The Hope pioneer. [volume] (Hope, N.D.) 1882-1964, 1920-04-22
Would you, in such circumstances,
have kept faith and gone on with
March's instructions unread?
CHAPTER "
The Feathered Needle.

The Feathered Needle.
The Ensurta Queen was neither the
largest nor the newest ship afloat.
The Pacific was inclined to handle her
roughly. She was not long enough to
be comfortable in a breeze. but she
was of a sturdy depth. profitable to
her owners. The wind was sharper
than Lexington had anticipated.
Nothing was as he had planned. He
went shivering to his cabin.
The fire that lurked in Cons veins
was o sanity. He knew that
his mother had dwelt on the clear
heights Of emotion, that John Leving-
ton had seen all things with he vision
of a poet. Even in those shabby fra
grant days in Dory street. toward the
last, the father had mentioned the
beauty of Gods world. not meant for
himself, and had looked to his little
boy for answer.
Often after that Lexington glanced
across at Chez Ming in the dining
salon or passed him on deck. A per-
feet lack of relation was preserved
between them, as if they had never
met before.
The Ensurta Queen hesitated at
Nagasaki, let go a little Of her burden,
and bounced onward into the Yellow
sea. The wind changed thrice, lifted,
then died. The ship was not quieted,
but wallowed anyway. A thick
dim mist filled the air, cold. riven
only by the Ensurta's dignitied warm
ing, which was repeated every forty
seconds throughout the final night and
day.
Small, low craft scuttled out OF her
path. The presence of the ancient
Yellow Mother permeated the fog, as
If creeping out from Invisible shores
to sniff the stranger-old Mother
China. who started half the good
things Of the world. but left them for
others to finish, to abuse and forget.
Some of her best have never been dis
covered. She is waiting. She did not
ask for the Torch of Light, and there
was no sorrow in her yielding when
they took it from her. Her timeless
eyes have never wept, and they will
never smile. Dynasties, empires,
of men, emerge from her, cast their
tlnsel upon the dust, and vanish, God
knows where, and Mother China waits,
and waits.
In his cabin Con Lexington was
sleeping.
The harbor at Tong-hu was crowd
ed. Mongrel craft Of the world we're
cluttered here-sailing-ships that had
left Liverpool in the girlhood of
Queen Victoria. and returned !;
gray japanese coasters; netting tugs
from the south; a low neglected
revenue chaser. built for the king of
Portugal. at present carrying arti-
chokes and salt and sisal, a tramp
like the rest. Threading these were
the native river boats-three-decked
and fat, their rails mere perforated
steam-pipes arranged against the day
Of pirates, when live steam would
flash from them broadside and scald
the robbers as they came aboard-with
ever a shifting background Of junks,
like vermin swarming an old coat,
crooked. discolored floating shapes
that would have sunk in water thinner
than this Pel-ho mud. Short cries
sounded, and q dim rattle Of gongs.
A sooty tug worried at the hawser
Of the bulky Queen. There followed
the creaking of strained timbers as
she leaned against the dock. a female
CULVER amid the little dirty ships Of
Tong-hu. The tug snorted at her, then
-