From T’ao-ueen there is a stiff ascent, followed by a climb up steep stone steps and muddy mountain banks through black and barren country.  The morning had been cold and frosty, but rain came on later, a thick, heavy deluge, which swished and swashed everything from its path as one toiled painfully up those slippery paths, made almost unnegotiable.  But my imagination and my hope helped me to make my own sunshine.  There is something, I think, not disagreeable in issuing forth during a good honest summer rain at home with a Burberry well buttoned and an umbrella over one’s head; here in Yuen-nan a coat made it too uncomfortable to walk, and the terrific wind would have blown an umbrella from one’s grasp in a twinkling.  If we are in the home humor, in the summer, we do not mind how drenching the rain is, and we may even take delight in getting our own legs splashed as we glance at the “very touching stockings” and the “very gentle and sensitive legs” of other weaker ones in the same plight.  But here was I in a gale on the bleakest tableland one can find in this part of Yuen-nan, and a sorry sight truly did I make as I trudged “two steps forward, one step back” in my bare feet, covered only with rough straw sandals, with trousers upturned above the knee, with teeth chattering in malarial shivers, endeavoring between-times to think of the pouring deluge as a benignant enemy fertilizing fields, purifying the streets of the horrid little villages in which we spent our nights, refreshing the air!

Shall I ever forget the day?

Just before sundown, drenched to the skin and suffering horribly from the blues, we reached one single hut, which I could justly look upon as a sort of evening companion; for here was a fire—­albeit, a green wood fire—­which looked gladly in my face, talked to me, and put life and comfort and warmth into me for the ten li yet remaining of the day’s hard journey.

And at night, about 8:30 p.m., we at last reached the top of the hill, actually the summit of a mountain pass, at the dirty little village of Ta-shui-tsing.  Not for long, however, could I rest; for I heard yells and screams and laughs.  That pony again!  Every one of my men were afraid of it, for at the slightest invitation it pawed with its front feet and landed man after man into the gutter, and if that failed it stood upright and cuddled them around the neck.  Now I found it had run—­saddle, bridle and all—­and none volunteered to chase.  So at 9:30, weary and bearing the burden of a terrible day, which laid the foundation of a long illness to be recorded later, I found it my unpleasant duty to patrol the hill from top to bottom, lighting my slippery way with a Chinese lantern, chasing the pony silhouetted on the sky-line.  Ta-shui-tsing is a dreary spot with no inn accommodation at all,[V] a place depopulated and laid waste, gloomy and melancholy.  I managed, however, after promising a big fee, to get into a small mud-house, where the people were not unkindly disposed.