At length the elder woman opened her lips.
"Here I am called the Mother of the Holy Flower, and for a stranger to speak with the Mother is death.

Also if you are a man, how did you reach us alive ?" "That's a long story," I answered cheerfully.

"May we come in?
We will take the risks, we are accustomed to them and hope to be able to do you a service.

I should explain that three of us are white men, two English and one--American." "American!" she gasped, "American! What is he like, and how is he named ?" "Oh!" I replied, for my nerve was giving out and I grew confused, "he is oldish, with a white beard, rather like Father Christmas in short, and his Christian name (I didn't dare to give it all at once) is--er--John, Brother John, we call him.

Now I think of it," I added, "he has some resemblance to your companion there." I thought that the lady was going to die, and cursed myself for my awkwardness.