out of them himself. But when I bewailed
the omission to resourceful Wang he looked wise and said quietly, "Madam
wants potatoes and onions; she shall have potatoes and onions"; and I
had, a good bag of each, and such fine ones that a missionary lady,
seeing my supplies, asked if she might inquire of my "boy" where he had
got them; never had she seen the like in Kalgan. I hope she found out; I
did not. Most likely it was one of those back-stair arrangements common
in the East, and I hope no Chinese official or Russian merchant had to
go short because of it, but I am sure my need was greater than his. They
tell a delightful story in Peking of an occasion when a group of young
men attached to a certain legation, as student interpreters, wishing to
give a dinner party found themselves short of silver, but the servants
rose to the situation, and when the night came the dinner table was
resplendent with massive silver decorated with the armorial bearings
of--another legation.

Just before I left Kalgan my larder was enriched from another and
unexpected source. Thanks to the friendly introduction of an American
gentleman in Peking, His Excellency, Hou Wei Teh, the Senior
Vice-President of the Wai-wu-pu, most courteously sent instructions to
Chinese officials along my route, especially at Kalgan and Urga, to give
me every assistance. And soon after my arrival in Kalgan three officials
of the Bureau of Foreign Affairs made me a formal call, and the next day
they came again, followed by a coolie bearing a basket of stores which
proved to be of great value before my journey was over. One feels rather
shabby at accepting courtesies for which one can make no return. I did
my best by writing appreciative letters to all concerned, beginning with
His Excellency, the Senior Vice-President. I hope he got the letter, but
the next thing I heard of His Excellency was his sudden appearance over
the wall of the American Mission Compound at Peking, fleeing before the
mutinous soldiers.

On the morning of July 26, I was rumbling over the broken pavements of
Kalgan streets in a Peking cart guided by the trusty Mongol of a friend,
and escorted by soldiers sent by the Foreign Office. My kit was packed
in around me, or I should certainly have whacked my brains out against
the sides of the cover. As it was, my hair came down, my hat rolled from
side to side, and it was a miracle that anything stayed in the cart. And
I did not long, for as soon as