Only our falling footsteps were heard in the wake of the echoes until deep into the house, after a series of residential courtyards, an old man poked his head out of a doorway. He stepped in front of us. Tiger Boy repeated his words. The old man, dressed in a magnificent dragon robe of the long-vanished Imperial Court of the Forbidden City, stood with legs akimbo as if to challenge our presence in the house.

"I disowned my daughter many years ago when she ran off to join the Mao Gang!" he declared. "If you are hers, then you cannot be mine! You are scum!"

I hung slightly behind Mr. Chang, intimidated by the old man's seething rage, but Tiger Boy stepped up to him as bold as could be, dropped his weapon to the ground and stood before him in the same position, hands on hips, legs widespread.

"See here!" shouted the boy. "I am a soldier in the Red Army! My mother was a greater solder even than I! My father died at Tatu Bridge! We are a fighting family! You are I are the last of it, old man! I have come to save you. I am not scum!"

Nose to nose, or, actually, nose to navel, the two glared fiercely at each other. An impasse had been achieved. Then the practical Mr. Chang took over.

"Gentlemen, please excuse me," he said politely. "I urge you to reconsider your positions. If you could see your- selves together, you would know there is no doubt that you are related. It is the grandfather in the grandson, and the boy in the man!" He pulled me from around behind him. "Tell them what you see."

I saw two male figures of different ages in a face off, the older dressed in a glittering satin robe, the younger in a ragged uniform with my warm cardigan draped around his small shoulders. Other than that, Mr. Chang was right. They had the same face, the one set in wrinkles, the other smooth as cream. "They are same-family faces, Mr. Chang," I said.

The grandfather looked around sharply, as though he had not noticed me before. "An English boy?" he queried in surprise, speaking my language clearly.

"American, sir," I replied with a slight bow of respect, "caught in the siege like you, sir. Your grandson is wearing my sweater."

His expression changed. He looked back at Tiger Boy. "My grandson?" He spoke in a suddenly tremulous voice. "My grandson?" Tears began to stream down his wizened cheeks. "I have been a most unfortunate man. I have lost all my family. I have no one left. My grandson? I had thought never to hear that word! Grandson? Can it really be that you are....my....grandson?"

Tiger Boy dug into his pocket, producing a handful of rifle bullets and a circular bracelet of apple-green jade. "The only possession remaining to my mother at her death," he said, "except, of course, for me."

The old man took it from him and studied it closely through tear-misted eyes. "It is as I had it engraved for her before she left us," he spoke softly, "a jade circlet to honor her precious name." He looked at the boy. "And you are called Tiger?"

"Tiger BOY," the soldier declaimed proudly. "Personally delivered at birth by the hands of our Leader Mao to honor my father, a great hero of Tatu Bridge! Leader Mao named me for the glory of the new China. We are the Tiger That Never Backs Down!"

The old man fell to his knees and wept uncontrollably at his grandson's feet. Tiger Boy leaned over him him and gave him a loving hug. "You have nothing to fear, Grandfather," he said gently. "You are under my personal protection. You will come to no harm. We will be together. We are the family now."

Mr. Chang nudged me quietly, and the two of us stole away in silence from the great mansion. All the way to the British compound, I could feel Mr. Chang's warm arm around my shoulders to protect me from the cold. We were both proud that I had given my sweater to China's New Order.

THE END