There were, however, few open acts of hostility during these days. Then suddenly, like a bolt from the blue, it came. It was the fifth of the fifth month feast. According to time-honored custom, the crowds assembled on the great east parade ground, scarce a stone’s throw from the Mission compound, for the throwing of plums. Vendors, their big baskets well filled with the fruit still green, had booths, or pushed through the people everywhere. Everyone bought, sowed his plums broadcast in the air, then scrambled with the rest, for, aside from the sport, the plums so obtained were said to ward off sickness, demons, disaster, and brought good luck for the year to come. As the day grew, masses of roughs and toughs, many from the yamen, some say, mingled with the thoughtless, and jammed and jostled together till the air was filled with the hum and hue of voices, and hearts and heads were half-hysterical for mischief and riot. Already as evening came, the crowd had overflowed past the gateway of the mission premises. “Here’s where the foreign devils live,” said one. “Let’s hurl a stone at the gate,” said another. “Who dares?” Soon one stone by stealth, then a volley, rattled against the big black doors. The gateman’s rebuke only made the ringleaders more bold. They fell back when the foreigner appeared; but were at his heels, a howling mob, when the gates again closed behind him. The rabble rushed to the point, restraint was thrown to the winds. A riot was on in earnest. Into the blackness of the night, two men, strangers, homeless in a strange, inhospitable land, fled with their heroic wives and hushed little ones. Then and for hours afterwards, as hiding from street to street they sought their way to our W.M.S. home, they heard afar the frenzied shouting, and saw the flames pierce high into the darkness as church, and hospital, and homes, and goods, and gifts, and many a treasured heirloom from half round the world became fuel for the fires. Next day saw the mob’s return to its work of destruction till every building of every mission in the city, Protestant and Catholic alike, was in ruins, and the foreigners, irrespective of sex or creed, huddled together in a few low outer rooms of one of the official yamens. Such was Liu Tsi Chuin’s first introduction to the foreigner, for he was in the thick of the fray on the first night, and followed on next day as one by one the missionary families fled, and the buildings were looted and burned. It was a full decade before he came in touch with them again and then—how changed the circumstances!