Liu Venti’s glance travelled back to the children eating rice on the doorstep, then rested on the head of his own young son.

“And our fathers’ mansions,” said he, “are empty of the voices of little ones.”

“LET US GO HOME,” SAID Pau Tsu suddenly.

Liu Venti started. Pau Tsu’s words echoed the wish of his own heart. But he was not as bold as she.

“How dare we?” he asked. “Have not our fathers sworn that they will never forgive us?”

“The light within me this evening,” replied Pau Tsu, “reveals that our parents sorrow because they have this sworn. Oh, Liu Venti, ought we not to make our parents happy, even if we have to do so against their will?”

“I would that we could,” replied Liu Venti. “But before we can approach them, there is to be overcome your father’s hatred for my father and my father’s hatred for thine.”

A shadow crossed Pau Tsu’s face. But not for long. It lifted as she softly said: “Love is stronger than hate.”

Little Waking Eyes clambered upon his father’s knee.

“Me too,” cried Little Sleeping Eyes, following him. With chubby fists he pushed his brother to one side and mounted his father also.

Pau Tsu looked across at her husband and sons. “Oh, Liu Venti,” she said, “for the sake of our children; for the sake of our parents; for the sake of a broader field of work for ourselves, we are called upon to make a sacrifice!”

Three months later, Liu Venti and Pau Tsu, with mingled sorrow and hope in their hearts, bade goodbye to their little sons and sent them across the sea, offerings of love to parents of whom both son and daughter remembered nothing but love and kindness, yet from whom that son and daughter were estranged by a poisonous thing called Hate.

III

TWO LITTLE BOYS WERE PLAYING together on a beach. One gazed across the sea with wondering eyes. A thought had come—a memory.

“Where are father and mother?” he asked, turning to his brother.

The other little boy gazed bewilderedly back at him and echoed:

“Where are father and mother?”

Then the two little fellows sat down in the sand and began to talk to one another in a queer little old-fashioned way of their own.

“Grandfathers and grandmothers are very good,” said Little Waking Eyes.

“Very good,” repeated Little Sleeping Eyes.

“They give us lots of nice things.”

“Lots of nice things!”

“Balls and balloons and puff puffs and kitties.”

“Balls and balloons and puff puffs and kitties.”

“The puppet show is very beautiful!”

“Very beautiful!”

“And grandfathers fly kites and puff fire flowers!”

“Fly kites and puff fire flowers!”

“And grandmothers have cakes and sweeties.”

“Cakes and sweeties!”

“But where are father and mother?”

Little Waking Eyes and Little Sleeping Eyes again searched each other’s faces; but neither could answer the other’s question. Their little mouths drooped pathetically; they propped their chubby little faces in their hands and heaved queer little sighs.