At five in the morning we started—on time at last. The conductor informed me that we would reach Rejistza at five in the afternoon, but we did not arrive until four in the morning. I endeavored to learn from both “Larkin” and “Hickey” the real reason for the delay, but they told me to “forget it. A few hours’ delay makes no difference to you, one way or the other.” At last “Larkin” must have grown very weary of my importunities. At any rate he said, “Please remember you are in Russia and that we are at war. All trains are soldier trains. They must stop to take on soldiers and to let soldiers off. They must stop to make repairs. They must stop for many reasons. Don’t imagine you are in America, on an express train. Some time when the war is over trains will run on time, but now,—well stop kicking.” I stopped. In Rejistza we learned that we must wait until four P.M. for a train going to the Dvinsk front. In the division commandant’s office we found two foreigners who had come across the front the night before. They were on the way to Moscow, and were being checked in as I had been. The commandant asked “Larkin,” whom he knew quite well, if he would take them to Velikie Luki; and on “Larkin’s” saying that he had been entrusted with the task of seeing me to the front, the commandant told him that “Hickey” could see me through. I was sorry to lose “Larkin,” but there was nothing else to be done, and we parted with a cordial wish that we might meet again under more favorable circumstances. “But, God love a duck,—I hope you stay out of Russia until peace comes,” were his last words to me.