Tuen went about as one in a dream after her interview with the Viceroy, but she uttered no complaint. She had decided to go willingly, even cheerfully, on account of the many favors she had received from her benefactor, since she knew that he wished her to go, and day by day she nerved herself to the ordeal. Knowing that she was helpless, she accepted her fate in silence, and gradually she became more resigned. Girls in China are not allowed to have a voice in such matters,—that she knew, and after all she had always been most fortunate. Then she had heard that the faithful Wang would accompany her, and that Ta-ta, whom she loved dearly, would go as her maid, and she was pleased with this arrangement. She had learned, too, that she was to go in great state. A barge was even now being fitted up for her convenience, and she would have not only Wang and Ta-ta, but other servants to wait upon her, and the blind old story-teller, Szu, would be sent along that he might beguile the weariness of the journey, which would last three months. The entire trip would be made by water, first through unimportant streams, then into the Yang-tse-kiang, and on through the Grand Canal.

The time that intervened before her departure was filled with bustle and confusion, and she hardly had a moment to think about the future, even if she had wanted to. There were many things to be arranged when one went on such a long trip, and Tuen must also be provided with handsome costumes, suitable to be worn at court. She could not repress exclamations of delight when she saw all the beautiful things that were designed for her, and she commenced to feel that she had not been very badly treated by the gods.

The morning appointed for her to set out dawned fair and pleasant, but all night she had lain awake and thought about her journey, for she had been too excited to sleep. When she was ready to leave and there was no excuse for longer delaying, all the servants of the yÂmen pressed around her to say goodbye, and the Viceroy and his wife looked very sad, for in their way they were quite fond of their pretty adopted daughter. Tuen was as one stunned by a sudden blow. She neither wept nor said a word, but when the last adieus were over and she was safely ensconced in her little apartment on the barge, she covered her head with the silken cover of her couch and wailed aloud. But one cannot cry always, and after the first paroxysm of grief had passed she wiped her eyes, that were now red and swollen, and looked curiously about her. There was nothing interesting in the narrow room, with its cot and bamboo pillow,—the only other furniture a low stool and many cushions,—but from without came noises of every description, forming an indescribable din. Rising from the floor where she had thrown herself, she pressed her face against the tiny window of painted gauze, and gazed with eager interest at the scene on the busy water. What a great, hurrying world it was! And how full of struggling, shouting people! She even experienced a thrill of enjoyment of her novel surroundings. Barges, junks, pleasure-boats, passage-boats, floating homes, freight-boats, sculls and river crafts of every description passed each other in an endless procession. Women in flowing blue robes, their hair adorned with flowers and glittering pins, rowed many of the heavy boats, their armlets and anklets clinking musically with every motion. Now a tankia glided by, with only a bamboo canopy as protection from rain and sun and cold, the mother at the helm, while around her clustered happy children who had never known any other home than this little "egg house." For so great is the population of China that many families live in boats upon the rivers, and have but little knowledge of mother earth, as they but seldom feel the ground beneath their feet. Tuen looked with delight at the many phases of life that surged around her as unceasingly as the ripples of the water, and then passed away. Now she shuddered as a clumsy lighter, used for loading and unloading coal, bore down upon her on its way to the distant ocean, and again she laughed to see the dainty flower-boat with its intricate wood-carving, bright lanterns, flags and strips of gay-colored paper floating from the side, dart past her. When Wang entered she turned to her with her eyes shining with excitement.

"Did you ever dream there were so many boats and so many people in the world, Wang?" she cried.

Wang smiled and shook her head.

"You had better come outside with me, where you can see it all," she said, and to this Tuen gladly assented.

When on deck, protected from the glare of the sun by the bamboo covering, she clapped her hands ecstatically, and ran about the boat, peering out first on one side and then on the other. From the room within, it had all worn a misty look, as if it were some panorama passing before her, but now the full reality and intensity of it burst upon her, and she straightway forgot that she was Tuen, forgot the little details, the hopes, fears, sorrows, and memories that were part of her own existence alone, and only felt that she was one of this vast multitude, and her identity seemed to merge into and be lost in the mass of humanity that surrounded her. And once having done this, she forgot to grieve.

Some children in a tankia close to her smiled at her gravely, while the father hung paper prayers upon the prow, and the mother, with strong, even strokes, guided the boat toward the shallows. The clamor of shrill voices, so intermingled that hardly a word was distinguishable, formed a not unpleasing medley of sounds, and it rang into Tuen's ears until she was fairly deafened.

"Is there no danger that where there are so many crafts some may be run into and sunk?" she finally asked, as the boats thickened and there seemed not an inch of water left.

"The rowers are skilful. I have heard that accidents do not often happen," Wang said, but scarce had she finished speaking, when a war-junk that was coming in an opposite direction, bore down upon them. Threatening cannons peered from the port-holes, and on its gaudy red and yellow sides were shields upon which were painted fierce tigers, more terrible to look at than any god to whom she had ever prayed. She caught her breath quickly, and clung to Wang.

"We shall be killed!" she cried, and Wang was so terror-stricken that she could not answer. The sailors on Tuen's boat uttered loud, warning shouts, and pulled away lustily, and the men on the war-junk, seeing that the barge was directly in their path, rowed valiantly. But the water was so crowded that there was very little room to turn, and for an instant, there seemed no chance of escape. Just when destruction appeared certain, and Wang covered her face to shut out the awful sight, the cumbrous vessel veered to one side, and they were left unharmed.

"It was a narrow escape," the man at the helm of Tuen's boat said, nodding toward the junk that now lay on their left. "I thought we should all be killed," and the rowers hurled loud imprecations at the junk, and Ta-ta shook her fist at them, and while engaged in this, also thanked the gods for her safety.

"It is time for rice," Wang said, after they had watched the junk well on its way. "Let us go in now."

Tuen was very glad to follow her, for her heart was still beating quickly, and her cheeks were pale. The danger through which they had passed had, for a time at least, robbed river-life of its fascination for her.

That night she dreamed of boats, boats, boats, as she heard the innumerable stream of them go gliding by, and the great, round eyes on the prows of all seemed to be watching her angrily through the darkness. She drew a long sigh of relief when she awoke and found that they had at last stopped, and as she listened, afraid to go to sleep again, the incessant noise gradually hushed, and all became as still as in the yÂmen of the Viceroy.