We had slogged for two days, travelled for four; we were sore in every joint and muscle, wet to the skin, and chilled to the bone. We began to lose temper with each other, and vented our feelings upon Sandy. We spoke seldom, except at meals, when our spirits revived, and in the fresh hours of the morning. Now we were sour and snappish, and each disagreed with whatever the other proposed. The constant strain and the heavy marching were beginning to tell on our dispositions. And we had hardly begun our journey. I was sorry I lost the bet. Perhaps the other man was too. [Illustration: IN A MOUNTAIN VILLAGE: BULGARIAN PEASANTS DANCING THE HORO.] The headman of a Bulgarian village received us with the hand-shake that is the sign of friendship. He thought we were insurgents. They were harbouring one in the village. Sitting on a wooden platform under the low thatch of his roof, we pulled off our wringing things to the last stitch, half the village looking on, absorbed and unabashed. Clad in our ‘other’ shirts (which were fortunately dry), we scrambled through the stable to an opening through which we could discern a fire burning. Our host’s wooden sandals were not easy to keep a balance on. With smarting eyes I groped through the smoke towards the ‘window,’ a two-foot hole for chickens in the wall on the ground level, and sat, feet outstretched towards the wood fire in the middle of the hard earth floor. By degrees I made out the hostess hanging up our garments to dry. The other man crawled towards me, and we sat coughing and blinking at the native bread-making. A flat, round, earthen dish was made red hot on the fire, then taken off and the dough slapped into it. A lid was then buried in the embers, and, when hot enough, put on the top of the dough. This primitive oven turns out a fine crust, but the middle of the loaf is very pasty. Sandy now appeared with an armful of wet things, and hung the hats on a bundle of clothes and wrappings by the fire, which began to squeal. We discovered that this was the youngest member of the family, fast approaching a score in number. After the row had died down we gathered that our ‘room’ was prepared. This consisted of the usual mud floor and walls, with a straw mat and home-made rugs to sleep on, and a couple of red bolsters. Here we sprawled and supped under the interested eyes of a donkey and a bundle of torch-lit natives who squatted outside the door. In the morning our toilets caused much amusement. The assembly--which, for aught I know, watched us through the entire night--was much puzzled over what it seemed to think was an attempt on my part to swallow a small brush greased with pink paste. It broke into a general laugh when I parted my hair, being sure I was combing it for another reason. One of the patrols which was sent out after us--we learned later--arrived at this village an hour after we left; but the peasants had no idea whither we had gone.