i had another stroll this evening on the beach with chauffeur graham—while aunt gwendolin was getting ready for the dance—and he told me something.

"when i am through with my medical course," he said, "i intend to go to china to practise what i have learned."

i stopped suddenly in my walk and faced him. "why are you going to china?" i demanded.

it makes me indignant to have this nation, an infant in years, patronising my hoary-headed empire!

"if a man is going to do his duty by the world," he returned, "he will go where his work is most needed. they have no native medical school in china.

"they are a great people," he added after a short pause, "likely to be in the van of the world's march in the ages to come; and i want to have a hand in getting them ready. napoleon said, 'when china moves she will move the world.' all the broken legs will be set in this country whether i am here to set them or not; i want to go where they will not be set unless i do it."

"go where the vineyard demandeth

vinedresser's nurture and care."

i repeated the lines which i had heard them sing in the church.

"that's about the way it is," he returned, looking at me in pleased surprise.

he left this morning on an early train, to go back to the peg and grind, and now the place is slow and lonesome. after all i think it is better to have to peg and grind; it surely must be the spice of life which rich people miss. i do not care how quickly the hot months pass, and we can go back to the city again.