"Breaking the firewood?" I said.

to keep the man famished wid longin'. Ye have to be crool

Now I perceived. Toomey went on. "I knew, when I hild up the dog on the palm of me hand, ye'd see where I was, an' where going. Then I wint on, deep into th' East. Their wire is nothin' at all; it's the very spit of our own. I halted among ut, an' gev out a notus, in English and German, kapin' down well in the fog to rejuice me losses. They didn't fire-ye'll have heard that. They sint for the man with the English. An', by the will of God, he was the same man that belonged to the dog."

6

"I can't just give ye his words, but the sinse of them only. What are ye doin' at all,' he says, ' askin' a man to desert?

"There was trouble in that fellow's voice. It med me ashamed. But I wint on, an' only put double strenth in me temptin's. 'Me Colonel,' I told him,' is offerin' five pounds for a prisoner. Come back with me now an' ye'll have fifty francs when I get the reward. Think over ut well. Fifty francs down. There's a gran' lot of spendin' in that. An' ye'll be with the dog.' As I offered him each injuicement, I lifted the tirrier clear of the

66 6

"I'm not there at all,' says I, 'an' the dog's in front of me bosom.'

"Ye'll understan', Sergeant," Toomey said to me gravely, "that las' was a roose. I'd not do the like o' that to a dog, anny more than yourself.

"The poor divil sckewed in his juice for a while, very qui-ut. Then he out with an offer.

Will ye take sivinty francs for the dog? It's the whole of me property. An' it only

comes short be five francs of th' entire net profuts ye'd make on the fiver, an' I comin' wid you.'

"I will not,' says I, faint and low. It was tormint, refusin' the cash.

6

"Won't annythin' do ye,' says he in despair, but a live wan?'

66 6

Depinds,' says I pensively, playin' me fish. I hild up the dog for a siccond again, to kape his sowl workin'.

"He plunged at the sight of the creature. 'Couldn't ye do with a body?' he says very low.'

66 6

Depinds,' says I, mar

he was for makin', the like of the Druids, to get back the dog. "Not fourteen hours back,' says he, he died on us.'

"Was he wan of your selves?' says I. 'A nice fool I'd look if I came shankin' back from the fair wid a bit of the wrong unit.'

"He was,' says he, 'an' the best of us all.' An' then he went on, wid me puttin' in a word now and then, or a glimpse of the dog, to kape him desirous an' gabbin'. There's no use in cheapenin' your wares. He let on how this fellow he spoke of had niver joyed since they came to that place, an' gone mad at the finish, wi' not gettin' his sleep without he'd be seein' Thim Wans in a dream an' hearin' the Banshies; the way he bruk out at three in the mornin' that day, apt to cut anny in two that would offer to hold him. 'Here's out of ut all,' he appeared to have said; I've lived through ivery room in hell: how long, O Lord, how long, but it's glory an' victory now,' an' off an' away wid him West, through The Garden. 'Ye'll not have seen him at all?' said me friend. We hadn't notussed, I told him. 'We were right, then,' says he; he'll have died on the way. For he let a scream in the night that a man couldn't give an' live after. If he'd fetched up at your end,' says he, 'you'd have known, for he was as brave as a lion.'

"A livin' dog's better,' says

a Jew's bargain you're makin'. Where's the decaysed?'

666

Pass me the dog,' says

he, an' I'll give ye his route out from here to where he'll have dropped. It's his point of deparchure I stand at.'

"I'll come to ye there,' says I, an' ye'll give me his bearin's, an' when I've sot eyes on me man I'll come back an' han' ye the dog, an' not sooner.'

"He was spaichless a moment. 'Come now,' says I, from me lair in the fog, 'wan of the two of us has to be trustful. I'll not let ye down.'

666

"Ye'll swear to come back?' says he in great anguish.

"I said, 'Tubbe sure.' "Come on wid ye, then, he answered.

"I went stoopin' along to within six feet of his voice, the way ye'd swim under water, an' then I came to the surface. His clayey-white face an' the top of his body showed over a breas'-work the moral of ours. An', be cripes, ut was all right. The red figures were plain on his shoulder-strap-wan eightysix. Another breas'-work, the fellow to his, was not thirty yards south. There was jus' the light left me to see that the sintry there was wan eighty-six too. I'd inspicted the goods in bulk now, an' had only to see to me sample, and off home wid it."

Toomey looked benedictively down at the long stiff frame with its Iron Cross ribbon and red worsted "186." "An ould

gev me the line to him. Then he got anxious. 'Ye'll bury him fair?' he said. Is he a Prod'stant?' said I, or a Cath'lic?' 'A good Cath'lic,' says he; 'we're Bavarians here.' 'Good,' says I; 'I'll speak to Father Moloney meself.' An' ye'll come back,' says he, wi' the dog?' will not,' says I, 'I shall hand him ye now. Ye're a straight man not to ha' shot me before. Besides, ye're a Cath'lic? So

'I

66

Well, God ha' mercy on his soul," said Toomey, hoisting the load up on to his back.

"And of all Christian souls, I pray God." I did not say it. Only Ophelia's echo, crossing my mind. How long would Mynns last? Till I could wangle his transfer to the Divisional laundry or gaff?

I brought Toomey along to claim the fruit of his guile. We had to pass Schofield. He looked more at ease in his mind than before. I asked the routine question. "Ahl correct, Sergeant," he answered.

CARAVANSERAI, Sanctuary, Oasis I hardly know which is the more appropriate to describe that unique hostelry in the turning off Legation Street which leads to the Peking Railway Station : the road which all must travel when, nothing accomplished, nothing done, weary of the struggle for life in the capital of China, they give it up. It has some of the characteristics of each, many which are peculiar to itself.

A fascinating place, Legation Quarter; that at least is the first impression it makes on your mind; but a cruel place when you come to know it as the mark which the commercial travellers for Christendom have stamped on the face of an ancient civilisation.

A city within a city; resting on one side, for safety's sake, on that city's wall, on the other cutting itself off from the common streets by "glacis," and Legation Street running through it from eastern gate to western; arrogating to itself full privileges of municipal government, with right of citizenship; a very practical and tangible example of

fying its anomalous position by profession of a great international altruism, the promotion of the wellbeing of some four hundred millions of men and women who care not one snap of the finger for this tender solicitude, who are about as much impressed by it as the sandy wastes under the city wall by the camels padding along with their loads of rice. Government largely depends on phrases and formulas. The formula which the western politician has devised as a cure for all the ills which this distracted country is heir to, is the need for a "United China." It sounds all right; and is, in fact, a consummation devoutly to be wished. But for its achievement something more is necessary than pious aspirations. There was a time, not so long ago, when judicious and friendly guidance might have helped to bring it about, and would not have been unwelcomed. As it is, the North and the South, incomprehensible to one another both in language and idea, have as little chance of uniting in brotherly government as, to use the homely simile, cat