As Mr. Van Buren was a prudent, wise, and good-natured man, he left all the affairs of housekeeping to his wife. He had so seldom been "below stairs" that he never had even made the acquaintance of Polly, the lively bird of the kitchen. The kitten sometimes came up to visit him; on which occasions she simply purred, and sank down to rest on his knee.

After supper was over, Mr. Van Buren caught Lucy up.

"And now what amusing thing is it that my little girl has to tell me—something new that Nora has told you of the Fairy Shoemaker?"

"There's really a wonderful thing down in the kitchen, father," said Lucy; "wonderfuller than anything in the Fairy Shoemaker tales."

"And where did it come from?"

"Down from the sun, father, and Nora says it came in a coach!"

Mr. Van Buren turned to his wife.

"It came from the Consul's," she said—"from Consul Bradley's."

"Has Consul Bradley been here?" he asked, thinking some Chinese curio had been shipped over. Consul Bradley was a Chinese consular agent, a man of considerable wealth, with a large knowledge of the world, and a friend of the Van Buren family.

"No," said Mrs. Van Buren, "but his coach-man has brought me a kitchen-boy."

"Well, that is rather wonderful! Is that what you have down-stairs, Lucy?"

"That doesn't half tell it, father," cried Charlie. "He's a little Chineseman!"

"I was in the Consul's office this morning," went on Mrs. Van Buren, smiling at her husband's astonishment; "and the Consul said to me, 'Wouldn't you like to have a neat, trim, tidy, honest, faithful, tender-hearted, polite boy to learn general work?' I said to the Consul, 'Yes, that is the person that I have been needing for years.' He said, 'Would you have any prejudice against a little Chinese servant, if he were trusty, after the general principles I have described?' I said to him, 'None whatever.' He continued: 'A Chinese lad from Manchuria has been sent to me by a friend in the hong, and I am asked to find him a place to learn American home-making ideas in one of the best families. Your family is that place—shall I send him?' So he came in the Consul's coach, as Lucy said, and with him an immense trunk covered with Chinese brush-marks. He seems to be a little gentleman; and when I asked him his name he said, 'The Consul told me to tell you to call me Sky-High.' He doesn't speak except to make replies, but these are in very good English."

"May I give my opinion?" asked little Lucy.

"Well, Lucy," said her mother, smiling, "what is your opinion?"

"He looks like an emperor's son, or a mandarin," said Lucy.

"And what put such a thought into your head?" asked her mother.

"The pictures on my Chinese fans," said Lucy promptly.

"Well," said Mrs. Van Buren, "if he does well, you shall treat him exactly as though he were the son of an emperor or a wang—he says that kings are called wangs in his land."

"Then he would be a little wang," said Lucy. "I will make believe he is a little wang while he stays."

So Sky-High became a little wang to Lucy; and a wonderful little wang he promised to be.

At Mr. Van Buren's wish, little Sky-High was sent for. The Chinese boy asked Charlie, who went down for him, that he might have time to change his dress so that he might suitably appear before "the mandarin in the parlor." (A "mandarin" in China is a kind of mayor or magistrate of rank more or less exalted.)

Charlie came back with the kitchen-boy's message. "He says that he wants a little time to change his clothes so that he may suitably appear before the mandarin in the parlor."

"The mandarin in the parlor!" exclaimed Mr. Van Buren, in a burst of laughter. "My father used to speak of mandarins—he traded ginseng for silks and teas at Canton in the days of the hongs—the open market or trading-places. That was a generation ago. There are no longer any store-houses for ginseng on the wharves of Boston. Yet my father made all his money in this way. 'The mandarin in the parlor.' Sky-High has a proper respect for superiors; I like the boy for that."

By and by the sound of soft feet were heard at the folding-doors.

"Come in, Sky-High," said Mrs. Van Buren.

The little kitchen-boy appeared, and all eyes lighted up in wonder. He wore a silk tunic fringed with what looked like gold. His stockings were white, and his shoes were spangled with silver. The broad sleeves of his tunic were richly embroidered—he seemed to wing himself in. A beautiful fan was in his hand, which he very slowly waved to and fro, as if following some custom. Mrs. Van Buren wondered if servants in China came fanning themselves when summoned by their master. Sky-High bowed and bowed and bowed again, then moved with a gliding motion in front of Mr. Van Buren's chair, still bowing and bowing, and there he remained in an attentive bent attitude. The kitten leaped up from Mr. Van Buren's knee, then jumped down, plainly with an intention to play with the tempting pig-tail—but Lucy sprang and captured the snowy little creature.

"So you are Sky-High?" said Mr. Van Buren. "Well, a right neat and smart-looking boy you are!"

"The Mandarin of Milton!" said the glittering little fellow, bending. "My ancestors have heard of the mandarins of Boston and Milton, even in the days of Hoqua."

"Hoqua?" Mr. Van Buren looked at the boy with interest, "You know of Hoqua?"

"Who is Hoqua?" asked Mrs. Van Buren.

Mr. Van Buren turned to her, "I will tell you later."

"Hoqua, madam," said Sky-High, bowing to his mistress, "was the great merchant mandarin of Canton in the time of the opening of that port to all countries."

How did a Chinese servant know anything of Hoqua? This was the question that puzzled Mr. Van Buren. "Sky-High, how many people have you in your country?" he asked.

"It is said four hundred million."

"We have only seventy millions here, Sky-High."

"I have been told," said Sky-High.

"And who is ruler over all your people?" asked Mr. Van Buren.

"The Celestial Emperor, the Son of Heaven, the Brother of the Sun and Moon, the Dweller in Rooms of Gold, the Light of Life, the Father of the Nations."

"You fill me with wonder, Sky-High. We have a plain President. Do your people die to make room for more millions?"

"My people value not to die, O Mandarin!" said the boy.

"Such throngs of people—they all have souls, think you?"

A dark flush came upon little Sky-High's forehead. He opened his narrow black eyes upon his master. "Souls? They have souls, O Mandarin! Souls are all my people have for long."

"Where go their souls when your people die?"

"To their ancestors! With them they live among the lotus blooms."

"We will excuse you now," said Mr. Van Buren to Sky-High. "You have answered intelligently, according to your knowledge."

The kitchen-boy bowed himself out without turning his back towards any one, describing many glittering angles, and waving his fan. He looked like something vanishing, a bit of fireworks going out.

As he reached the stair, the little white cat sprang from Lucy's arms, and skipped swiftly after the curious inmate of the kitchen. The long, swinging braid was a temptation. The last glimpse Charles and Lucy had was of an embroidered sleeve as Sky-High reached backward and caught the kitten to his shoulder, and bound her fast with his queue.

Charlie clapped his hands. He thought there would be fun in the house. He knew he should like Sky-High. As they went up-stairs he said to Lucy, "The little Chinaman was a heathen, and father was a missionary."

Mr. Van Buren heard him, and called him back. "The little Chinaman was a new book," said he, "and your father was reading. See that you treat the boy well."