chiefly with Chinese of one
class, and usually from the one province of Kwangtung. But the men of
Yunnan and Szechuan are of a different type, larger, sturdier, of better
carriage. It takes experience commonly to mark differences in face and
expression among men of an alien race, and to the Asiatic all Europeans
look much alike, but already I was discerning variety in the faces I met
along the trail, and they did not seem as unfamiliar to me as I had
expected. I was constantly surprised by resemblances to types and
individuals at home. One of my chair coolies, for example, a young,
smooth-faced fellow, bore a disconcerting likeness to one of my former
students. But fair or dark, fine-featured or foul, all greeted me in a
friendly way, generally stopping after I had passed to ask my coolies
more about me. My four-bearer chair testified to my standing, and my
men, Eastern fashion, glorified themselves in glorifying me. I was a
"scholar," a "learned lady," but what I had come for was not so clear. A
missionary I certainly was not. Anyway, as a mere woman I was not likely
to do harm.

The road after crossing the plain entered the hills, winding up and
down, but always paved with cobbles and flags laid with infinite pains
generations ago, and now illustrating the Chinese saying of "good for
ten years, bad for ten thousand." It was so hopelessly out of repair
that men and ponies alike had to pick their way with caution. Long
flights of irregular and broken stone stairs led up and down the
hillsides over which my freshly shod pony slipped and floundered
awkwardly, and I always breathed a sigh of relief when a stretch of hard
red earth gave a little respite. It was neither courage nor pride that
kept me in the saddle, but the knowledge that much of the way would be
worse rather than better, and I would wisely face it at the outset. If
it got too nerve-racking I could always betake myself to my chair and,
trusting in the eight sturdy legs of my bearers, abandon myself to
enjoying the sights along the way.

Our first day's halt for tiffin was at the small hamlet of P'u chi. The
eating-house was small and crowded, and my cook set my table perforce
in the midst of the peering, pointing throng. I was the target of scores
of black eyes, and I felt that every movement was discussed, every
mouthful counted. As a first experience it was a little embarrassing,
but the people seemed good-humoured and very ready to fall into place or
mov