Mûang Lā was the furthest point reached on this tour. From it we struck westward into our old route of 1893 at Mûang Pōng. The Chao Fā who got my gun had been killed by his people. I was much struck with the judicial aspect of the act as told me. One of the officers said, “He was a bad man, who oppressed the people, fined and executed them unjustly, and, of course, we killed him. That is the way the Lāo do.” A nephew and adopted son of the murdered Prince succeeded him, but the authority was largely in the hands of the Prayā Lūang, though the young Prince’s mother also had great influence. She invited me to a good dinner, and we had a most interesting conversation. Among other things she asked, “How is it that you say Buddhism cannot save?” and she seemed much impressed with the answer: “Because Gautama Buddha is gone, and it is more than twenty-five hundred years before the next Buddha is expected.” We were now travelling southward, and soon came once more upon the tricolour floating over the French post at Mûang Sing. I felt like saluting it. I was greatly surprised to find an Englishman, Mr. Eva, in charge. He fairly shouted to hear his mother tongue once more. He had scarcely heard a word of it for three years. Seeing that I was spent with my long, hot ride, and that my carriers would not get in till nightfall, he kindly offered to hunt me up some luncheon. This I declined, if only I might have a cup of tea and a piece of dry bread. Holding up both hands, he exclaimed, “You’ve got me there! I’ve almost forgotten how wheat bread tastes.” He insisted on my taking up my quarters in his bungalow, till I said, “If you were on French business, you would wish to stop where you could best accomplish it, would you not? I am here on missionary work, and my business is with the people. The monastery grounds will suit me better.” “Looking at it in that light,” said he, “you’re right. I’ll say no more.” I knew that in the home of a French official I should have no visitors at all. He was the son of an English Wesleyan minister; but, being a wild lad, he had wandered away and drifted into the French army, where he rose to an official position. But the influences of his early days had not been lost. We had many heart-to-heart talks together. He wanted an English Bible. Having only my “Oxford” along, I could not spare him that, but brought him one on my next tour. On Sunday he attended the service led by the elders, pleased at the evidence they gave of the reality of our missionary work. He had six thousand Kamus in his district. The opium habit is very common. We found but few monasteries in the Sipsawng Pannā whose abbots and monks did not use opium. One man, when asked whether he used it, made a significant answer: “When I have money, I do. When I have none, I don’t.”