"But you must!" sadly urged Lum Yook. "You are a white boy and Pan is Chinese."
"I am Chinese too! I am Chinese too!" cried Pat.
"He Chinese! He Chinese!" pleaded Pan. Her little nose was swollen with crying; her little eyes red-rimmed.
But Pat was driven away.
Pat, his schoolbooks under his arm, was walking down the hill, whistling cheerily. His roving glance down a side street was suddenly arrested.
"Gee!" he exclaimed. "If that isn't Pan! Pan, oh, Pan!" he shouted.
Pan turned. There was a shrill cry of delight, and Pan was clinging to Pat, crying: "Nice Pat! Good Pat!"
Then she pushed him away from her and scanned him from head to foot.
"Nice coat! Nice boot! How many dollars?" she queried.
Pat laughed good-humoredly. "I don't know," he answered. "Mother bought them."
"Mother!" echoed Pan. She puckered her brows for a moment.
"You are grown big, Pat," was her next remark.
"And you have grown little, Pan," re-
