The family of Rev. Mr. Reid, missionary at Seoul, Korea, consisted of his wife, her widowed sister, his two sons, Clarence and Joyce, and his daughter, Helen. Mallard Hale, an American youth of seventeen, had recently come to make his home with his uncle. He was only a few months older than Clarence, and the two cousins were very fond of each other. Helen was nearly fifteen and Joyce twelve.
For some days they had been talking of this sampan journey up the Han. Mr. Reid had long wanted to take such a trip into the interior for the purpose of making observations of the country and of studying the conditions of the people along the south branch of the Han. It was reported to be a wonderfully attractive and fertile section, with a people whose manners and customs, differing from those in the cities, made them of deep interest to the traveler. They were described as quiet and peaceful, given to hospitality, and fairly burning with curiosity.
The Mission Board, under the auspices of which Mr. Reid labored, had for some time contemplated the establishment of a branch mission in the interior. They were waiting for him to decide the point where it should be located. He had hesitated a long time about undertaking the sampan journey because as yet there had not been sufficient money to defray the necessary expenses. But the coming of his nephew, Mallard Hale, had quickly done away with this obstacle. For Mallard was comfortably fixed as to income, and he insisted on bearing all the expense of hiring and propelling the sampan, while his uncle was left to provide only for provisions and equipments.
"Then, uncle," said Mallard, after they had talked a little further, "let us decide positively on going, also that we take Mr. Kit-ze and his sampan."
"Yes, red——" began Clarence, but the words were cut short by an exclamation from Joyce.
"Why," he cried, "here is Mr. Kit-ze now!"
Sure enough, Mr. Kit-ze was coming in. It was just after dinner, or opan, as they would say in Korea, and Mr. Kit-ze was still caressing his lips with his tongue, well pleased with the toothsome morsels that had gone to comfort his stomach. He was a little stouter and taller than the average man of his race, standing five feet six in his sandals, weighing, perhaps, one hundred and sixty pounds, and was fifty years of age. His complexion, originally of a bright olive, had now a deep tan through the action of sun and winds. He had a straight nose, but rather distended nostrils, the oblique Mongolian eye, while his hair, of a deep russet-brown smeared with lampblack, was wound in a knot at the top of his head.
Mr. Kit-ze had on the loose white robe of his countrymen, with flowing sleeves, that fell just below the knees. It was belted in with a girdle of straw. Beneath it showed his baggy trousers, gathered in at the ankle. A katsi (hat), in shape like a flower pot turned down over a table, wadded stockings, and sandals of straw completed his attire. When he removed his hat, on Mr. Reid's invitation, there was a little tight-fitting skullcap of horsehair underneath, carefully placed on top of his knot of hair. He seemed solicitous about his hat, not knowing just where to place it. It was, indeed, a huge affair for a hat, the brim being nearly six feet in circumference. At home Mr. Kit-ze had his swinging case for his hat, but here he was at a loss as to its disposal. Helen at length came to the rescue and placed it on top of the organ, where it rested, one portion of the brim lying upon a large music book, the other flat upon the surface of the instrument.
"Well, Mr. Kit-ze," said Mr. Reid, "are you ready to take another journey with your sampan up the South Han?"
Instead of replying to this question, Mr. Kit-ze suggested: "Better go up the North Han, honorable instructor. There are the Diamond Mountains."