blocks. It is different now, I have learned how to make
them. Then it seemed as if it would be impossible ever to
do so. When I had failed to make the picture I turned them
over to him. In a moment it was done.

"Who is it?" I asked.

"Chang Ch'i, the poet," he answered. "Whenever he went for a walk
he took with him a child who carried a bag in which to put the
poems he happened to write. In this illustration he stands with
his head bent forward and his hands behind his back lost in
thought, while the lad stands near with the bag."

We have given in another chapter the story of the great
traveller, Chang Ch'ien, and his search for the source of the
Yellow River.

In one of the illustrations the child represented him in his boat
in a way not very different from that of the artist.

Another quotation from one of the poets was illustrated as
follows:

Last night a meeting I arranged,
Ere I my lamp did light,
Nor while I crossed the ferry feared,
Or wind or rain or night.

The child's eyes sparkled as he turned to some of those
illustrating children at play, and as he constructed one which