the Black
Sea. On the north a long cliff road leads to Novorossisk a hundred
miles, and southward the same road goes on to Tuapse, some fifty miles
from Maikop and the English oil-fields.

I arrived at the little town too late to be sure of finding lodging.
The coffee-house was a wild den of Turks, and I would not enter it;
most private people were in bed. I walked along the dark main street
and wondered in what unusual and unexpected manner I should spend the
night. When one has no purpose, there is always some real _providence_
waiting for the tramp.

The quest of a night's lodging is nearly always the origin of
mysterious meetings. It nearly always means the meeting of utter
strangers, and the recognition of the fact that, no matter how
exteriorly men are unlike one another, they are all truly brothers,
and have hearts that beat in unison. Thus did it happen that I met my
strange host of Dzhugba.

A hatless but very hairy Russian met me at a turning of the road, and
eyeing me with lacklustre eyes asked me gruffly as a rude shopman
might, "What do you want?"

"A lodging for the night."

The peasant reflected, as if mentally considering the resources of the
little town. At last after a puzzling silence he put one fat hand on
my shoulder, and staring into my face, pronounced his verdict--

"The houses are all shut up and the people gone to bed. There is no
place; even the coffee-house is full. But never mind, you can spend
the night in a shed over here. I shall find you a place. No, don't
thank me; it comes from the heart, from the soul."

He led me along to a lumber-room by the side of the plank pier. It
contained two dozen barrels of "Portlandsky" cement. The floor was all
grey-white and I looked around somewhat dubiously, seeing that cement
is rather dirty stuff to sleep upon. But, nothing abashed, my new
friend waved his hand as if showing me into a regal apartment.

"Be at your ease!" said he. "Take whatever place you like, make
yourself comfortable. No, no thanks; it is all from God, it is what
God gives to the stranger."

He thereupon ran out on to the sand, for the shed was on the seashore,
and he beckoned me to follow. To my astonishment, we found out
there an old rickety bedstead with a much rent and rusted spring
mattress--apparently left for me providentially. It was so old and
useless that it could not be considered property, even in Russia. It
belonged to no one. Its nights were over. I gave i