As we approached Hulan we came to another river to be crossed, but not nearly so large a one as the Sungari. Few foreigners come to such an out-of-the-way corner of the empire, so people came hurrying out to see us, calling to one another, “Come and see the shaggy women!” “These shaggy women are tip-top!” The expression “shaggy” seems to have been first applied to the Russians, who wear their hair somewhat loose and long, but it is now the common designation for foreigners of all nationalities. We travelled slowly, though occasionally our little ponies would break into a trot; then the driver would leap into the air, fold his legs beneath him and alight seated cross-legged on the cart, with a solid thud, like some gigantic frog. Hulan is quite a Chinese town, and indeed Manchuria is rapidly becoming populated with the Chinese, for whom its fertile plains offer an excellent home. The old Manchu towns are in a decadent condition, and can only hope for a fresh lease of life by new blood being introduced from the south. No wonder the Japanese cast covetous eyes on the land where crops produce an increase of 100 per cent. The crops are mainly wheat and beans, both of which are being largely exported to Britain. Great quantities of oil are obtained from the beans, and the refuse is made into large flat cakes, nearly as big as cart wheels, which form excellent fuel. The price of beans in the north is three times as great as it was a year ago, and the people in Manchuria are on the whole more prosperous than elsewhere in the Chinese Empire. On Sunday morning we attended service in the Mission Hall, and received a warm welcome from the people, to whom we were formally presented at the conclusion of the service. The Mission is still in its infancy, but promises well, and when the medical side is started will make more rapid progress. The next day “the faithful of Hulan” sent us gifts of cakes, and asked when we were leaving, that they might speed us on our way. We left too early, however, to go and thank them in person, as we had a four hours’ sleigh ride in order to catch the express at Kharbin, which only goes twice a week direct to Moukden. Unfortunately we had mistaken the day, and we doubly regretted that we had not waited to return the courtesies shown to us. The first section of the railway line running southwards is still in the hands of Russia, and one’s attention is continually arrested by the large numbers of soldiers who are kept all along the line to guard it. Kwan-cheng-tze is the terminus of the Russian line: it is not quite half-way from Kharbin to Moukden. The Japanese call their station at Kwan-cheng-tze Changchun, which is rather puzzling to the traveller who is unaware that the place boasts two names. All passengers have to change trains here.