In front of the house some Gregorian priests, returning from a pilgrimage to Echmiadzin, were drinking coffee and smoking narguilehs (water-pipes). They were sitting on the ground around a mangal, [11] for in Armenia the nights are still very cold in the month of May. Boghos Effendi approached them to kiss their hands, as a mark of respect due to hadjis (pilgrims), whereupon the priests received him in a friendly way, and made room for him by their side. Night had fallen, a dark night, with no moon. The other travelers drew near to the pleasant warmth of the mangal. There they all were: the Armenian pilgrims, the Kurd merchants, the Turkish pashas with their suite, traveling on official business, an old Persian on his way to Angora, and the camel-drivers, with their weather-stained faces, chewing balls of resin, without pause. Pretty soon, an Arab, a native of Bagdad, began to tell a story worthy of a place in "The Arabian Nights." Except for his voice there were no sounds but the bubbling of the narguilehs or the distant cry of a hyena lying in wait for prey. Our friend Archag, sitting beside his father, with his pretty red slippers placed in front of him, heard the monotonous drone of the story-teller as if in a dream. The gurgling of a camel roused him from his drowsiness for an instant, but he soon relapsed into the blessed sleep of childhood. His father had to take him up in his arms, and lay him as he was, all dressed, on the bed which had been prepared for him. Boghos Effendi stayed several days at Bayazid, a fortress on the Russian frontier, crowning a great rock; and here Archag was much impressed by the Tartars, with their high boots, their poniards at their side, and their tall Astrakhan caps. These men spent their evenings in wild rides about the valley below the town, flourishing their sabers above their heads, and uttering shrill cries which re-echoed from the great rocks. But the boy was beginning to grow impatient at the length of the journey, so he was very glad when his father told him that they were to leave Bayazid the next morning, and would arrive at their destination two days later. The country now was quite barren and uncultivated; from time to time they would meet a Kurd shepherd, clad only in a sheep-skin, who cast unfriendly glances at them. Everyday, at noon, the travelers stopped near some spring to eat their luncheon; then, wearied by the long hours in the saddle, they would stretch themselves out and take a good nap, before proceeding on their journey.