na.
Now, like a general planning his campaign, Chris lay looking down at
the high angular walls, thinking of how he would gain entry.

On regaining the _Mirabelle_ in a boat made from the magic rope, Chris
had reappeared among his friends, "recovered" from his fever. He had
given much thought to what he considered would be the last dangerous
section of the journey, and after listening to what his master said
through the shell, was permitted to take Amos on this stage of the
voyage. It was reasoned if something happened to Chris, Amos might be
able to carry out their mission by himself.

The boys had come to Peking on camel-back, a camel made from the magic
rope. As Amos had never seen a real camel, he thought the rope animal
quite natural, and as remarkable a creature as a real one. Chris took
care to make it or disentangle it out of Amos's sight, and so many
were the strange and wonderful things to be seen, that Amos had no
time to concern himself over the reality of a camel.

The arid countryside was blanched by the excessive heat. Flies droned
over the dates and figs that the boys pulled from their pockets to
eat. Amos wriggled with excitement as he pointed out details to Chris.

"Chris! Look at that procession going in the big gate! All those
pigtailed gentlemen dressed in embroidered coats. I like that blue one
with butterflies on it. No, I'd sooner have the black satin one with
the dragon in red and yellow!" He looked again more closely. "Or the
one with the peacock in green and purple. Which would you sooner
have?"

Chris paid little attention to Amos's exclamations. Leaning on his
elbows and looking at the scene below, his mind worked busily on these
last vital problems. But Amos was not waiting for an answer. His mind
was on the present moment and the present scene, forgetful of what lay
ahead of them, a few hours away. He chattered on.

"I like their funny black hats and droopy mustaches. Why don't they
look like us, Chris?" he asked. And then, "Who-all's in the curtained
stretcher they're carrying?"

[Illustration]

"It's a palanquin, Amos. They carry dignitaries in them."

"Hate to be a dignitary in all this heat," Amos said, unenviously.
"What are they doing now?" he enquired, and both boys parted the
prickly pine needles to look out and down.

The leader of the procession rapped three times on the great gate with
a gold staff. Sentinels and guards came forward, walking on the broad
gate top, a