“And Lucy thought she would like to see the people in little Wang’s country.

“And Lucy’s father and mother said they would take her to the country of little Wang when he went back.

“And she went to little Wang’s country, and she found the trees there a hundred miles high, and the fishes two hundred miles long, and horses winged with gold as if just about to fly, and they staid and kept house in Wang High-Sky’s palace two thousand years.

“And she and her father and mother and brother were very joyful when they all came back.

“And in their own country they found that every one had become rich and happy, and that people flew about like birds, and that the sun shone in the night.  And!” she added, “isn’t that a Jataka story?”

Lucy’s mother seemed much pleased, also astonished; but Sky-High said nothing for some time.

“Do you think me a wang?” asked he, at last.

“I wish you were—­oh, how Charlie and I would dance about if you were!  I think the everyday boys in China cannot be like you.  And I do not think you ironed clothes in China.  I wish you were a king’s son!”

“And what if I were?”

“Oh—­I don’t know,” laughed little Lucy.  “Don’t we treat you as well as if you were?  Ladies and gentlemen treat ladies and gentlemen like wangs in America.  Don’t we, mother?”

“I trust so.  I trust our little Sky-High has found it so,” answered Lucy’s mother.

“So would Sky-High treat you were you to come to his home,” said the little Chinaman.

“But you have no home, Sky-High,” broke in Charlie.  “You said you lived with a mandarin!”

The little Chinaman, who had a beautiful fan in his hand, for it was a hot night, made his mistress and her children a bow of indescribable grace, and went to his own quarters.

X.

SKY-HIGH’S EASTER SUNDAY.

The little Chinaman seemed to make no very great task of learning “the art of the American home.”  His small deft olive hand was more or less upon everything, from cellar to attic.

“I think our house-boy knew how to keep a house beautiful, mother, before he came to our country,” said Lucy one day.

“Well, perhaps he was a wang,” said her mother, “and did live in a palace!”

“Doesn’t Mr. Consul Bradley know about him, mother?”

“Consul Bradley says Sky-High’s father is a good man, and that Sky-High is a good boy with a bright mind.  Of course, Lucy, there are nice Chinese people and nice Chinese homes.”

Certainly the little house-boy was wonderfully energetic.  He was able to save every Thursday for himself, and always went into Boston on that day and, as Mrs. Van Buren learned, visited the consular office.

One day Mrs. Van Buren asked, “What do you do all day in town, Sky-High?”

“I see Boston, mistress.”