netrates further into the
country. Their women are rather picturesque. They do not give you quite
the same cheery unblushing greeting as you generally get from the
regular hill woman of Mongolian type, but they do not hide their faces
jealously from you, like the women on the plains of India. In dress they
largely affect black velveteen. It would be interesting to know from
where that velveteen comes, though I think it could, like the iridescent
shawls and the stocking suspenders that are so largely worn by the brave
men of Bengal, be traced to Manchester or Birmingham. It must have been
an enterprising bagman who first went round Sikkim and persuaded the
Sikkimese ladies that black velveteen was the match _par excellence_ for
their complexions.

At length we began to climb a little, ever so little, and after two more
days reached Lingtam in pouring rain. This was the last of our level
going; from here to Gnatong we were to climb continuously, and at as
steep a gradient as laden mule with straining breast-piece could hope to
tackle. The Lingtam camp was even smaller, more uneven, and damper than
the others had been. I found a convenient difficulty arising as to where
my tent could be fitted in, and simultaneously heard of the existence of
a bungalow at Sedonchan, three miles beyond. I was tied by no duty to
the column, so determined to reach Sedonchan that afternoon, and push on
to Gnatong the next day.

Those three miles to Sedonchan involved a climb of four thousand feet,
up a rough dripping bridle-path paved with cobbles, not nice
smooth-rounded cobbles, but roughly cut spiky stones. I have said the
path was paved with cobbles, but should have added that it had a
supplementary pavement of horse-shoes.

At first in my ignorance I thought of picking one up for luck, but a
yard ahead I saw another one, and then met others at close intervals all
the way, so decided that all that good fortune could not be meant for
me, and had better be left well alone. It was a good farrier who could
so shoe a horse that he would lose no shoe between Lingtam and Gnatong.

I don't know in the least what sort of place Sedonchan may be. It rained
all the time, some fourteen hours, that I stayed there, and was shrouded
in mist. So that if I ever went there again the place would still
possess the charm of novelty.

The next morning I found that my pony had shared the lot of most animals
along that road and cast a shoe. Farriers don't gro