wrong track, Bart. But perhaps I'd better send some one to Changhow."
"Can't we go, Mr. Bolliver?" Jane said suddenly. "We'd be doing something then. Isn't it a place we could go to?"
"Certainly it is," Mr. Bolliver agreed. "But—dear me!—I promised your aunts—"
"Come!" Jane cried.
And Mr. Bolliver came.
Mark wove his way through interminable dirty streets till he worked unconsciously toward the west end of the city and wandered between the high walls of merchants' mansions down broad, flagged street-ways. So far his questionings had been met with puzzled staring, incomprehensible jabberings, and a few vaguely-pointed directions. He felt himself almost lost now, but still kept the direction of the river, he hoped. Presently he found himself near the water again, but not the water of the river. High-spanned bridges sprang into view, the traffic again became jostling and crowded, and he was pushed to one side by running barrow-coolies and chair-porters. As he stepped aside to avoid a jolting wheel-
