The air becomes chilly after sundown, and I am shown into a close room containing one small air-hole, and am provided with a quilt and pillow.  Later in the evening a Turkish Bey arrives with an escort of zaptiehs and occupies the same apartment, which would seem to be a room especially provided for the accommodation of travellers.  The moment the officer arrives, behold, there is a hurrying to and fro of the villagers to sweep out the room, kindle a fire to brew his coffee, and to bring him water and a vessel for his ablutions before saying his evening prayers.  Cringing senility characterizes the demeanor of these Armenian villagers toward the Turkish officer, and their hurrying hither and thither to supply him ere they are asked looks to me wonderfully like a “propitiating of the gods.”  The Bey himself seems to be a pretty good sort of a fellow, offering me a portion of his supper, consisting of bread, olives, and onions; which, however, I decline, having already ordered eggs and pillau of a villager.  The Bey’s company is highly acceptable, since it saves me from the annoyance of being surrounded by the usual ragged, unwashed crowd during the evening, and secures me a refreshing sleep, undisturbed by visions of purloined straps or moccasins.  He appears to be a very pious Mussulman; after washing his head, hands, and feet, he kneels toward Mecca on the wet towel, and prays for nearly twenty minutes by my timepiece; and his sighs of Allah! are wonderfully deep-fetched, coming apparently from clear down in his stomach.  While he is thus devotionally engaged, his two zaptiehs stand respectfully by, and divide their time between eying myself and the bicycle with wonder and the Bey with mingled reverence and awe.  At early dawn I steal noiselessly away, to avoid disturbing the peaceful slumbers of the Bey.  For several miles my road winds around among the foot-hills of the range I crossed yesterday, but following a gradually widening depression, which finally terminates in the Gevmeili Chai Valley; and directly ahead and below me lies the considerable town of Enderes, surrounded by a broad fringe of apple-orchards, and walnut and jujube groves.  Here I obtain a substantial breakfast of Turkish kabobs (tid-bits of mutton, spitted on a skewer, and broiled over a charcoal fire) at a public eating khan, after which the mudir kindly undertakes to explain to me the best route to Erzingan, giving me the names of several villages to inquire for as a guidance.  While talking to the mudir, Mr. Pronatti, an Italian engineer in the employ of the Sivas Vali, makes his appearance, shakes hands, reminds me that Italy has recently volunteered assistance to England in the Soudan campaign, and then conducts me to his quarters in another part of the town.  Mr. Pronatti can speak almost any language but English; I speak next to nothing but English; nevertheless, we manage to converse quite readily, for, besides proficiency in pantomimic language acquired by daily practice, I have necessarily picked