The conversation had drifted by mysterious and unexplained associations of ideas from the unusual excellence of the sweets served at the end of dinner upon this line of steamers, to the most grewsome tales of adventure which the narrators themselves had experienced. Gladys, who by the most special of special permissions and the kind favour of the captain, because she was an only child, well behaved at table, and—because it was off season—had been permitted to take Sunday dinner with her parents, sat beside the captain in the gorgeous first cabin saloon with round eyes fixed upon the story-tellers.

There was present at dinner the usual shipboard mixture of society: at the captain's right, a man whose extensive business interests called him often into these waters; next, a gentleman and his wife, travelling for their united healths; third, a government official returning to India after a brief holiday; on the opposite side, two globe-trotters, an American lady from Southern India, Gladys' father, and finally Gladys herself. The chair between the little girl and her father was vacant, for Gladys' mother, who had been at dinner, feeling the slight roll of the boat, had retired early to her cabin, leaving the child to the father's care.

If her mother had been there Gladys would not have been permitted to listen to the stories which had been told and enjoy the delicious sensations of fear which she had experienced as she had heard the accounts of awful dangers and marvellous escapes. The merchant had obliged this little dinner company to spend five days with him without food on a desert island and, after a thrilling rescue, had made them watch him fall seventy feet from the masthead of a ship to become the ship-surgeon's pet patient with twenty bones to set. Gladys had felt herself wasting away with starvation as he had told of his sufferings and, when he had cheerfully reached his second story, she could hear her own bones grate as if broken asunder, as she moved her legs under the table.

Soon it came the turn of the lady from Southern India to tell a story.

"Well, I have had one thrilling experience which I don't mind telling you, if my courage will support me through the recital," she said.

Gladys listened with all her ears, for the lady from Southern India had become her best friend on shipboard. She did not want to miss a single word.

"You know that I have been a resident of Southern India for many years," the lady began. "I could tell many dreadful stories of pestilence and disaster in that region, but the most awful experience that I have ever had myself took place in Northern India, in Darjeeling. Of course you all know Darjeeling."

But in spite of her own assurance that they did, the lady did not seem to be able to resist, as no one who loves the Himalayas can, telling again of that city among the clouds, seven thousand feet above the sea, looking directly across the depths to where, when the sun permits, shine forth the snowy peaks of Kinchenjunga. The little city on the sheer mountainside is to the world only another proof of the audacity of man who dares to invade regions so exalted and, in the hope of drenching his lungs, parched by the heat of the Indian plains, with the cool air from the never-melting snows of the mountain peaks, dares to build his summer cottage on the overhanging rock and trust to Providence that it will not tumble headlong into the clouds below or, rained on from the clouds above, be carried down the mountainside and buried in unknown depths by the dÉbris of an ever-possible landslip. Clinging to the edges of the crest of this mountain height or perched upon the very crest itself, the summer homes of the "sahibs" peer out through their enclosures of shrubbery and trees to the snow-capped heights where even their masters dare not venture, but from looking upon which these men gain courage to go down again to the plains to take up their heavy tasks, "the white man's burden."

In her ardour the lady from Southern India described even the ascent of the foot-hills to this resort among the mountains: the wide views appearing first on one side, then on the other, as the little train winds its way up the mountainside, sometimes making complete circles to reach the higher grades and at other times shunting backwards to save a long dÉtour. The tea-gardens on the hillsides, the luxuriance of the vegetation in the wooded glens, the waterfalls, the odd little native villages along the road, descriptions of all these the table company listened to with pleasure, for they deserved attention, coming from the lips of one who was very familiar with the scenes of which she spoke and who loved them. Even Gladys, who was afraid of mountains, because "they look so big and black," wished she might have been there by the time the lady had reached the beginning of her story.

"It was on my first visit to Darjeeling, when I knew nothing of the place or the hill people, that I had the experience I am going to tell you about," the lady continued. "I had often heard before I started on the journey, and again on the way up, and yet again as soon as I reached the city itself, that there was one trip which every visitor must take in order to see the full glory of the Himalayas and to get a peep at Mt. Everest, the highest mountain in the world. As my stay there with an old college friend was to be brief, since Darjeeling is a long way from Madras and vacation days do not last forever, it was to my dismay that I found my hostess too ill to accompany me on any excursion. She could only plan my visit and direct her servants to carry out her plans.

"As clouds and mists are apt to hide the mountains and no one can tell when the 'sublime' heights will be visible, it is wise to take the trip I had heard so much about as soon as possible and to repeat it until one gets a clear view. Therefore I felt that I must take the first opportunity and, although I could find no one to accompany me, I decided that I must go the very next morning after my arrival, even alone. The plan of the trip was this: to leave at 3:30 A. M. and in a dandy, a sort of chair borne by four hillmen, to be carried five miles to Tiger Hill, one thousand feet higher than Darjeeling; to reach there just as the sun should rise and throw its morning splendours upon Mt. Everest. It was decided that I should take an alarm clock to my room and, arising at 3 A. M., be ready in all the heavy clothing I could assemble for my before-sunrise excursion. The dandy and dandywalas were ordered and a light lunch was set ready to serve as my chota hazri.

"It had not occurred to me that it would be a trying excursion as well as an early one until at 3:30 the next morning, lighted by my bedroom lamp as far as the outside door, I opened it and saw in the dimness of the light four figures emerge from the darkness beyond and stand about some object on the ground which I supposed must be the dandy. There was no one to say good-bye to me or give me a last word of counsel or warning. I put out the light, closed the door behind me, and took a few steps in the direction where I thought the dandy was. Then I stopped, for accustomed to speak to the natives in their own tongue, it had not occurred to me until that moment that these hill people spoke a different language from the one I was familiar with and so I could not hope to make them understand a word. I remembered, too, that they were of Mongolian descent, very different from the Indian people whom I knew. What were their characteristics? They might be treacherous and prone to rob for all I knew. But after a moment's hesitation I made up my mind that all these thoughts were foolish, for certainly my friend would not have planned this trip for me if she had not considered it perfectly safe. I saw that I must go on or that I should never hear the last of my cowardice from my co-workers in India who are very fond of a good joke on any of their fellows.

"My eyes had become more accustomed to the darkness while I had been cogitating thus, and so, taking my rugs and my life, as it seemed to me, in my hands, I stepped resolutely towards the dandy which was placed ready for me. I spread out one rug carefully and arranged my pillows upon it for comfort, just as calmly as if I had made the trip often. Then I sat down and pulled the other rug over me. When I appeared to be all ready, the four men, just black shapes in the darkness, with a queer united grunt, took hold of the chair poles, two in front and two behind, and, lifting the dandy to their shoulders, started at a slow pace up the hill behind the house.

"I was pretty high up in the world it seemed to me and as they were carrying me up backwards I had a view before me of all the mountainside that was visible in the starlight, for the stars were very bright overhead, and the street lights of the city twinkled here and there below. I tried to forget that my destination was five miles away and that the paths might lead through lonely solitudes. I tried to concentrate my thoughts upon the scene before me, the city, as it were, beside the sea; for so the clouds looked in the dimness with the lighted streets resembling long piers running out into the cloud sea. Near by an occasional house loomed up darkly in the shadows, and the overhanging trees from the slope above looked like impenetrable forests in the darkness. Far to the left a dim light, I felt sure, marked the spot where a terrible landslip had occurred but shortly before and several English people had lost their lives. I had been anxious to visit the spot since reading an account of the disaster, but somehow in the darkness, even at that distance, although I could not see the place, a sort of horror of it took possession of me and I seemed to see the white faces upturned towards the sky as they were being carried down the mountainside by the relentless torrent of rocks and earth. Just then I heard a noise as of a person moving stealthily along the narrow roadway and I positively shook with fear; but a nearer approach revealed to me that it was only a night watchman aroused by our passing. The gleam of a policeman's badge in these mountain wilds relieved my anxiety for a moment and made me ashamed of my fears.

"I tried to forget my foolish thoughts and to feel soothed by the gentle motion of the dandy as the men swung up the hillside by a circuitous roadway. I tried not to remember what strange, stolid faces the hillmen had had whom I had seen at the station the day before. I tried not to see as we passed under a street lamp, outlined under the coat of the right hand man in front of me what certainly looked like a revolver. I tried, as I looked up at the tall trees almost meeting over my head, to imagine how beautiful this road would appear by daylight. Once one of the front bearers missed his footing by stepping into an unexpected hole near the edge of the road. That gave me a shock; but the physical shock was not so great as the mental one I received when, as he recovered himself, I thought I saw a knife at his belt.

"Soon, at a low call from one of them, the four men fell into a trot and I found myself being borne, none too smoothly, along a bit of down grade. In a moment the grade became still steeper and, apparently at another signal, I was whirled about in my chair and carried face forwards. As they toiled up another slope and we appeared to have passed out of the city, they began a weird antiphonal; the men in front would chant a few words and the men behind would finish the phrase. Over and over it sounded—the same tones. It seemed to me that the first two were saying, 'Kill her now. Kill her now!' and the others were answering, 'It is not time yet. It is not time yet!'

"On we went with the stars watching overhead but clearly at such a distance that their presence gave me but little comfort. 'Of course these men are not saying such awful things,' I tried to reassure myself.

"My teeth were chattering both with fear and cold, for it was cold at four o'clock in the morning seven thousand feet above the sea. Suddenly the thought came to me to bribe these men with money, but my shaking fingers discovered that I had left my purse at home. So I could do nothing but just wait and let them take their will.

"On we went, up and up, away from the city, farther and farther away, at the same swinging pace and to the same accompaniment of murderous refrain. Before long I could see that we were approaching a fog and very soon we were in it. At another time I should have rejoiced at the experience of passing through a cloud on the mountainside, but now my only joy was in a light that shone through it. It might be a street light and we might be coming to a village! We were; but so small was the village and so quickly did we pass through it that I had no time to think of getting help there. And to cheer me on my way, from the last dark house I heard the wail of a suffering child.

"We were soon again in the deep woods and we must have been about an hour from our starting point—it had seemed a century to me and I knew that my hair had whitened with the passing of those years—when we came to a spot where the road broadened. There, in silence, the men set my chair down and withdrew to one side of the road. I could see their figures close together and I could hear their voices as if in discussion. I knew very well that my time had come. Oh, why had I ventured alone on this journey, just for pleasure! What would become of my work and my dear people in Madras, if these men murdered me, as they surely would when they found I had no money at all!

"I thought of running off into the dark woods, but how could I hope for safety there where the wild beasts preyed? I thought of shouting in the hope that my voice might reach the village which we had passed, but before help could come from there I knew that I would surely be dead. So I did nothing. My eyes remained fixed upon the men and, although I thought it would be pleasanter not to see death coming, I could not turn away. I could see the men motioning with their arms. One man who was walking up and down behind the others, stopped once or twice and pointed towards me. I sat frozen, but not with the cold.

"At last this man stepped out from behind the others and came towards me. He came straight to the side of the dandy and, raising his hands to my throat—— Why, look at that poor child!"

At that exclamation the company turned towards Gladys whose eyes were fairly popping out with terror.

"Gladys! Dear child! I should not have told such a thing when you were here to frighten you so. How wrong of me! Mr. Bixby, you should not have allowed the child to hear all this nonsense."

The good lady from Southern India was out of her chair with the little girl in her arms by this time.

"What—what did the man do?" sobbed the child.

"Why, dearest, he did nothing but pull my steamer rug up around my neck and tuck me in nice and warm. They were good, harmless men and had only stopped to rest after their long climb. I was a foolish, easily frightened woman. And do you know, dear, the song they had been singing? I found out afterwards that it was simply this, variations of which they chant to every passenger: 'Such a big lady! Such a big lady!' the first two sang and the answer from the other two was, 'Such a big present! Such a big present!'

"And I did give them a good big present when I got safely home, you may be sure, because I was so greatly pleased to find all my trouble had been in my own mind, as almost all of my troubles have always been.

"Now, for bed, little girl, and I'll tell you a really nice story to go to sleep on."

And the lady from Southern India bore Gladys away to her stateroom before the rest of the company had time to make any comments upon her narration.