was at that time the happy mother of two sons.

She took the elder of these, a not very sturdy boy of three years
and more, from his comfortable bed to make him emperor, and one
can imagine they hear him whining with a half-sleepy yawn: "I
don't want to be emperor. I want to sleep." But she bundled
little Tsai Tien up in comfortable wraps, took him out of a happy
home, from a loving father and mother, and a jolly little baby
brother,--out of a big beautiful world, where he would have
freedom to go and come at will, toys to play with, children to
contend with him in games, and everything in a home of wealth
that is dear to the heart of a child. And for what? She folded
him in her arms, adopted him as her own son, and carried him into
the Forbidden--and no doubt to him forbidding--City, where his
world was one mile square, without freedom, without another child
within its great bare walls, where he was the one lone, solitary
man among thousands of eunuchs and women. The next morning when
the imperial clan assembled to condole with her on the death of
her son, she bore little Tsai Tien into their midst declaring:
"Here is your emperor."

At that time there were situated on Legation Street, in Peking,
two foreign stores that had been opened without the consent of
the Chinese government, for in those days the capital had not
been opened to foreign trade. As the stores were small, and in
such close proximity to the various legations, the most of whose
supplies they furnished, they seem to have been too unimportant
to attract official attention, though they were destined to have
a mighty influence on the future of China. One of them was kept
by a Dane, who sold foreign toys, notions, dry-goods and