Dr. Morrison speaks rapidly, using short words and somewhat long sentences, and there is an evenness in the tone of his voice which betrays that sentiment is lacking in his temperament. His address is somewhat stiff, but his phrases are never without point, and have the saving grace of being pertinent. I met him one day unexpectedly as he stepped from the train at Yingkow, and this was his salutation: “Hallo, Greener, what are these Cossacks doing here? How many are there of them? How’re you?” People think that Dr. Morrison takes himself too seriously, and is too devoted to his work--it is that for which he lives--but none doubt his sincerity, and all admire his patriotism, which is deep, genuine, and predominant. The one trait in his character which makes him close kin with all is his sincere and undisguised liking for young children. The infants of his serving-men run loose about his rooms and are sure that he will pet them. Occasionally he will treat himself to real entertainment. He gives a children’s party, to which all are welcome. The courtyard is roofed over with sun-mats; there are flowers and sweets, music and games, jugglers, conjurers, tumblers and tricksters, and not one of the merry party enjoys the romp more than does the staid journalist who thus momentarily forgets his cares, his Chinese pictures, his curios, and even himself--a mandarin entitled to have twelve bearers for his chair and several clangs on the gong at the entrance gate. CHAPTER II Russia and Manchuria before the War