em seemed very dissatisfied with the reception
which they had received, and we don't wonder. "In Ipek I coulden get my
room," said one, "tho' I 'ad wired for 't, 'cause one o' them 'airy
popes [Greek priests] 'ad come wid 'is fambly. I 'ad to sleep like a
'og, you fellers, jess like a 'og." We had been under the impression
that burning patriotism had called all these men back to their country,
but one sturdy fellow disabused us.

"No, you fellers," he said, "there weren't no work for us in 'Murrica.
Mos' o' the places 'ad closed down ter a shift or two at the mos' per
wik. And fer fellers wats used to livin' purty well there weren't enough
ter pay board alone. We gotter come or we'd a starved." Of course this
was not true of many.

On again, rain and sun alternating, but still we were cold, feet
especially.

These mountains, these continual groups of slouching, slouch-hatted
"Americans," these little weathered log cabins, falling streams, and
pine trees reminded one of some tale of Bret Harte, and one found one's
self expecting the sudden appearance of Broncho Billy or Jack Hamlin
mounted upon a fiery mustang. But we cleared the top of the pass without
meeting either, and started on our last long downhill to Andrievitza.
Cheered by the rapidity of our motion the two ruffians on the box
started a howling Podgoritzian kind of melody, exceedingly discordant.
The driver, careless that one of our springs was but wired tree, and
that wheels in Montenegro are easily decomposed, flogged his horses
unmercifully, rattling along the extreme edge of one hundred foot
precipices. We stopped at a cafe for the driver to get coffee; rattled
on again, stopped to inquire the price of hay; more rattle; stopped for
the driver to say, "How de doo" to a pal; more rattle; stopped to ask a
man if his dog has had puppies yet.... But we protested.

Andrievitza was the prettiest village we had yet seen in Montenegro,
and was full of more "Americans." In the street a small boy urged us to
go to "Radoikovitches," but we went to the hotel. The hotel was full,
because a Pasha from Scutari had arrived with his three wives, and all
their families. So we permitted the little yellow-haired urchin to lead
us to "Radoikovitches." A woman received us, without gusto, till she
learned that Jo was Jan's wife, when she cheered up. A charming old
officer stood rakia all round in our honour. The mayor came in to greet
us, and we felt that at last Pod had been