In her dream a grandfather with a basket had come peddling. Suddenly his coat, blowing aside, revealed not a body, but a busy sewing-machine in excellent working order. In her agitation, Jo fell out of bed.
We sat consuming beer outside a café decked with pink flowered bushes in green boxes. One of the antique dames who cook sausages in the shadow of the cafés brought us a plate each—funny little hard things—and we bought cakes and nougat from perambulating Peter Piemen.
The station platform was like the last scene of a pantomime. Every one we had met on our journeys rushed up and shook us by the hand.
First a Belgian doctor, from Dr. Lilias Hamilton's unit in Podgoritza. He said Mrs. G. was also in the town, and that the others were all coming shortly. Then we met a young staff officer from Uzhitze, who was noted for his bravery. The train came in and we stumbled up to it in the dark. There was a crowd of women about the steps in difficulty with heavy bags. Jan ran forward to help one. She turned round. It was a sister from Dechani. The rest turned round. It was the whole Russian mission from Dechani.
We proceeded along the corridor, and ran into two men. We mutually began to apologize.
"Hello," we said, "how did you get here?" They were two Americans we had met in Salonika.
We got our seats and went out of the train by the other door. As we passed the compartment we saw a familiar face. It was the little French courier.
"Quel pays," he said, bounding up. "Et les Bulgars, quoi?"
"Good Lord," said Jan. "Let's go out and get some fresh air."
The only people lacking to complete the scene were the Sirdar and Dr. Clemow.