“What on earth are those lunatics about?” some one asked. We followed them down to the main street and listened to their simple service of song and prayer. Though this proceeding seemed incongruous in that quiet Maine town, it interested me. The Salvation Army met with that bitterest of all opposition, ridicule. But the more I studied the methods of the Army in London, the more convinced I became that it represented one of the greatest moral forces of my time. At a period when business men were beginning to talk about “by-products” and manufacturers to realize that the by-product was sometimes as important as all the rest of the plant, General Booth was developing the by-product of mankind and turning the wastrels of the race into profitable citizens. On my return to America I was so angered at hearing his methods pooh-poohed that I wrote a lecture describing what I had seen of the Army’s work. Under the management of Major Pond I gave this lecture, “With Booth in Darkest England”, far and wide. I am glad to think that my voice may have had some small influence in bringing about a better understanding of the Salvation Army in our country. CHAPTER XVII ARABIAN DAYS It was in the early days of 1894 that J. and I set sail for Italy, whither his work called him, and that on the way I beguiled him into one of our merriest adventures. “Our tickets allow us to stop over here for a week,” I whispered as the steamer’s anchor chain rattled through the hawseholes and the lights of Gibraltar glittered like golden fireflies fluttering over the huge Rock. “But our luggage is booked for Naples,” J. objected. _He_ was eager to push on to his studio in Rome. All the afternoon I had been drawn as by a magnet to the mysterious blue coast of Africa. Here we were at the Pillars of Hercules; should we ever be here again? If an ally had not loomed up at that moment I should never have lived my seven Arabian days and nights. He introduced himself with a sweeping bow. “I am Ferguson, friend of the Americans. You are from Boston; you live, perhaps, upon the Common? I know the best people there, the Quincys, the Shaws, the Winthrops. I will show you their letters.” “It is not necessary,” I interrupted, “for I also know Mark Twain, who has told all Americans about you.” The famous guide of the “Innocents Abroad” seemed to dilate at this, till he shut out the Rock itself. He was an impressive-looking person, tall, handsome, with splendid and seductive manners. He came to my aid, and in ten minutes the matter was settled. “I will show you Spain. I know what you want; some ladies do not understand traveling, but _you_ shall see everything! Gypsy dances, eh? Palaces, pictures, Seville, Granada? Yes, we will go to Morocco. You shall visit the Sultan’s harem!” Letters to my mother and sisters give some impressions of that precious stolen week. [To my Mother.] Tangier, January 12, 1894.