The New York herald., 1922-06-18

sunshine that broke through the
mist as climbed down, with Chan
Kings help, into one Of these boats.
The harbor was busy with small
craft-flat bottomed gigs or baggage
boats, besides the junks, whose
square brown sails swung creaking
in the wind. Two Chinese men-of-
war rose over us, their vast, bulky
sides painted battleship gray.
Out and beyond, an island not
more than a mile long turned it's ir-
regular profile toward us. a long
mass of huge gray boVlders jutting
abruptly from sparkling sea. AS
we were being rowed in to tho MAIN
land we were near enough to the
island to see quite plainly the tile
rooted houses surrounded by arched
verandas, repeated again anG again
in long, undulating lines that gave a
pleasantly lacy effect. The island
was shaded with trees in winter
foliage, not the brilliant green of
summer, but the sage green and
pale tan of November. Through this
intermittent curtain the walls Of the
houses shone in dull blue and coral
pink and clear gray jagged cacti
shot up among the dubious rocks and
everywhere the scarlet poinsettia set
the hills aglow with patches of bril-
liant color. 1 loved this island in
stantly. I said to Chan-Kinz, This
is our Island of the Blest, where we
shall live when we are old"
v.
At the jetty All Ching went up to
hail sedan chair bearers. and soon
I was borne rapidly along few
yards ahead of my husbands chair.
was filled with delicious elation
at being in Chan-King's province.
SO near to the very village that he
knew as little boy. With enormous
curiosity 1 peeped through tine cur
tain flaps, which were transparent
from within. We were passing
through the town that lay along the
waters edge-a bright, open little
place, where the small houses, with
curved tile roofs, hugged the ground.
We went through the crooked streets,
which were really nothing more than
broad paths. at steady pace. We
left the ragged edges of the town
and began to ascend the hills. I
raised my curtains a trifle and ven
tured to look out freely. Emotion
surged up in me. / wished to cry
for joy in this homecoming, for it
was our real Homecoming together,
and I felt a secret share in all the
life my husband had known here.
Up the narrow. twisting path we
wound, toward the hills, which were
covered with a smoky, amber mist.
Scattered closely along the upward
road, apart from the dwellings,. were
small terraces inclosing plots of cul-
tivated ground filled with growing
things. Whenever the folk could
find a lush. flat place on the stony
hills. robbed by deforestation of all
but grass, they had planted their
vegetable These little patches Of
color, coaxed by thrifty gardeners
out of the soil washed into the hill
pockets, added a festive, humorous
note to the winter landscape other
wise SO brown and scar. 1 thought
frivolously of solemn giant wearing
his party nosegays. The hills bill
lowed away immensely until they
were silhouettes against the dull
orange and ashy purple of the morn
ing sun struggling through the
clouds. Solid, steeply curved, mar
row bridges of stone made us path
over the frequent streams that
rushed downward to the valley.
Here we came full upon the an
cestral village of my husbands fam
i.y. 1t lay, compact and many rooted.
upon the side of a hill. as intricately
woven and inevitable looking as a
colony OF birds nests, as naturally
part of the earth as though it
mad sprung from planted seeds. Rows
of walls ran along the main thor
cughfare. There were few people
astir yet. and the doors were closed