s spreading their wings under the trees,"
whereas really they had often been up all night hanging on to the
tent-poles to prevent the tents collapsing over their patients.

A member of the Etat-Major asked how we overcame the language
difficulty. I pointed out that to diagnose typhus and watch the progress
of the patient it was not necessary to speak to him, and that by the
magic language of sympathy we managed to establish some form of
"understanding" between the patients, the doctors, and the nurses.

The members of our staff were chosen as far as possible with a knowledge
of French or German, and it was possible to find many Serbians speaking
either one of these languages. We also found interpreters amongst the
Austrian prisoner orderlies. These prisoner orderlies had really proved
useful and had done their best to help us. Naturally they had their
faults. One of our lady doctors had as orderly a Viennese professor,
willing, but somewhat absent-minded. One morning she sent for him and
asked him, "Herr Karl, can you tell me what was wrong with my bath water
this morning?" "I really don't know, Fraeulein, but I will endeavour to
find out."

Ten minutes later he returned, looking decidedly guilty, and stammered
out: "I do not know how to tell you what happened to that bath water."
"Nonsense!--it can't be very terrible," replied Doctor X; "what was
wrong?" "Well, Fraeulein, when I went into the camp kitchen this morning
there were two cauldrons there--one was your bath water, and the other
was the camp soup; to you, Fraeulein, I brought the camp soup."

We who had worked with the Serbians had learned to respect and admire
them for their patriotism, courage, and patient endurance. We felt that
their outstanding characteristic was their imagination, which, turned
into the proper channels and given a chance to develop, should produce
for the world not only famous painters and poets, but also great
inventors. This vivid imagination is found in the highest and lowest of
the land. To illustrate it, I told my neighbour at table a tale related
to me by my good friend Dr. Popovic. "Two weary, ragged Serbian soldiers
were sitting huddled together waiting to be ordered forward to fight.
One asked the other, 'Do you know how this war started, Milan? You
don't?--well then, I'll tell you. The Sultan of Turkey sent our King
Peter a sack of rice. King Peter looked at the sack, smiled, then took a
very small bag and went into his gard