DEAR. MR. DEGRAW: I received both your and Stephen E. Barton's heavy-hearted and friendly letters, and they fell on soil about as heavy. I could not understand how it could be, for I knew we had done our best, and I _believed_ the best that could have been done under the circumstances and conditions. I knew we held a great, well organized relief that would be needed as nothing else could be. That, besides us, there was no one to handle the terrible scourge that was settling down--no one here, no one to come, who could touch it. I knew I was _not_ interfered with; that no "restrictions" nor propositions had been imposed or even offered; that the government was considerate and accorded all I asked. But what had stirred America up and set it, apparently, against us? The relief societies going to pieces, and turning sad glances here? We could not understand it. I did not wonder that you thought we "had best come home," still I knew we would not; indeed, we could not. I have a body of relief on these fields, hundreds of miles away in the mountains, a thousand miles from me, that I could not draw off in six weeks, and if we were to, it would be to abandon thousands of poor, sick, suffering wretches to a fate that ought to shock the entire world. Sick, foodless, naked, and not one doctor and no medicine among them; whole cities scourged and left to their fate, to die without a hand raised to help excepting the three or four resolute missionaries, tired, worn, God-serving, at their posts until they drop. The civilized world running over with skilful physicians, and not one there; no one to arrange to get them there; to pay expenses, take special charge and thus make it possible for them to go. And we, seeing that state of things, holding in our grasp the relief we had been weeks preparing and organizing in anticipation of this, to turn back, draw off our helpers, send back the doctors already started, give all up because somebody had said something, the press had circulated it, the world had believed it, our disappointed committees had lost heart and grown sore struggling with an occupation rather new to them, and the people had taken alarm and failed to sustain them. Was this all there was of us? No purpose of our own? "On Change," like the price of wheat on the market? In the name of God and humanity this field must be carried, these people must be rescued; skill, care, medicines and food for the sick must reach them. And it is a glad sight to my soul to think of Turkish troops taking these bands of doctors on to Marash. They have done it, and are at this very hour marching on with them to their field of labor. What does one care for criticism, disapproval or approval, under circumstances like these. Don't be troubled--we can carry it. We are fair financiers, not dismayed, and God helping, can save our hospitals.