The Presbyterian Of The South : [Combining The] Southwestern Presbyterian, Central Presbyterian, Southern Presbyterian

[August 25, 1920

THE WEE YELLOW FIST.

E. W. Sites, Foochow, China.

"That one has gone bad already."
The woman looked at the basket of
rags with so little concern that I was
slow to take in what she meant.
Then, amid the ashy rags, I detect-
ed a wee, wee ashen face. Why the
frail spark of life had lingered in
that weazened body through five days
of unutterable neglect I cannot imag-
ine, unless she was waiting for me
to come.
The basket stood on the floor of a
little black hole of a room; in a dirty
box in another corner lay another bit
of infant womanhood, and I heard
plaintive infant cries from somewhere
within the house.
"We keep them until we get a load
—four or five—then take them to
Foochow."
A lad had told me that a load of
seven or eight girls was taken to Foo-
chow every few days. "If they live,
they live," he remarked, "and if they
die, they just die."
And if they live, what happens?
It
is better not to follow their career too
closely, if you want to sleep at night.
I asked what the woman fed them
these girl infants of a day or two—
and she showed me some coarse, hard
cakes.
"I soak them in this," she said,
producing a grimy bowl with a sticky
something in it. "But that one won't
eat."
I looked at the lips, all inflamed,
and drew the rags away from the
shrunken, helpless limbs for a mo-
ment. I would have loved to take
her up and give her a bit of tender
woman-care, but I knew the tiny body
could endure nothing now.
As I turned away, with horror of
it thickening my throat, the little
thing moved. Suddenly
a
wee,
clenched fist was thrust out directly
toward me, as if in terrible appeal.
I think I shall remember that tiny
fist till the day I die.
I learned about it in the morning
meeting with the women, about the
dowager who disposes of superfluous
girls for ten cents each and saves you
the trouble of drowning them.
I learned, furthermore, the appal-
ling fact that to these semi-Chinese
women this simple expedient seemed
wholly natural and proper. Be merci-
ful!
Remember they start up the
ladder of living four thousand years
behind you.
When the doctor found the wee
mite this afternoon her spirit had re-
turned to Him who gave it; there in
the filthy basket, where a decent dog
would scorn to die. The little one
within the house was soon to follow.
At the afternoon class I begged
Mrs. Hubbard to talk to the women
about this crime.
"We have nothing to feed these
girls!" one woman protested.
"You always manage to feed boys."
"But girls won't care for us when
we are old!" This was from a heath-
en woman. Heathenism is forever in-
credible! Where love is, there is God;
and where God is unknown love is,
in cruel reality, also unknown.
Then Mrs. Peet followed with a lov-
ing but passionate appeal. "The blood
of your own daughters cries to hea-
ven," she pleaded. "God will require
every one of them at your hands."
Those careless women were stirred,
convicted. For the first time many a
one was conscious of her own guilt
in this matter.—In "The Missionary
Voice."

"Friendship is the scarlet thread let
down from the windows of heaven to
bind human hearts together."