urnished to us for
the purpose, to wit chopsticks, each watching the apparently wonderful
skill with which Ching transferred his food from the tiny saucers placed
before him, and imitating his actions with more or less success--
generally less.

We had some sweet stuff, and some bits of cucumber cut up small, and
some thick sticky soap-like stuff, which rather put me in mind of melted
blancmange with salt and pepper instead of sugar, and when this was
ended came saucers of mincemeat.

"'Tain't bad," whispered Barkins, as we ate delicately. "Peg away,
lads. We're pretty safe so long as we eat what Pigtail does."

I did not feel so sure; but I was hungry, and as the food did not seem
to be, as Barkins said, bad, I kept on, though I could not help
wondering what we were eating.

"I say, Ching," said Smith suddenly, "when's the birds'-nest soup
coming? Oughtn't we to have had that first?"

"Eat um all up lit' bit go," replied Ching.

"What, that sticky stuff?" I cried.

"Yes. No have velly bess flesh birds'-ness for dolla'; but all velly
good. Nicee nicee, velly nicee."

"Don't!" cried Smith excitedly.

"Let him be, Blacksmith," said Barkins; "it's only his way. Ah, here's
something else!"

I looked at the little saucers placed before us, in which, neatly
divided, were little appetising-looking brown heaps, covered with rich
gravy, and smelling uncommonly nice.

"What's this?" said Barkins, turning his over with the chopsticks.

"Velly good," said Ching, smiling, and making a beginning.

"Yes; don't smell bad," said Smith. "I know: it's quails. There's lots
of quail in China. 'Licious!"

I had a little bit of the white meat and brown gravy, which I had
separated from a tiny bone with the chopsticks, and was congratulating
myself on my cleverness, when it dropped back into my saucer, for Ching,
with his mouth full, said quietly--

"No, not lit' bird--lat."

"What's lat?" said Barkins suspiciously.

"No lat," said Ching smiling; "lat."

"Well, I said lat. What is lat?"

Smith put down his chopsticks. I had already laid down mine.

"What's the matter?" said Barkins, who kept on suspiciously turning over
the contents of his saucer.

"He means rat," whispered Smith in an awful tone.

"What!" cried Barkins, pushing himself back with a comical look of
disgust upon his face.

"Yes, lat," said Ching. "Velly good fat lat."

Our faces were a study. At least I know that my companions' were;