“And you have grown little, Pan,” retorted Pat. It was a year since they had seen one another and Pan was much smaller than any of his girl schoolfellows. “Do you like to go to the big school?” asked Pan, noticing the books. “I don’t like it very much. But, say, Pan, I learn lots of things that you don’t know anything about.” Pan eyed him wistfully. finally she said: “O Pat! A-Toy, she die.” “A-Toy! Who is A-Toy?” “The meow, Pat; the big gray meow! Pat, you have forgot to remember.” Pat looked across A-Toy’s head and far away. “Chinatown is very nice now,” assured Pan. “Hum Lock has two trays of brass beetles in his store and Ah Ma has many flowers!” “I would like to see the brass beetles,” said Pat. “And father’s new glass case?” “Yes.” “And Ah Ma’s flowers?” “Yes.” “Then come, Pat.” “I can’t, Pan!” “Oh!” Again Pat was walking home from school, this time in company with some boys. Suddenly a glad little voice sounded in his ear. It was Pan’s. “Ah, Pat!” cried she joyfully. “I find you! I find you!” “Hear the China kid!” laughed one of the boys. Then Pat turned upon Pan. “Get away from me,” he shouted. “Get away from me!” And Pan did get away from him—just as fast as her little legs could carry her. But when she reached the foot of the hill, she looked up and shook her little head sorrowfully. “Poor Pat!” said she. “He Chinese no more; he Chinese no more!” THE CROCODILE PAGODA When the father of Chung and Choy returned from the big city where lived their uncle, he brought each of his little girls a present of a pretty, painted porcelain cup and saucer. Chung’s was of the blue of the sky after rain, and on the blue was painted a silver crane and a bird with a golden breast. Choy’s cup was of a milky pink transparency, upon which light bouquets of flowers appeared to have been thrown; it was so beautiful in sight, form, and color that there seemed nothing in it to be improved upon. Yet was Choy discontented and envied her sister, Chung, the cup of the blue of the sky after rain. Not that she vented her feelings in any unseemly noise or word. That was not Choy’s way. But for one long night and one long day after the pretty cups had been brought home, did Choy remain mute and still, refusing to eat her meals, or to move from the couch upon which she had thrown herself at sight of her sister’s cup. Choy was sulking. On the evening of the long day, little Chung, seated on her stool by her mother’s side, asked her parent to tell her the story of the picture on the vase which her father had brought from the city for her mother. It was a charming little piece of china of a deep violet velvet color, fluted on top with gold like the pipes of an organ, and in the centre was a pagoda enamelled thereon in gold and silver. Chung knew that there must be a story about that pagoda, for she had overheard her father tell her mother that it was the famous Crocodile Pagoda.