And, of course, there were Chinese, no less than three
detachments of them, looking very well in their new khaki uniforms.
Two of the detachments had brought their bands, and the I.G.'s own
band had come of its own accord to play "Auld Lang Syne."

[Illustration: FRONT VIEW OF SIR ROBERT HART'S HOUSE.

With his butler, Ah Fong, who served him for almost half a century.]

As the I.G. stepped from his sedan chair at the end of the platform
his face wore an expression of bewilderment, but only for a moment.
Then he turned to the commanding officer, and saying "I am ready,"
walked steadily down the lines of saluting troops while the bands all
played "Home, Sweet Home." Just as quietly he said good-bye to the
host of Chinese officials with whom he had been associated so long;
then turned to the Europeans whom he had known so well, to all of
whom he had done so many kindnesses, and none of whom could say "bon
voyage" dry-eyed, while camera fiends "snapped" him as he shook hands
and said last good-byes. At last he stepped on board the train and
slowly drew away from the crowd, bowing again and again in his modest
way.

So far as his work was concerned he could go without regrets. He left
his career behind him with no frayed edges that could tangle. He had
fulfilled all his ambitions. He had "bought back Kilmoriarty and got a
title too," as he promised his aunt he would while still a boy in his
teens. He had collected an almost unprecedented number of honours,
been decorated no less than twenty-four times, eight, however, being
promotions in the Orders. But still that left him sixteen to wear, and
of those sixteen, thirteen were Grand Crosses. As a matter of fact he
never wore any of them when he could help it, and never more than one
at a time. "I do not want to look like a Christmas tree," he would say
in joke. This was his humility again.

He certainly was humble, and he looked so. There was never the
slightest pomp or pride about him. "A small, insignificant Irishman,"
so some one has described him. Is he small? I dare say he is, but
one never notices it. One notices only the long face still further
lengthened by a beard, the domed forehead, the bright eyes, very
inscrutable usually, very sympathetic when he chooses to make them
so; and when he speaks, a soft voice, quiet and even-toned but often
indistinct. Not given to demonstrativeness, he appears the same under
all conditions--silent when depressed, silent too when