torm is raging violently and drenching everything as I retire
for the night, dampening, among other things, my hopes of getting away
from Lasgird for some days; for between the village and the gravelly, and
consequently always traversable, desert, are some miles of slimy clay of
the kind that in wet weather makes an experienced cycler wince to think
of crossing. The floor of the bala-khana forms once again my nocturnal
couch; but the temperature lowers perceptibly as the night advances and
the rain continues, and toward morning it changes into snow. The doors
and windows of my room are to be called doors and windows only out of
courtesy to a rude, unfinished effort to imitate these things, and the
floor, at daybreak, is nicely carpeted with an inch or so of "the
beautiful snow," and a four-inch covering of the same greets my vision
upon looking outside.

Determined to make the best of the situation, I remove my quarters from
the cold and draughty bala-khana to the stable, and send the
shagird-chapar out in quest of camel-thorn, bread, eggs, and
pomegranates, thinking thus to obtain the luxury of a bit of fire and
something to eat in comparative seclusion. This vain hope proves that I
have not even yet become thoroughly acquainted with the Persians. No
sooner does my camel-thorn blaze begin to crackle and the smoke to betray
the whereabouts of a fire, than shivering, blue-nosed villagers begin to
put in their appearance, their backs humped up and their bare ankles and
slip-shod feet adding not a little to the general aspect of wretchedness
that seems inseparable from Persians in cold weather.

And these are the people who, during a gleam of illusory sunshine
yesterday, were so nonchalantly parting with their blood--of which, by the
by, your bread and cucumber eating, and cold water drinking Persian has
little enough, and that little thin enough at any time. These
rag-bedecked, shivering wretches hop up on the raised platform where the
fire is burning and squat themselves around it in the most sociable
manner; and under the thawing process of passing their hands through the
flames, poking the coals together, and close attention to the details of
keeping it burning, they quickly thaw out in more respects than one.
Fifteen minutes after my fire is lighted, the spot where I anticipated a
samovar of tea and a pomegranate or two in peace, is occupied by as many
Persians as can find squatting room, talking, shouting, singing, a