CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER TEN
THE FORGOTTEN CLOAK
E had been at Yungping about a year when a letter came from our superintendent, asking John fo escort a sick missionary out to Kunming. As I had been suffering from back and head aches it was decided that I go too and consult a doctor.
Travelling overland by mountain chair, usually we stopped at whatever mountain village we came to at dusk, and, as these were very primitive in style, accommodation was indifferent.
Dark dusty inns made you glad to get out on the road again the next morning. Our noon meal was purchased at whatever place had anything to eat for sale about midday—rice, vegetables, or perhaps even meat, served on uncovered wooden tables, with chickens and dogs dashing around our feet for scraps which might fall on to the earth from our rice bowls.
I was always glad to get baby Kathryn (due to have her second birthday when we reached Kunming) out of such places and into her mountain chair again. Possibly that was the reason I forgot to pick up my raincoat at one such noon stop and calmly walked off without it! That afternoon we descended a steep hill, on top of which was the village where we had our noon meal. Down, down we went. Mountain tops and ridges were all around us and I was thrilled with the beauty of the scenery. The road dipped into a little valley through which DR stream; then we climbed again, but not so high. We skirted the side of the hill for' some minutes, then turning a corner came upon Hwang Lien Pu.
It was a village comprised of mud or wooden houses on each side of the main road for perhaps half a mile—that was all. Where to find the sleeping place that was least dirty, least smoky, was always our problem, and, having found such, to get our bedssin order before nightfall.
It was when we were unpacking and arranging our things that I realized I had forgotten my raincoat and lett it at the noon stopping place.
Oh, John!' I cried rushing out impetuously to lay hold of my
tired husband. "I've forgotten my raincoat! It was drizzly this morning, you know, and I had it with me when we stopped for | lunch. It is still quite early in the afternoon; do you think you could... ?"
"No, I can't!" said John, not waiting for me to finish. He was tired out and still had some dickering with the coolies to go through. They probably wanted "'meat money"—a generous tip.
Now [had not intended to ask him to go back up that long hill for my coat. We had the young Chinese boy, Ma Fu-yin, with us, and I had thought to offer him some extra money to go after my garment. He was only about twenty years old, and that climb would be nothing to his strong young limbs, bred to these hills.
That particular raincoat was more expensive than I had usually urchased, but my father had urged me to get it, since it must t seven years.
"But I can't lose it, John," I argued, probably with heat.
"That coat cost money. Someone has got to go back for it.
Couldn't Ma Fuh-yin?"
But John himself needed the lad as middleman to placate the chair coolies. "No, I'm not going to send Ma," he answered shortly. And he looked The Immovable Object. When he got that expression on his face I knew further talk was useless.
"All right, I'll go myself. Take care of baby," I said and flounced out of the inn and down over the path by which we had first come. I was angry but soothed my conscience by telling myself again the price that had been paid for that coat.
The sun was still warm on my shoulders as I wound my wa around the mountain and down to the stream. The steep cli 4 was plainly in view on the opposite hill, and I knew the village where we had stopped at noon was at the top, though out of sight. But I had forgotten how long it took to get even to the foot of the climb.
By now the sun had gone down and in Yunnan there is no long twilight—night comes swiftly on. I began to toil up the steep grade, panting and gasping. Coming down had been easy.
I did not realize that it would be so difficult to climb! Dusk turned into dark and still I was struggling up that ascent. I was just tired out and had to sit down to get my breath. Something tustled in the forest above me and I went cold with dread. I
ONE VISION ONLY
looked up the road I still had to go, and saw that I was merely at the foot of it. By far the greater part of the climb was yet to come. Back at the inn at Hwang Lien Pu they would have eaten supper by now, and I was faint for want of food. I had rushed off without taking any money. I had no bedding and even if I managed to reach the village at the top of the hill I could not pay for lodging or food. It was crazy to go on. I must just eat humble pie and go back.
"Two years ago," said a Voice in my heart, "you bounced off just like this, to your sorrow. You promised me then you wouldn't do it again."
— "Yes, Lord, but he would have let my expensive raincoat be lost!' I defended myself, still sure I was right. Then the Voice of the Lord was stifled.
All this time my feet were wearily retracing the path to Hwang Lien Pu. It was so dark by now that I was a bit nervous at being alone on the wild mountains. As I climbed up on to the Hwang Lien Pu trail I saw a light ahead; swinging back and forth. It showed two men coming towards me carrying a lantern.
You can imagine my relief and joy when I found it was John and Ma Fuh-yin.
"Well, dear, we were coming out to search for you," said Hubby in a kind voice.
"Thank you, I appreciate that. But I didn't make it. I got too tired."
"Don't worry, dear. Ma Fuh-yin has promised to go early tomorrow morning. I'll pay him extra for it. I'm sure he will be able to get the coat. You must be very hungry."
It was only love and kindness that met me. But I learned a * lesson: the Lord was able to move John where I could not. In future differences of opinion I was to count on that. Besides, I learned that it is foolish to get excited over a negative answer from a man who is tired, hungry and harassed. If I had just waited until John's own problems were settled, of course Ht would have been reasonable!
I also learned to beware of precipitate action, to which my Irish disposition is so prone and which is such a trial to m deliberate husband. Quick, impulsive action almost always en in humiliation and failure.