At the _café_ of Metneh we stopped for our mid-day meal. A large, low, stone building forms the caravanserai, both for man and beast. The place is roughly built, one storey in height, the roof being supported on arches and stone columns, round the bases of which are little raised platforms, on one of which we spread our carpet and rested for a time. The _café_ was nearly full of Turkish troops, poor, ill-fed, and ill-clothed fellows, but the very acme of good-humour. It was amusing to hear them discussing my presence with some Arab merchants who happened to be there at the same time. The conclusion they arrived at was that the presence of a Christian in the country foretold the downfall of the Yemen, and the sooner they, the Moslems, cleared out of it the better. It was flattering certainty to hear one’s self considered of such vital importance to a country the size of the Yemen; nor did the fact that I was a prisoner in the hands of a Turkish guard seem to lessen their opinion of me. On discovering at length that I spoke Arabic, we joined parties and lunched together, and very polite they all were. The group was a strange one, representing in the Arabs the rebel party, in the Turks the conquerors and oppressors, and last, but not least, in my humble self the future of the Yemen (for so they deemed my presence to foretell). Yet we were a merry band, and shared the same hubble-bubble of peace, and parted with protestations of profound respect and friendship for one another. One of the pleasantest recollections of the Yemen that I bore away with me is, and always will be, the hours spent in these wayside _cafés_. Then more than at any other time one saw the people as they really are. Then all restraint was thrown aside; there was exhibited none of the suspicion we habitually show to fellow-travellers; and often we unburdened our aims and ideas to one another, the Arabs and I. As I write of it I long once more to go back, to sit cross-legged on the floor and sip the beverage of coffee-husks from the tiny Japanese and Chinese cups the Yemenis love so much, and listen to the patient murmur of the hubble-bubble amongst a group of half-naked Arabs.