All now lay down their “carpets,” and proceed to prayer. To-day, indeed, many must manage with the bare earth. What an inspiring picture it is—the absolutely unselfconscious absorption of the humble and prostrate Turk before his God! There is, surely, a sense of shame to the true Christian for some of his own brethren in the sight of reverence so natural and so devout. * * * * * My enthusiasm, unfortunately, does not extend to the steaming dish of most sustaining breakfast-soup, compounded of flour and vinegar and egg. One or two sips of the tonic are enough a send me to dry bread and a glass of tea—about my tenth since dawn! All around us, though not yet in their uniforms, are scattered the future soldiers of the new Citizen State, ready and eager, poor fellows, for their fifty miles march a day, on coffee and bread, or even on bread and water! By what right do we ask such things from the sons of women? That, cut off from every pleasure, all joy in God’s world, they should spend their days in war and prayer! They seem happier, somehow, than those of us who have travelled and seen the world, who must think and judge for ourselves, wondering at last what is Truth or Justice, where are the profits of self-sacrifice? Love and joy are, after all, but the “negatives” of grief and hate. Abolish the dark couple, and you will gain the light. For the moment, however, the soldiers of to-morrow are content. They have never tasted alcohol; miserably clad, without proper clothing or shelter, they sit about us expressionless and resigned—singing hymns of joy that sound far more like a funeral dirge. There is no need for thought, since they are ready to die for their fatherland, their leader, their faith. Yet, though they know I come from an “enemy” country, there is no kindness and consideration they will not extend to a woman who trusts them. Where is the Bolshevism of those who have lifted me over every step of mud, and are even now girding their loins to carry me onwards for forty miles? Will _they_ massacre, who, at my bidding, would lay them down for me to walk over were I to make such an idle request? Fear belongs to those _responsible_ for England’s injustice. They, indeed, among these people, _would_ be torn limb from limb and trampled on unto death. We have no horses or anything on four legs to draw the loaded wagonette, that must now carry the cheik and myself, in addition to its usual cargo of food and varied wrappings. I have, certainly, had “smarter” escorts than the men now drawing our “equipage,” but never any with kinder hearts.