt his mouth at her throat, moving down toward her little breasts as he tore at the bodice of her dress with his hand.
“Let me go,” she cried, almost in tears; how dare this pockmarked lout manhandle her like this! Papa would have him horsewhipped.
“Not till I’ve got what I want to remember you by,” he said, his breath hoarse and rasping in her ear.
His knees were between hers and he forced them apart, rubbing his body roughly against hers. It was frightening and crude and at the same time she felt a mysterious tingling in her loins that she had never felt before, that both puzzled her and added to her fear.
“Stop it, I say!” she cried, pounding his shoulders. “I’ll tell your pa.”
“We’ll be gone from here by nightfall,” he said, laughing again as one hand found the tender flesh beneath her skirt, “so there’ll be no one to tell.”
“Reginald, you wouldn’t....” Even had she known the correct words, she could not have brought herself to use them, but there was little doubt by now in either of their minds just what he intended.
“What do you think?” he said, mocking her; his fingernails raked one silken thigh.
“I think,” a masculine voice said from above them, “that you’d better do as the young lady says, and let her go.”
Reginald shot to his feet, his already pale face going whiter. Over his shoulder, Lydia saw the face of Peter MacNair, the Scotch-American trader who had arrived in the city a few days ago.
“Wh-wh-wh—” Reginald stammered helplessly, unable to form a complete word.
“This isn’t a very safe place for you youngsters to be just now,” MacNair said. “Hasn’t anyone told you there’s been some trouble with the Chinese?”
“Yes, sir.” Reginald’s Adam’s apple bobbed furiously.
“Well, then, you’d