I received a second letter from a young Chinese gentleman in Hong Kong who had read the columns in "Boxer's Shorts." I had answered his first E-mail with a short note speaking of my own experience of Hong Kong and Mainland China. This interested him because much of it took place before he was born, and he has asked now if I might elaborate a bit on my mention of having been among the millions trapped during the Communist Siege of Peking during December and January of 1948-49.

He was particularly intrigued by my having spoken of the Chinese majordomo in the British compound where I resided with a host family. I was 14. Mr. Chang was not a young man. I would say in looking back that he must have been in his early sixties, more or less the age I am now. His wife and family were also resident in the compound.

The American governmental representatives and Marine units had already evacuated themselves and U. S. cit- izens from the city, but as I was with an English family, I was overlooked. A pall of apprehension lay over us night and day. There is no greater uncertainty than the unstoppable encroachment of an armed "enemy." The Reds were indeed the enemy of many who served the Nationalist government, and the Nationalists knew it. Frantic in their attempts to escape from the encircled city, many stole small aircraft from the airport and fled by sky.

One of these, a Nationalist general, managed to loot a couple of banks. He loaded his cargo of Chiang Kai Shek cash into the hold of an abandoned World War II bomber and took off with his family and a few minions. As the plane turned in a sharp bank after take-off, the bomb bay flew open and quantities of paper money showered over the city, along with gold coins.

I remember Mr. Chang racing through the compound shouting: "Come! Come! Gather it up! No, forget the gold! The bills! Only the paper money! We have no toilet paper!"

He was the most pragmatic man I ever knew. On the day the Reds finally entered Peking in February 1949, the first man in was a young soldier about 13 years old. Mr. Chang and I were near the city gate where he entered. The little guy marched up boldly to Mr. Chang.

"Who is that foreign boy?" he asked rudely. "We have come to liberate you from such devils. We are the New Order." The kid lifted his rifle with clear intent to command Chang's unquestioning attention, but Chang slapped it away. "Mind your manners!" he barked. "You may be the New Order, but you are still Chinese. I am an old man. You treat me with respect! And now apologize to this young gentleman."

The boy faltered. He lowered his Russian rifle, which was almost as tall as he was, and looked crestfallen. Mr. Chang waited, his face remaining stern.

"He doesn't have to apologize, sir," I said to Mr. Chang. "He's just a kid like me."

The boy seemed to get the drift of my remark even though I spoke in English. He reached out suddenly and touched my thick Scottish cardigan, a Christmas gift from my English host at the compound. There was no envy, only awe in his eyes. I noticed then that he was shivering from the cold in his thin uniform. In a spontaneous gesture, I took off the sweater and laid it around his shoulders. He did not know what to make of this. His confusion showed.

"He welcomes you to the city," Mr. Chang told him. "We are happy to see you, son. Many people are starving. We have known this day would come. But why are you here alone?"

The boy told him that he had run ahead of the troops to find his old grandfather. The grandfather,it appeared, did not even know of this boy's existence, one of the prices ordinary people often pay in times of war and family separation. He wanted to make sure the grandfather was safe and would come to no harm.

"There are many in my army who want revenge on the Nationalist Party," the boy explained. "My mother was one our Red soldiers mortally wounded in the battle outside Peking two months ago. She told me before she died that her father lived at this address."

He presented Chang with a ragged piece of paper. "She said he was once a rich man. Our cadre may want to kill him because he is a member of the ruling class. She charged me to save him for re-education in the ways of the New Order. Can you show me the way?"

It was near our compound. Chang led the way into a narrow hutung, or alleyway, typical of the district. It hid from view the private entries to many courtyards of the rich. When we came to a high wall which Mr. Chang identified as the correct address, we found the wooden moongate open, revealing a spirit screen of solid jade securely mounted in stone. I marveled at its exquisite beauty. Mr. Chang told us evil spirits could not find their way around such a screen into the house.

"Ha!" laughed the young soldier scornfully. "This was already the home of demons! These were my ancestors, and of that I am so ashamed! Oppressors of the people!"

His small voice was magnified in echoes rippling through the walled gardens lined with beautifully furnished rooms. No one was in sight.

"Old man!" the boy shouted. "It is I, Tiger Boy! I have come in the name of my dead mother, known once as Jade Circle! Hear me! You will come to no harm, Grandfather!"