I had particularly fancied a four-horse team, the horses all abreast as in a chariot, but this hired by the Count had only three. [Illustration: COUNTING ANIMALS AVAILABLE FOR MILITARY SERVICE.] ‘I think we had better have four horses, Count,’ I suggested. ‘We have a long drive before us, and I don’t like moving slowly.’ ‘I have already engaged this man, sir. He asks only twelve francs a day and guarantees to get us over the mountains in the best time possible.’ ‘What’s the price of a four-horse team?’ ‘They ask fifteen francs.’ ‘Well, I think we can afford twelve shillings for a conveyance, four horses and a man, Count!’ ‘But I have already engaged this man, sir.’ ‘Count, we will take a four-horse team.’ The Count expostulated, and I had to repeat. It was then I discovered that there was something of the Rob Roy in my old Jew. He would rob me because, as he informed me later, Americans were rolling in wealth, but he was going to do the right thing by a peasant. ‘But I have hired this man, sir,’ he said again. ‘We shall have to pay him if we take another.’ I told the Count to give him half a day’s wages, which he did, and the peasant nearly collapsed with surprise. The drive over the mountains to Kustendil consumed six hours, so we did not arrive there until long after dark. My advance had been telegraphed ahead from Sofia, and soon after breakfast next morning I was waited on by the governor of the district and all his staff in a body. The governor had instructions from the Minister of the Interior to facilitate my journey in every way, and was ready to do anything he could to aid me. I expressed my appreciation of his kindness, and promised to avail myself of it if necessary. There was method in this hospitality: the Bulgarians are not ordinarily so polite. The arrival of an American correspondent was a great event in the little town, and hard on the heels of the governor came two English-speaking Bulgars, college graduates respectively of Princeton and the University of West Virginia. One of them was a magistrate, the other a minister acting under the direction of the American missionaries. Politically the magistrate and the governor were enemies, and the officials, all members of the Orthodox Church, were none too friendly with the Protestant preacher. The courtesy between the parties was stiff and measured. When the governor and his staff took their leave, the minister and the judge commandeered me for the rest of the day to talk over old times in America. We went over to Fournagieff’s home, a plain building with whitewashed walls of stucco, a low door, and a narrow, ladder-like staircase leading up to the mission-room. There we hunted out a book of college songs, and all three sang old Princeton airs for an hour to the accompaniment of an American melodeon.