“Well, well,” the old man said, “it makes no difference to us. Did you see any Boxers on this side of the river as you came along?”
“No,” said Rex, “they were on the other side.”
The old man heaved a sigh of relief.
“They are terrible people,” he said, “and though they fight against the white devils they plunder and kill us poor villagers, who have nothing to do with the affair.”
“They act badly,” Rex said; “and it is because I know that they kill before questioning that I am travelling on this side of the river.”
“You do well,” the peasant said. “It is true that they have no mercy. We have now in the village several who have barely escaped with their lives from them by swimming across the river. They have told us terrible tales of their doings. But you are hungry; my wife will cook you some rice.”
“Do you mind shutting the door?” Rex asked. “There might be someone in the village who, wishing to curry favour with the Boxers, might go and bring some of them over if he saw a stranger here.”
“I will do so,” the old man said, suiting the action to the word; “for although I think that there is none in the village who would do so treacherous an act, yet it is as well to take precautions.”
The old woman set some rice to boil over a small fire, while the old man chatted with Rex. In twenty minutes the rice was ready, and, sitting down, he made a hearty meal, congratulating himself that during his journey with the girls he had learned to eat with chopsticks.
He had just finished when the door opened and a man wearing the badge of the Boxers entered the room.