In the case of Scobee it was hunger for light, he was starving in blackness.
Softly, slowly Hung Long Tom walked to the tree beneath which he had laid the fragile body of his beloved in the long ago. He scarcely breathed, so great was his agitation. It had been here that he had bade her goodbye forever. In what far sphere would he meet her again? The breeze trembled in the willows. Throughout the garden there seemed to be a subtle whispering. Were the flowers conversing with each other? It is said that the voice of a flower is perfume. Was the night so still he could hear the perfume-songs? Or was that murmuring merely the vagrant breeze playing about the garden?
On such a night it was quite easy to believe in spiritual things.
During his sojourn in Canton, Scobee met many odd and interesting personalities. Such a one was Loo Zoo who came from North China. He was a rug merchant with headquarters in Peking which has ever been the
centre of the Chinese rug industry. Many are
