CHAPTER I 
THE ORDOS BORDER 
ERY 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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