There is no thought here of payment for service. Money is firmly refused; and from those who have, and seek, absolutely nothing for themselves, such a welcome could not fail to touch the most callous of human beings. How is it that all Europe declares no one can “manage” these simple folk? My own receipt for life with the Moslem—of mere courteous consideration and unquestioning trust—has been repaid with compound interest a thousand times! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER X A JOURNEY ON FOOT—A COUNTRY MADE BY GOD, UNTOUCHED BY MAN IT is not given to many in this enlightened twentieth century to travel in a country as God made it, almost untouched by man. Upon the road from Gunhani I saw no signs of man’s handiwork, save a few miles of Deacoville, a tunnel, and the primitive carts of Anatolia. These are made from a few logs nailed together, and fastened to two wheels, cut solidly out of a block of wood. Their continuous squeak does not seem out of keeping with the primitive surroundings, and may be regarded as an “accompaniment” to the peasant’s songs. The story is told of a “benevolent” American whose imagination was fired by the project of turning this land into a “new America.” He would subject the fertile soil to “intensive” cultivation and smother it with sky-scrapers. So he persuaded a Turk to come over to “God’s own country” (as man has made it) and study the United States. His guest, however, refused to admire, took passage for home at the earliest possible opportunity, and informed his friends that, “having now seen man’s ‘best’ country, he would never again leave God’s.” Nevertheless, in the Western mind these wide stretches of waste land among the beautiful mountains, beneath a cloudless sky, cannot fail to rouse a longing to break the silence by a “little emptying of our crowded towns.” The women and old men _are_ digging, sowing, and cultivating, with but slight return for their heavy labour; now that the young are all “wanted” for defence. “One day we _shall_ have peace,” said I to our carriers, and they murmured “_Inch Allah!_” Turning my wish to prayer, I could only repeat, “We _shall_ have peace.” As often as I can persuade them to rest, I seize the chance of telling them about England. When I mention our great Moslem King George they naturally confuse him with Lloyd George. And, later, “if your King loves his Moslem subjects, as you say he does, why does he permit his Minister to remain?” I assure them that he will not, and their faces brighten as they cry: “There will be peace, then.”