-the opinions of critics who accused him
of weakness notwithstanding. These critics wanted him to shout his
grievances aloud, to make them audible above the din of that noisy
time. But what hope had he of being heard? The Chinese officials
_could_ not listen and his own countrymen _would_ not, so where was he
to turn?

Nothing remained for it but to build his house on the old
foundations--an economical plan--and try to forget about the wall near
the back windows. The garden also was set in order. As the Psalmist
says, "The wilderness was made to blossom," for wilderness it was.
Judging from appearances, Chinese soldiers must have encamped there.
They left their rice-bowls in the path and their fans under the trees.
Probably they stayed some days and looted at leisure, then disappeared
as suddenly as they had come, after a sharp struggle with a company
of Boxers, for two of these patriots in full regalia--red sashes and
rusty swords--lay dead in the long grass. Poor patriots, they owed
their quiet graves under a barbarian's lawn to a barbarian's kindness.
I wonder if their ghosts have a sense of humour, and if they ever
chuckle a little over the trick Fate played on them when they were
helpless?

[Illustration]

Once established again in his new-old quarters, the I.G. went back
to his former routine of life. The band-boys, scattered by the Siege,
returned, one having become, all of a sudden, a hero.

It happened during the days immediately following the Relief, when the
prostrate city was given up to plunderers. A company of soldiers
chose to break into a big dwelling-house, and the Chinese inhabitants
scampered--men and women--in wild terror. Then suddenly, in the midst
of the confusion, a bugle call rang loud and clear on the air. The
European soldiers, recognizing the "Retreat" and fearing a superior
force was about to descend on them, stood not on the order of their
going, but left at once. Yet it was no superior force after all. A
single man by his presence of mind saved the situation--and that man
was the I.G.'s best cornet player. Afterwards, I remember, he used to
be pointed out to strangers at garden parties, and he had quite a deal
of notoriety before he and his gallantry were forgotten in the daily
round of commonplace happenings.

Taking into consideration the great shock of 1900, it is wonderful how
the I.G. could remain unaltered in all his habits, could be so unmoved
by the changes taking place arou