The prospective parents-in-law were old and warm friends, Wu Li's senior by thirty years. The older mandarin had dreamed a dream one night, just a year ago, and in the morning had sent a runner to Pekin with a letter to his friend:
"Thy honorable wife, who has laid at thy feet so many jeweled sons, will bear to thy matchless house a daughter when next the snow lies thick upon the lower hills of Han-yang. Thy contemptible friend sues to thee for that matchless maiden's incomparable golden hand to be bestowed upon his worm of a grandson and heir"—and several yards more to the same effect, beautifully written on fine red paper.
The offer had been cordially (but with Mongol circumlocution) accepted. The match was desirable in every conceivable way. And when Li Lu was born she was already as good as "wooed and married and a'" to the young Wu, at that moment teaching James Muir a new form of leap-frog.
The cavalcade formed at daybreak, and Wu—both Wus—and the tutor came out of the great house's only door, mounted their horses, and the journey began. It was a musical start, for each saddle horse wore a collar of bells that the pedestrians might be warned to stand aside.
The palanquins of state and their ornate sedan chairs were carried by liveried coolies that the three gentlemen might travel so when they chose; and those provided for Muir were as splendid as those for the mandarin and little Wu. Teachers are treated so in China always, though not always are they paid as the mandarin paid Muir.
The presents for the bride were packed in bales and baskets—pei tsz—of scented grass, slung by plaited bam-
