ttes with which
they sought to allure him were marvels of brilliance, and one of
them actually scrubbed her little face and hands with a cake of my
yellow, scented soap.

Our servant's affections finally centered upon the younger girl and
I smiled paternally upon the wild-wood romance. Every night, with a
sheepish grin, Chen would ask to borrow a pony. The responsibilities
of chaperones sat lightly on our shoulders, but sometimes my wife
and I would wander out to the edge of the forest and watch him to
the bottom of the hill. Usually his love was waiting and they would
ride off together in the moonlight--where, we never asked!

But we could not blame the boy--those Mongolian nights were made for
lovers. The marvel of them we hold among our dearest memories.
Wherever we may be, the fragrance of pine trees or the sodden smell
of a marsh carries us back in thought to the beautiful valley and
fills our hearts again with the glory of its clear, white nights.

No matter what the day brought forth, we looked forward to the
evening hunt as best of all. As we trotted our ponies homeward
through the fresh, damp air we could watch the shadows deepen in the
somber masses of the forest, and on the hilltops see the ragged
silhouettes of sentinel pines against the rose glow of the sky.
Ribbons of mist, weaving in and out above the stream, clothed the
alders in ghostly silver and rested in billowy masses upon the
marshes. Ere the moon had risen, the stars blazed out like tiny
lanterns in the sky. Over all the valley there was peace
unutterable.

We were soon admitted to a delightful comradeship with the Mongols
of our valley. We shared their joys and sorrows and nursed their
minor ills. First to seek our aid was the wife of the absent hunter,
Tserin Dorchy. She rode up one day with a two-year-old baby on her
arm. The little fellow was badly infected with eczema, and for three
weeks one of the lamas in the tiny temple near their _yurt_ had been
mumbling prayers and incantations in his behalf, without avail.
Fortunately, I had a supply of zinc ointment and before the month
was ended the baby was almost well. Then came the lama with his bill
"for services rendered," and Tserin Dorchy contributed one hundred
dollars to his priestly pocket. A young Mongol with a dislocated
shoulder was my next patient, and when I had made him whole, the
lama again claimed the credit and collected fifty dollars as the
honorarium for his prayers. And so