helping her mother wash it with river-water, while the leather shoes
of both of them lie high and dry on the edge of the wharf, until the
wet work is done.

But we are forgetting Lin, who has carried his fish up into the town
to sell. Here is a whole street where nothing is sold but food. I
should call it Market Street, and I dare say they do the same in a way
of their own.

What will all these busy people have for dinner to-day? Fat
bears'-paws, brought from the dark forest fifty miles away,--these
will do for that comfortable-looking mandarin with the red ball on
the top of his cap. I think he has eaten something of the same kind
before. A birds'-nest soup for my lady in the great house on the hill;
birds' nests brought from the rocks where the waves dash, and the
birds feel themselves very safe. But "Such a delicious soup!" said
Madam Faw-Choo, and Yang-lo, her son, sent the fisherman again to the
black rocks for more.

What will the soldiers have,--the officer who wears thick satin boots,
and doesn't look much like fighting in his gay silk dress? A stew of
fat puppies for him, and only boiled rats for the porter who carries
the heavy tea-boxes. But there is tea for all, and rice, too, as much
as they desire; and, although I shouldn't care to be invited to dine
with any of them, I don't doubt they enjoy the food very much.

In the midst of all this buying and selling Lin sells his fish, some
to the English gentleman, and some to the grave-faced man in the blue
gown; and he goes happily home to his own dinner in the boat. Rice
again, and fried mice, and the merry face and small, slanting black