CHAPTER XIV 



A TALE OF THE BORDER 



AT the foot of the wild huddle of mountains, 

 clothed on their northern slopes with pines, bare to 

 the south, situated on the borderland between 

 Thibet and China, nestled a small village. It con- 

 sisted of the usual filthy street slightly raised above 

 the level of a brawling mountain stream, a dozen or 

 so flat-roofed houses straggling beside it and falling 

 gradually away to the main road, which ran down 

 the valley. In the largest of these houses dwelt 

 an unimportant Thibetan chief called Lao. The 

 Chinese Government was supposed to give him a 

 salary for the official position which they had con- 

 ferred on him, but in Lao's eyes this was a small 

 thing. He relied on the power which his office 

 conferred as a means of squeezing anything and 

 everybody with whom he had dealings. 



His father was dead, but had married, on the 

 death of his first wife, a woman who still lived. 

 Lao cordially detested her, and though they lived 

 in the same house she returned the compliment. 



Morality in its Western sense has but little 

 meaning to the Thibetans. Indeed, the children of 

 an unmarried girl are given as warm a welcome by 

 their grandparents as though their entrance into 



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