But now two charming Turkish boys, the sons of Moueddine Pasha, in our party, are telling me that they are terribly distressed at my discomfort. It is in vain for me to assure them that no one could blame _them_. Somehow, they find the _Commandant de la place_; and, at his direction, gallantly tramp back for two and a half hours, to bring me a mattress from the Governor’s house which, placed on three standard oil-boxes, forms my bed. Meanwhile, the Commandant, who is familiar with Europe and speaks fluent German, earnestly begs me to excuse this terrible reception. “It is the work of Lloyd George,” he adds, as for every disaster in Anatolia the same cause is proclaimed. Ask a peasant who killed his sons, and he will reply without hesitation, “Lloyd George.” Our late Premier has now become super-bogeyman of the Near East for Moslems and Christians alike. All through the night strains break on my ears of the Anatolian folk-songs; the expression of that strangely resigned happiness of a long-suffering people which we of the West must half-envy and, at the same time, half-despise. Average human nature is only too apt to neglect those who never complain; and if others appeal for them, to say—as even America has said—“It is too big a problem for us to tackle.” With so much goodwill around me, the night passed far more quickly than even my natural optimism could have foretold. And before stepping into the yaili that will carry us on to Broussa, I try to express to the kindly peasants a little of the gratitude and admiration in my heart. “We do not lack anything,” they assure me. “All we want is to save our Fatherland. It would be wrong of us to use up the wood and material for building houses that may be required in the war.” Then, for farewell, the old Bible-greeting of “God be with you.”... “And bring us peace,” is all I can find voice to reply. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XXX FROM BILIDJIK TO BROUSSA BY YAILI—AFTER THE DAY’S ROUGHENING EXPERIENCES ONE CAN SLEEP WHATEVER THE ACCOMMODATION. OUR adieux to Bilidjik did not delay us long. As there were no trains to Constantinople, we had to take the road to Broussa and Moudania, whence the boat runs to Constantinople. I now joined the American in one carriage, the two Turkish boys following in a second. Although _yaili_ means “a carriage with springs,” neither of ours justified their name, for they had none. An American, however, is nothing if not resourceful, and my companion performed wonders with straw, rugs, and boxes.