and the Chinese muleteers do not like to travel in rain. But
the prospect was for a steady pour and as we were in a wretched
inn and only ninety li from Ichou-fu, we wanted to go on.
A present of 600 small cash for each muleteer (twenty
cents) overcame all scruples. Just as I had comfortably
ensconced myself in my shendza with an oilcloth on top and a
rubber blanket in front, I saw a centipede on my leg, but I
managed to slay him before he bit me. By nine, the rain
ceased and though the clouds still threatened, we had a cool
and comfortable ride through hundreds of fields of peanuts,
indigo and millet to I-tang, where we stopped for tiffin at a
squalid inn kept by a tall, dilapidated looking Chinese, who rejoiced
in the name of Confucius. He was really a descendant
of the sage and was very proud of the fact that his bones were
in due time to rest in the sacred cemetery at Ku-fu.

By 5:40 P. M. we reached Ichou-fu, where the solitary Rev.
W. W. Faris was glad to see another white man. A
stay of several days was marked by many pleasant incidents.
There was much of interest for a visitor to see. The mission
work at Ichou-fu, Presbyterian, includes two hospitals, one for
men and one for women, a chapel and separate day schools for
boys and girls. The church has about a hundred members
and in the outstations there are ten other organized churches
besides ten unorganized congregations. All these churches
and congregations provide their own chapels and pay their own
running expenses. Here also the officials were most courteous.
The Prefect, who promptly called with a retinue of fifty
soldiers and attendants, was a masterful looking man who
conversed with intelligence on a wide variety of topics. The