Thus the weeks went by, and Tuen's face grew full, and her arms round and plump, and she forgot all about what it was to be hungry, and was quite satisfied. She still often thought about her dear ones, but she no longer wept to see them as she had once done, and in place of crying because she would never live with them again, she commenced to think of them as so rich and fine in their own home, and all because of her.
Once as they all sat spinning, a young woman said dolefully:
"Oh how I wish I had little feet! Every one knows that I am but a common laborer as soon as they see me coming."
"The Viceroy's wife has such pretty ones," Wang answered. "They are not more than two inches long."
"Such feet are not for the poor like us," sighed the first speaker. "Why, mine must be over ten inches long. I don't suppose any one will ever marry me."
"Just look what long ones Tuen has and be consoled," another said laughingly. "Surely, the child's growth has been in one direction only."
"She had better bind a piece of cloth tight around them every night, so they wont grow while she is asleep," someone suggested.
"I don't want little feet," Tuen answered, for the first time taking part in the conversation. "I am a Tartar, and they never bind their feet. My mother told me so."
"What stupidity!" said the woman nearest Tuen contemptuously.