had to give the money for the latter's unguent. For the consumptive she
said, "Open the windows, rest, and don't spit"; but that isn't a
peasant's idea of doctoring: they want medicine or magic, one or the
other, which doesn't matter.

The train started "after eight" on Monday evening. The English boys at
the Rest house were very good to us, adding to our small stock of
necessities a "Tommy's treasure," two mackintosh capes, and some oxo
cubes. One youth said, "You won't want to travel a second time on a
Serbian luggage train"; then ruefully, "I've done it! The shunting,
phew!"

A Serbian railway station is a public meeting-place; along the platform,
but railed off from the train, is a restaurant which is one of the
favourite cafés of the town. It is such fun to the still childish
Serbian mind to sit sipping beer or wine and watch the trains run about,
and hear the whistles. We had our supper amongst the gay crowd, and
then pushed out into the darkened goods station to find our travelling
bedroom, for we were to sleep in the waggons--beds and mattresses having
been provided--and we had borrowed blankets from the Rest house.

We found our truck and climbed in. There were certainly beds enough, for
there were thirty light iron folding bedsteads piled up at one end. We
chose two, and, not satisfied with the stacking of the others, Jan
repiled them, with an eye on what our friend had said about Serbian
shunting. Even then Jo was not happy about them.

We sat on our beds, reading or staring out of our open door at the
twinkle of the station lights, the moving flares of the engines, and the
fountains of sparks which rushed from their chimneys; listening to the