The little Chinaman seemed to make no very great task of learning "the
art of the American home." His small deft olive hand was more or less
upon everything, from cellar to attic.
"_I_ think our house-boy knew how to keep a house beautiful,
mother, before he came to our country," said Lucy one day.
"Well, perhaps he _was_ a wang," said her mother, "and _did_
live in a palace!"
"Doesn't Mr. Consul Bradley know about him, mother?"
"Consul Bradley says Sky-High's father is a good man, and that Sky-High
is a good boy with a bright mind. Of course, Lucy, there are nice
Chinese people and nice Chinese homes."
Certainly the little house-boy was wonderfully energetic. He was able to
save every Thursday for himself, and always went into Boston on that day
and, as Mrs. Van Buren learned, visited the consular office.
One day Mrs. Van Buren asked, "What do you do all day in town,
Sky-High?"
"I see Boston, mistress."
"And what is it you see?"
"The American stores, mistress, and the American little Kinder-schools,
and the American great college-schools, and the American railcar shops,
and the American hotels, and the American markets, and the Americans,
mistress."
"And who goes with you on these visits, Sky-High?"