ogether like sardines. It was like the family in the
drawing: If father says turn, we all turn.

We did not rest well. Thirteen people in a room which would comfortably
hold three was a little too close packing. There was a lot of grumbling
coming from one corner, and after a while a light was struck.

"Good lord," said somebody, "my pillow's crawling!"

Bugs were cascading down the walls. Stajitch jumped to his feet, and
began stamping hard. "Rivers of them," he yelled.

Cutting and Whatmough were groaning about the heat, so we opened the
door. Immediately all the dogs of the village, half wolves, hurled
themselves at the lighted space. Stajitch slammed it just in time; had
they burst in, lying down as we were, we should have been unable to
protect ourselves.

A dark face peered in between the baking oven and the wall, a swarthy
Albanian face. It looked at us and then silently withdrew.

"It doesn't matter," said somebody at last, "we've got to stick it."

We roused up neither rested nor refreshed. The room seen in the dim
light of the morning seemed even more revolting than it had been the
night before. We demanded the bill, it was brought--five francs for
apples which we had bought. And for the room? Nothing. We gave our host
three francs extra, and he bowed, putting his hands to his bosom and
kissed our palms.

There was a good stiff clay soil waiting for our tiring feet, and by the
time we reached Berane, there was no thought of going further. Almost
every one was exhausted.

We reached the shores of the river. The bridge had been washed away, but
the inhabitants had made a boat like a sort of huge wooden shoe which
they dragged to and fro with ropes. We clambered in and were hauled
over. Our baggage had not yet arrived, so Jan and Stajitch ordered lunch
for the others and went down to see about it. Just as they were landed
on the opposite bank the rope broke. So all the Montenegrins and
Albanians who were working the ferry went off to a midday meal, leaving
the two with the pangs of hunger growling within, sitting on the bank.

After two hours' waiting the rope was repaired, and they got back to
lunch famishing. We then arranged sleeping places and locked up all the
baggage in an empty shop. Our room was one of those ordinary Montenegrin
bedrooms plastered with pictures. Amongst them was a postcard, and on it
was printed large in English in blue crystalline letters, "Never
Again."

Whence did it come,