claim upon his time, to receive all who come.

At any hour of the day, we may hear the clatter of sticks upon the
ground indicating that some of our neighbours, whose minute feet prevent
them from walking unaided, have found their way through the open front
door and brought some friends to see the house of the foreigner.

The Chinese woman is an inveterate sightseer, but unfortunately the
attractions of Hwochow are not many; there is no end, however, to the
marvels found within the walls of the Mission compound.

The leader of the party is frequently our old friend, Goat's Mother, the
members of her clan being numerous and of an inquisitive nature.

The well-favoured Goat, aged five years, wears a brilliant yellow cotton
jacket, on which are sketched in bold brush work every species of
venomous insect. On his left shoulder is a scorpion, while centipedes,
beetles, and other forms of poisonous insect life cover his back and
chest. To his right shoulder is stitched a diminutive pair of
red-and-green trousers. The yellow coat is his protection from stings
and bites, the tiny trousers from measles, and longevity is secured by a
heavy silver padlock, which hangs from his neck by a silver chain.

With much assistance from the Bible-women the whole party climb the few
steps leading to the verandah, and exhausted by the effort, gratefully
accept our invitation to be seated in the guest-room.

Tea is offered, but we know better than to press them to partake of any
refreshment, for these women have been warned on no account to let food
or drink pass their lips while under our roof, lest by a magic spell
they find themselves compelled to become Christians.

The room is furnished in conventional Chinese style--a square table with
scarlet embroidered table-skirt, and backed by an ornate arrangement of
banner, scrolls, vases, and teacups, with stiff chairs on either side.
Our guests' first observation is to remark upon the surprising
cleanliness of the apartment, the next is to ask where we sleep, and the
third is to comment freely upon our personal appearance.

"Have you turned sixty yet?" I am asked, and much surprise is expressed
at the information supplied by Goat's Mother that I have not yet seen my
fortieth birthday. "It is the white hair that makes her look so old," is
the comment offered in explanation of my fair complexion.

Goat's Mother has brought her relations on a promise that they shall
see the foreigner's bedr