“Well, this is growing somewhat remarkable!” said Mr. Van Buren.  “Yes, even if the boy is returning from America with Americans whose name is noted in the commerce of the country!”

Sky-High returned; the family went aboard the cushioned boat, and at the landing were assisted into the sedans, and carried up the water-steps into a high garden, with pavilions, and then on to other gardens away from the river.  Golden gables shone above the trees.  The hedges were full of blooms and bees, and lovely birds went flashing by.  The trees were hung with red lanterns that seemed as light as air; and there were dragon kites in the sky.  It was like an ethereal paradise, even to the now silent Boston merchant.

A vista opened, showing a house where guards in brilliant Chinese uniforms stood at the door.  Then again gongs sounded.

Three mandarins in robes of silk, their buttons of rank glittering in their caps, came down the wide pathway, as though to meet the visitors, before whose chairs little Sky-High walked.  One of them, a stately man, nearly seven feet high, suddenly spread out his arms; whereupon Sky-High rushed forward, prostrated himself, and was almost wrapped from sight, as he was lifted in the immense sleeves of silk and gold.

Mr. Van Buren was now truly filled with amazement.  Little Sky-High’s mistress was terrified.  The children didn’t know exactly what to think, sitting together in their sedan, only that they were glad to see the tall mandarin enfold their own dear Sky-High in his flowing silk robes!  Little Lucy was half crying.  “I believe, I do believe, that he was a wang all the time!” she at last said to Charlie.

The palace was wonderful.  Strange lamps hung over them as they passed in.  There were beautiful couches and chairs, with gilded arms and silken cushions.  The walls were set with carvings and perforated work.  Here hung bars of musical bells; there stood great jars and vases; everywhere were fantastic furnishings of silks and costly metals.  Feathery green bamboos grew in dragon pots.  In the corners stood grotesque figures in armor.

The lamps in their golden lattices burst into soft flame.

“Unaccountable!” said Mr. Van Buren to himself.  “Sky-High would hardly be better welcomed were he the wang that Lucy dreamed him to be!”

“Mandarin of Boston,” said the tall Chinaman, with an obeisance the like of which was never made in western lands, “welcome to our country; you have been good, indeed, to this boy—­the Light of my Eyes, the Heart of my Heart!  Madam of this illustrious mandarin, never will I forget you, nor”—­turning to the two half-frightened children—­“nor you, my little Prince and Princess of the Golden Dome beyond the seas!  All shall always be well for you all in our country!”

The tall Chinaman spoke in “flowery English,” easily; but the American family knew not what to say, nor how to answer, and they bowed in silence and Lucy said to herself, “The little wang knew what to do in my country, but I do not know what to do in his!”