best coffins!"

CHAPTER XIV

Peter Moore's curiosity regarding the motives which were sending Miss
Amy Vost into Szechwan, most deplorable, most poverty-stricken of
provinces, was satisfied before the _Hankow_ had put astern the great
turbulent city after which it had been named.

At Hankow the _Hankow_ picked up the raft which it would tow all the
way up to Ching-Fu. Upon this raft was a long, squat cabin, in and out
of which poured incessantly members of China's large and growing family.

There were thin, dirty little men, and skinny, soiled little women, and
quantities of hungry, dirty little boys and girls. A great noise went
up from the raft as the _Hankow_ nosed in alongside, and the new
towline was passed and made fast over the bitts.

As the big propeller thumped under them and churned the muddy water
into unhealthy-looking foam, Peter Moore and Miss Vost leaned upon the
rail, where it curved around the fantail, and discoursed at length,
speculating upon the probable destination of that raftful of dirty
humanity, and offering problematic answers to the puzzling question as
to why were all these people deserting relatively prosperous Hankow for
the over-populated, overdeveloped province of Szechwan.

Peter had an inkling that Miss Vost was distressed by the scene.

"Let's take a stroll forward," he suggested.

An urchin, directly below them, stood rubbing his eyes with two grimy
fists. His whines were audible above the churning of the engines.

"No, no. I'm quite accustomed to this. Look--just look at that
miserable little fellow!"

"He is blind," stated Peter quietly.

"Half of them are blind," Miss Vost replied. Her features were
transfixed by a look of sadness. "Wait for me. I'll return in a
second."

Peter watched the graceful swing of her shoulders as she strode down
the deck to the forward companionway, admiring the slim strength of her
silk-clad ankles. She was every inch an American girl. He was proud
of her. She returned, carrying a small oblong of cardboard, upon which
a photograph was pasted.

Peter found himself looking into the sad, be-wrinkled eyes of a
gray-bearded man, a patriarchal gentleman, who stood on the hard clay
at the foot of a low stone stairway. His nose, his eyes, his
intellectual forehead were distinctly those of Miss Vost. A child in a
freshly starched frock, with eyes opened wide in surprise and interest,
was firmly clutching one of his trouser-le