Shafto and his companion having toiled up the steps, worn hollow by millions of feet, halted on the plateau, which was half-covered with little stalls, whose keepers were selling flowers, candles, flags, dolls, and images of Buddha—made in Birmingham. Here were hundreds, nay thousands of joyous gaily-clad worshippers moving to and fro, a truly brilliant pageant of passing life. It was difficult to say which were the more strikingly dressed: the men in brilliant turbans and silk waist cloths, or the women in satin skirts of endless pattern, their chignons wreathed with flowers, wearing a profusion of gold ornaments, and attended by many children. “Ah, I see you are struck with the spectacle!” said Salter. “Isn’t it an orgy of colour—rose, orange, purple, scarlet? There is nothing more picturesque than a Burmese crowd.” “Yes, a great show!” rejoined Shafto; “in gala costume. I can now understand why the national emblem is a peacock.” As they made their way through the throng there was a clanging of melodious gongs and sounds of loud continuous chanting, whilst overhead the far-away sea breeze stirred the bells on the Ti to a silvery tinkle, tinkle. To Shafto this scene was amazing and impressive; the wonderful golden Pagoda with its crown of jewels, the vast multitudes in many-hued garments, the flowers, fluttering flags, coloured lights, all as it were attuned to the accompaniment of merry voices, sonorous Gregorian chanting, and deep-toned gongs. And what a labyrinth of shrines! Hours might be spent examining their rich carvings. At one of the principal of these shrines a service was proceeding; to Shafto, it recalled the celebration of mass in a Roman Catholic chapel, for here were shaven priests intoning prayers on the steps of a decorated altar; here also were incense, lights, and a multitude of devout people, kneeling, rosary in hand, chanting the responses. Among the worshippers Shafto recognised Mee Lay and her cousin Ma Chit, attired in what, no doubt, were their festival toilets. Mee Lay’s white jacket was fastened by diamond buttons, and large diamonds sparkled in her little brown ears; as for Ma Chit, she was adorned with the national gold necklace, or _dalizan_. In her sleek, black hair were artfully arranged sprigs of scarlet hibiscus, and between her tiny hands, glittering with rings, and uplifted palm to palm, she held a beautiful flower, which, when her devotions were accomplished, she laid upon the shrine with an undulating movement of adoration and grace.