“They are very strange, some of them, very strange persons indeed,” she continues, with a look of surprise that I am not frightened.
“The more bees, the greater the honey,” I reply, quoting a maxim that may be hers, or her mother’s, or one of national adoption.
Her little face—perhaps she is dreading all the fuss and bother and pain of taking leave of people she may care for—becomes more sober than ever.
“But there is a barber!”
I exhibit no surprise.
She takes my hand to prepare me for the last and greatest shock of all.
“Cy-reel, I am afraid that there may be a sampan boy.”
This is coming down in the world with a vengeance. But what are the odds? So I reassure her.
“Mother is sure to let it be known. Perhaps, even, people who are not re-
