Climbing over boulders and stony steps, I
reached an altitude of 8,500 feet, whence thirty li of pleasant going
awaited us all the way to Lang-wang-miao (Temple of the Dragon King).
Here I sat down and strained my eyes to catch the glimpse of the compact
little walled city, where I hoped my broken arm would be set by the
European missionaries. The traveler invariably hastens his pace here,
expecting to run down the hill and across the plain in a very short
space; but as the time passed, and I slowly wended my way along the
difficult paths through the rice fields, I began to realize that I had
been duped, and that it was farther than it seemed. Two blushing
damsels, maids goodly to look upon, gave me the sweetest of smiles as I
strode across the bodies of some fat pigs which roamed at large in the
outskirts of the city, the only remembrance I have to mar the
cleanliness of the place.
At Tong-ch'uan-fu the Rev. A. Evans and his extremely hospitable wife
set my arm and did everything they could--as much as a brother and
sister could have done--to help me, and to make my short stay with them
a most happy remembrance. It was, however, destined that I should be
their guest for many months, as shall hereinafter be explained.
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