"Yes, that's the name," Madame Wang laughed, "why, now, I too have
become muddle-headed."

"You're not muddle-headed, mother," said Pao-yue, "it's the mention of
Chin kangs and Buddhas which confused you."

"Stuff and nonsense!" ejaculated Madame Wang. "What you want again is
your father to whip you!"

"My father," Pao-yue laughed, "wouldn't whip me for a thing like this."

"Well, this being their name," resumed Madame Wang, "you had better tell
some one to-morrow to buy you a few."

"All these drugs," expostulated Pao-yue, "are of no earthly use. Were
you, mother, to give me three hundred and sixty taels, I'll concoct a
supply of pills for my cousin, which I can certify will make her feel
quite herself again before she has finished a single supply."

"What trash!" cried Madame Wang. "What kind of medicine is there so
costly!"

"It's a positive fact," smiled Pao-yue. "This prescription of mine is
unlike all others. Besides, the very names of those drugs are quaint,
and couldn't be enumerated in a moment; suffice it to mention the
placenta of the first child; three hundred and sixty ginseng roots,
shaped like human beings and studded with leaves; four fat tortoises;
full-grown polygonum multiflorum; the core of the Pachyma cocos, found
on the roots of a fir tree of a thousand years old; and other such
species of medicines. They're not, I admit, out-of-the-way things; but