Looking around for a seat amidst the wilderness of food and bed-clothes, I suddenly hear a few cheery words in English, to my amazement and delight. Here is one of the American Relief Workers, prepared and thankful to spend the night among the strange crowd. With the resourcefulness of his nation, he is provided with a large hat-box that will serve as seat or table, and contains both food and bed-clothes. From his “seat,” therefore, he quickly extracts some sandwiches of most delicious pea-nut butter, making a cup of tea for me on his “table.” All eyes are drawn to the neat dispatch of these preparations and the marvellous ingenuity of his packing. From that veritable box of Pandora came solid alcohol, tins, kettles, goblets and card-board plates. The food itself was kept in clean, little linen bags. It was, indeed, a strange lesson in efficiency and practical hygiene, delivered in the wilderness! His unpractical, Eastern neighbour is meanwhile struggling with a bit of old newspaper, from which a most unappetising collection of honey and eggs and nuts and bread are tumbling in dirty confusion, as the broken eggs and printer’s ink trickle in a discoloured stream on the floor. “If only you would send out a good company of missionaries in hygiene,” I cried out, in my excitement, “the other gospels would follow as a matter of course. The world will be a far better place when America comes to the East and preaches the need for exterminating the house-fly and other insects with the fine zeal she is now devoting to the extermination of the Turk.” My new friend—I had almost said compatriot—laughs good-naturedly at my enthusiasm; and in a few moments, despite my sympathy with Anatolia, I am again compelled to recognise that I am, after all, a woman of the West. When someone brought in a blazing mangal and carefully closed every door of the crowded luggage-van, the American soon found a polite excuse to jump out. Five minutes later I, too, ventured to open the door and call out to ask him for a helping hand. Both of us knew it was far better for us to die of cold in the fresh air than to choke in those thick charcoal fumes. I will hold a light while he digs out a hole, for sleep on the bosom of Mother Earth.