These Russian peasants have not read American history. They do not know American politics. Most of them probably have not read five hundred words about America in all their lives. But they have heard and talked about America some, and thought about America more. Perhaps there are many well-read Americans who could profitably think about America more, even at a loss of time to read. And now the moujik of North Russia and his wife and children have all of them seen Americans—real live ones—and liked them. How much the Russian peasant liked the American soldier it is a little difficult for me to convey without seeming to exaggerate. I was skeptical about it for months. It might be bear love. He was always begging for cigarettes, and one could easily see through his cupidity and simple craft. But I saw American soldiers billeted in Russian homes and mixing with the Russians so much that I am sure that I know the true sentiments in this case. I have been asked by English soldiers more than once: "Why is it that the Russians like the Yankees so much better than they do us?" I asked this question, without the comparison, of an intelligent looking Russian soldier: "Why do you Russians like the Yanks so well?" "Because they shake hands like men," he answered thoughtfully. "Because they treat us as equals. Because they are good to the Russian people," and the next day when we were talking about the same subject he said: "It is because they represent America to us that we like the Yankee soldiers." Yet there was another side to this picture. When first I came to Archangel there was in all people a wonderful faith in Mr. Wilson. I marveled how all these Russians could have learned so much about him. They knew what he had said. They knew what he stood for before the world. I wondered if the people at home knew as well. Pictures of the American President soon made their appearance and were given great prominence throughout the city and in every village. I was calling on the editor of a Russian newspaper hundreds of miles up the river one day. He could use a few English words and I a few Russian. Mr. Wilson’s picture hung over his desk. "The friend of the Russian people," he said, pointing to the picture, and as he looked at it tears slowly gathered. Turning toward me he said brokenly: "He is the one man in all the world who can lead Russia out of her troubles." And I gathered that one reason for this faith was because the Bolsheviki respected and feared Mr. Wilson. This man was on the Bolshevik black list. His paper was radically socialistic, however, and the editor was quite distrustful of the results of the Allied expedition. But he believed in Mr. Wilson. "He will soon speak," he said, "and then all Russia will follow him."