e of an expectant group of the
four-footed habitues of the inn, and no one seemed to object. Just
another instance of the liking of the most civilized peoples of the West
and the East, English, French, and Chinese, for pet animals.

A small church on the right bank of the river showed white among the
bamboos, and in the early evening the bells rang with a homelike sound.
Crossing by the ferry I found the place empty save for two Annamese
soldiers kneeling quietly and reverently. In going back and forth on the
ferry-boat as I did several times, I had a chance to observe the people.
As in the case of the Burmans the difference between men and women is
not marked; indeed, among the younger ones it is often difficult to tell
them apart. The great palm-leaf hat generally worn took me back to hot
Sunday afternoons in an old church in the Berkshire hills of
Massachusetts, when my restless little mind busied itself with wondering
what palm leaves looked like when they were not fans. I now had a chance
to see, for I was in the land of palms, and the church-going fans of my
childhood seemed to have transformed themselves into a universal
headgear. In shape the Annamese hat resembles a tea-tray with edges
three inches deep, and of the size of a bicycle wheel. In addition to
the band passing under the chin a small crown fits the head snugly, and
helps to keep the huge thing in place. Primarily it is a head-covering,
a protection against sun or rain, but incidentally it serves as a
windbreak, a basket-cover, a tray, or a cradle. Often French soldiers
crossed with me, and I noticed that they usually spoke Annamese
fluently, unlike Tommy Atkins in India, who rarely knows a word of the
vernacular; also they seemed to be on a friendly, not to say familiar
footing with the natives.

After a comfortable week-end's rest, I left Lao-kai in the early
morning, helped on my journey by those courtesies that so often in
strange lands convince one that "less than kin more than kind" quite
understates the truth. An Italian on his way down the river wired the
landlord of the best inn in Yunnan-fu of my coming, that I might be
properly met. That I had already done so myself did not at all take from
his kind thoughtfulness. Still another Italian of the Chinese customs
service joined me as we left Lao-kai, having come over from Ho-k'ou to
escort me across the frontier, that I might have no bother with my
luggage. Yet another of these kind strangers w