Mokanshan of the Missionaries, of heaven-kissing hills, of bird: song- and brook-babblings would certainly never practise to de-yet its network of paths and steps, new roads and old, often weaves the most tangle ed of webs. The real summer denizens know every turn and twist, can tell without looking which paths lead to front doors and which are highways, and can find the shortest path between Assembly Hall_and Post Office, while the initiated are tying themselves into double bow-knots by accepting the ita of ey passing tra real Mokanshanite honestly believes that it is easy to find one's way about, but the newcomer—feels lost in a maze. Hence these disclosures!
Early on an August—evening thera arrived at the same hotel within ten minutes of each other the famous author and traveller Tess Norris, exploring China in the interests of her next book and ils eager audience. and Miss Bess (Elizabeth) Morrison, an entomologist of no mean repute, working her way round the world incognita. as a children's governess, with a special gift in Nature Study for our Youngsters, each found awaiting her a chit inviting her presence at dinner, if not' too fatigued, that evening at adjacent cottages, let us say—766 and 788. Each having a reputation to maintain accepted with polite thanks and inward resentment and proceeded hastily to bathe and dress.
Attired in the simple, but Oh so sweet afternoon frock affected by the modest governess Miss Morrison inquired from the proprietor the way to 788. Just behind us, take the path at the right, just a step away you can't miss Won't you take the lantern, and wouldn't you like a boy to guide you?" Not wishing to distract any of the boys from their duties at the hotel dinner then beginning. Miss Morrison professed her ability to find the house, and grasping a lantern set out, thanking her stars as she climbed the path that her costume permitted low heels. Up she went, up several flights of steps that seemed steep to the tired traveller, towards a large house, hospitably beaming. As she _began the final steps to the light she thought: Goodness, what was the name of my hostess, Ash
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.