Just as I was beginning to wonder what had become of our luggage, we
passed four women laughing and singing. Two of them had steamer
trunks on their heads, and two carried huge kori. They did not seem to
mind it in the least, and bowed and smiled us out of sight.

Another two hours' climb brought us to this village of camps called
Hieisan. There are about forty Americans here, who are camping out
for the summer, and I am the guest of a Dr. Waring and his wife from
Alabama.

My tent is high above everything, on a great overhanging rock, and
before me is a view that would be a fit setting for Paradise. This
mountain is sacred to Buddha, and the whole of it is thick with
temples and shrines, some of them nobody knows how old.

I have been trying to muster courage to get up at three o'clock in the
morning to see the monkeys come out for breakfast. The mountains are
full of them, but they are only to be seen at that hour.

There are some very pleasant people here, and I have made a number of
friends. I am something of a conundrum, and curiosity is rife as to
_why_ I came. Mrs. Waring dresses me up and shows me off like a
new doll, and the women consult me about making over their clothes.

I don't know why I am not perfectly miserable. The truth is, Mate, I
am having a good time! It's nice to be petted and treated like a
child. It is good to be among plain, honest people, that live out
doors, and have healthy bodies and minds.