"We have only seventy millions here, Sky-High."
"I have been told," said Sky-High.
"And who is ruler over all your people?" asked Mr. Van Buren.
"The Celestial Emperor, the Son of Heaven, the Brother of the Sun and Moon, the Dweller in Rooms of Gold, the Light of Life, the Father of the Nations."
"You fill me with wonder, Sky-High. We have a plain President. Do your people die to make room for more millions?"
"My people value not to die, O Mandarin!" said the boy.
"Such throngs of people—they all have souls, think you?"
A dark flush came upon little Sky-High's forehead. He opened his narrow black eyes upon his master. "Souls? They have souls, O Mandarin! Souls are all my people have for long."
"Where go their souls when your people die?"