The mandarin had sent for him, and he had not stayed to throw off even one of his thick garments. Old Wu was not accustomed to be kept waiting or the grandchild to delay.
"Well?" the old man demanded, "you have heard. What do you say?"
The quaint little figure kotowed almost to the ground. It was wonderful that a form so swathed and padded could bend so low, wonderful that the jewel-heavy cap kept its place. His little cue swept the polished floor, and his stiff embroideries of gem-sewn kingfisher feathers creaked as he bent. He bent thrice before he answered, his hands meekly crossed, his eyes humbly on the ground: "Most Honorable, thou art a thousand years old, and, O thrice Honorable Sir, ten thousand times wise. Thy despicable worm entreats thy jadelike pardon that he pollutes with his putrid presence thy plum-blossomed eyes. Thou hast spoken. I thank thee for thy gracious words."
"Art thou glad to go?"
"Thy child is glad, Sir most renowned and venerable, to obey thy wish."
"Art glad to go?"
The boy swept again to the ground, and, bending up, spread out his pink palms in a gesture of pleased acceptance. "Most glad, O ancient long-beard."
The grandfather laughed. "Nay, thou liest. Thou art loth to go. And I am loth to have thee go. But it is best, and so I send thee." He held out his yellow, claw-like hand, and little Wu came and caught it to his forehead, then stood leaning against the other's knee, and began playing with the long string of scented beads that hung about the man's neck.
"Well," the mandarin said again, "say all that is
