It did tend to send him off on another track, however, and he next remarked that if he sent us to a place where the hunting was disappointing we probably would report him to the district mandarin.  Assurances to the contrary had no effect.  It was perfectly evident that he wished only to get us out of his district and thus relieve himself of the responsibility of our safety.  During the conversation, which lasted more than an hour, the young Shan was not consulted and did not speak a word; he sat stolidly in his chair, hardly winking, and except for the constant supply of cigarettes which passed between his fingers there was no evidence that he even breathed.

The interview closed with assurances from the Chinaman that he would make inquiries concerning hunting grounds and communicate with us in the morning.  We returned to camp and half an hour later a party of natives arrived from the yamen bearing about one hundred pounds of rice, a sack of potatoes, two dozen eggs, three chickens, and a great bundle of fire wood.  These were deposited in front of our tent as gifts from the mandarin.

We were at a loss to account for such generosity until Wu explained that whenever a high official visited a village it was customary for the mandarin to supply his entire party with food during their stay.  It would be quite polite to send back all except a few articles, however, for the supplies were levied from the inhabitants of the town.  We kept the eggs and chickens, giving the yamen “runners” considerably more than their value in money, and they gratefully returned with the rice and potatoes.

On the hill high above our camp was a large Shan Buddhist monastery, bamboo walled and thatched with straw, and at sunset and daybreak a musical chant of childish voices floated down to us in the mist-filled valley.  All day long tiny yellow-robed figures squatted on the mud walls about the temple like a flock of birds peering at us with bright round eyes.  They were wild as hawks, these little priests and, although they sometimes left the shelter of their temple walls, they never ventured below the bushy hedge about our rice field.

In the village we saw them often, wandering about the streets or sitting in yellow groups beneath the giant trees which threw a welcome shade over almost every house.  They were not all children, and finely built youths or men so old that they seemed like wrinkled bits of lemon peel, passed to and fro to the temple on the hill.

There is no dearth of priests, for every family in the village with male children is required to send at least one boy to live a part of his life under the tutelage of the Church.  He must remain three years, and longer, if he wishes.  The priests are fed by the monastery, and their clothing is not an important item of expenditure as it consists merely of a straw hat and a yellow robe.  They lead a lazy, worthless life, and from their sojourn in religious circles they learn only indolence and idleness.