We encountered no one on the road, but passed one little vehicle like mine, in which I counted at least ten visible occupants. Four were seated on the shafts, some on the mules, and the others outside on the hood. I could not see how many there were inside. All the outside passengers had large umbrellas of oil-cloth, the same as my driver, and they looked like big sunflowers. It was quite cheering to see those people so perfectly happy, laughing and joking under such wretched conditions. Their stoicism gave me relief, and I shook the water from my dripping clothes and felt a little better too. But as night approached and the desolation became more oppressive, my self-confidence fell from hour to hour. Darkness magnified all the surroundings, and gave them a fantastic aspect. The lights in the distant farm-houses looked like will-o'-the-wisps; the trees became phantoms, and the barking of the dogs sounded like the roar of the dragons, which, as every one knows, are natives of the Yellow Empire. All the fairy stories of my childhood came back to my memory, and assumed a shape in the reality of my surroundings. I must add, too, that what I had read lately about Manchuria was not encouraging. The country, I knew, was still in a state of agitation and suppressed revolt. Gangs of bandits traversed the country in all directions, burning farmsteads, pillaging villages, murdering travellers. Skirmishes often took place between them and the Cossacks, and more than once during my journey I heard the firing of shots. The most dreaded of all these ruffians are the Chunchuses; they are formed into more or less organized bodies, like the bandits of ancient Italy, and they possess as much influence as the Mafia of Sicily. It was getting late and we had travelled for many hours without seeing any trace of houses. I could ask no questions, because I could only say those two words, _poo-how_ and _how-di_. Even if Li-Hu had been of a communicative turn of mind I should not have understood his explanations, so we continued our lugubrious ride in perfect silence, I perched on the back of a mule, with the shafts of the cart for stirrups, while Li-Hu had the carriage all to himself. He wriggled about like a serpent and finally sought consolation for the bitter reality of the present in the happy dreams of the past. At last the will-o'-the-wisps drew nearer, the phantoms took the form of ordinary trees, and the roars of the dragons resolved themselves into the barking of dogs. I scarcely dared to believe that I had reached my destination, lest I should be disappointed. Li-Hu was sound asleep, but the mules made straight for a dismal-looking building, and stopped as by instinct in front of a conspicuous signboard. By the same instinct, I suppose, Li-Hu awoke and I asked eagerly, "Mukden? Mukden?" But evidently I was wrong, for he emphatically shook his head.