CHAPTER I 

 THE ORDOS BORDER 



VERY early in life my travels began. I was 

 only four years old when my parents took 

 me from an interior town of China to the coast, 

 and thence to Europe. Vaguely I remember 

 the mule train " coughing in the dust " of a 

 Shansi road, and the house-boat journey down a 

 Chihli river, with my mother lying at death's 

 door in the cramped and tiny cabin, overcome 

 by that cruel journey. Then came the strange 

 sights and scenes of the sea journey to England, 

 followed by the even stranger (to me) life of my 

 native land. Three years later we were back 

 again in the interior town, and from that time 

 on I have scarcely lived in one place longer than 

 a year or two at a time. 



All this doubtless accounts for my love of 

 travel, which has led to my kicking the traces and 

 becoming a wanderer. What more natural than 

 that the wandering should have for its scene the 

 land of my nativity, where I know the people and 

 their language, where I can live, if necessary, 



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