t!"

The bright eyes gave him a languishing look.

"I'll try," she said simply.

That night the banks of the great river were gray and mysterious under
the effulgence of a top-heavy yellow moon. The search-light on the
peak pierced out the fact that a low, swirling mist was creeping up
from the river's dulled surface.

The air was damp with the breath of the land. Occasionally the gentle
puffs of the wind bore along the water the flavor of queer,
indistinguishable odors.

Elbow to elbow, glancing down at the hissing water, Miss Vost and Peter
stood for a number of sweet, meditative moments in silence. At length
Miss Vost slipped her arm through his.

"Sometimes," she murmured, inclining her head until it almost rested
against his shoulder, "I feel lonely--terrible! Especially on such a
night as this. The moon is so impersonal, isn't it? Here it is, a
great, gorgeous ball of cold fire, shining across China at you and me.
In Amoy it seemed to frown at me. Now--it seems to smile. The same
moon!"

"The same moon!" whispered Peter as her warm hand slipped down and
snuggled in his.

"Don't _you_ ever feel lonely--like this?" demanded Miss Vost suddenly.

Peter sighed. "Oh, often. Often! The world seems so big, and so
filled with things that are hard to learn. Especially at night!" He
wondered what she thought he meant.

"I--I feel that way," Miss Vost's absorbed voice replied. "I try--and
try--to reason these things out. But they are so baffling! So
elusive! So evasive! Here is China, with its millions of poor
wretched ones, struggling in darkness and disease. There are so many!
And they are so hard to help. And out beyond there, not so many miles
beyond that ridge, lies Tibet, with her millions, and her ignorance,
and her disease. And to the left--away to the left, I think, is India.

"If a person would be happy, he must not come to China or India. Their
problems are too overwhelming. You cannot think of solutions fast
enough, and even while you think, you are overcome by the weariness,
the hopelessness, of it all. I wish I had never come to China.

"I happened to be in Foo-Chow not long ago. There is in Foo-Chow a
thing that illustrates what I mean. It is called the baby tower.
Girls, you know, aren't thought much of in China. At the bottom of the
tower is a deep well. Women to whom are born baby girls go to the baby
tower----" Miss Vost shuddered. "The babies are thrown into the