Just as they turned a corner leading up to the street where Wou Sankwei’s place of business and residence was situated, a pair of little hands grasped Mrs. Dean’s skirt and a delighted little voice piped: “See me! See me!” It was little Yen, resplendent in mauve-colored pantaloons and embroidered vest and cap. Behind him was a tall man whom both women recognized. “How do you happen to have Yen with you?” Adah asked. “His father handed him over to me as a sort of guide, counsellor, and friend. The little fellow is very amusing.” “See over here,” interrupted Yen. He hopped over the alley to where the priests stood by the altar. The grown people followed him. “What is that man chanting?” asked Adah. One of the priests had mounted a table, and with arms outstretched towards the moon sailing high in the heavens, seemed to be making some sort of an invocation. Her friend listened for some moments before replying: “It is a sort of apotheosis of the moon. I have heard it on a like occasion in Hankow, and the Chinese _bonze_ who officiated gave me a translation. I almost know it by heart. May I repeat it to you?” Mrs. Dean and Yen were examining the screen with the big josses. “Yes, I should like to hear it,” said Adah. “Then fix your eyes upon Diana.” “Dear and lovely moon, as I watch thee pursuing thy solitary course o’er the silent heavens, heart-easing thoughts steal o’er me and calm my passionate soul. Thou art so sweet, so serious, so serene, that thou causest me to forget the stormy emotions which crash like jarring discords across the harmony of life, and bringest to my memory a voice scarce ever heard amidst the warring of the world—love’s low voice. “Thou art so peaceful and so pure that it seemeth as if naught false or ignoble could dwell beneath thy gentle radiance, and that earnestness—even the earnestness of genius—must glow within the bosom of him on whose head thy beams fall like blessings. “The magic of thy sympathy disburtheneth me of many sorrows, and thoughts, which, like the songs of the sweetest sylvan singer, are too dear and sacred for the careless ears of day, gush forth with unconscious eloquence when thou art the only listener. “Dear and lovely moon, there are some who say that those who dwell in the sunlit fields of reason should fear to wander through the moonlit valleys of imagination; but I, who have ever been a pilgrim and a stranger in the realm of the wise, offer to thee the homage of a heart which appreciates that thou graciously shinest—even on the fool.” “Is that really Chinese?” queried Adah. “No doubt about it—in the main. Of course, I cannot swear to it word for word.” “I should think that there would be some reference to the fruits of the earth—the harvest. I always understood that the Chinese religion was so practical.”