The memory of all those turbulent years was heavy upon his gray head,
and he wished only that the hills might cover him and give him rest and
concealment.

And away on the other side of the continent there is a grave that has
known the tears of love and the hand of remembrance. Its flowers are
bright and its shining marble is graven fair with name and date and
words of praise.




THE STORY, OF A CHINEE KID

"Little Ah Sid
Was a Chinee Kid,
A cute little cuss, you 'd declare,
With eyes full of fun
And a nose that begun
Right up at the roots of his hair."
--M. C. SPEER.


This Chinee Kid was not Ah Sid, but another one whose name was Ah Wing.
He was a Chinee Kid only so far as he was n't a Boy, and just how much
of him was Chinee Kid and how much was Boy is difficult to say.
Sometimes he seemed to be mostly all one, and sometimes just as much
the other, and, again, he was a harmonized mixture of the two.

Wing's father and mother were both Chinese, but Wing had been born and