“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 pigtail—­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.”