And then I came upon it, the first sign of unrest.
The winding road rose a little and I could see right ahead of us a great crowd of people evidently much agitated, and I called to Mr Wang to know what was the matter.
“Repeat, please,” said he as usual, and then rode forward and came baek saying, “I do not know the word.”
“What word?”
“What is a lot of people and a dead man?”
“Ah!” said I, jumping to conclusions unwarrantably, “that is a funeral.”
“A funeral!” said he triumphantly. “I have learned a new word.”
Mr Wang was always learning a new word and rejoicing over it, but, as I had hired him as a finished product, I hardly think it was unreasonable of me to be aggrieved, and to feel that I was paying him a salary for the pleasure of teaching him English. However, on this occasion his triumph was short-lived. .
“Would you like to see the funeral?” he said.
I intimated that I would. My stalwart master of transport lifted me down and the crowded people made a lane for me to pass through, and half of them turned their attention to me, for though there were missionaries in the big towns, a foreigner was a sight to these country people, and, Mr Wang going first, we arrived at a man with his head cut off! Mercifully he was mixed up with a good deal of matting and planks, but still there was no mistaking the poor dead feet in their worn Chinese shoes turned up to the sky.