end, the wayside khan of Krevata.  There was a little parleying at the door, and Dhemetri seemed dissatisfied with what he saw, and disposed to carry us on to another resting-place.  But thoroughly benumbed as we were, the blaze of light that fell upon us from the half-open door quite won our hearts, and we felt willing to risk whatever discomforts the place might have rather than go further.  As we entered the door, the scene was striking.  A large fire was roaring in the middle of the room, filling it with smoke.  On cushions and scraps of carpet, disposed about the fire, were crouched six or eight men and women, dressed in their national costume, very dirty and equally picturesque.  Two or three children were among them, or lay stretched at random on the floor asleep.  A large, swarthy man opposite us held a child of two or three years, now nestling in its father’s arms, now climbing over to its mother, now gazing bashfully and curiously at the strangers.  Basil, ever ready on occasion, seized his pencil and soon transferred the group to paper, to the admiration of them all.  They moved to right and left as we came in, and made room for us on the side next the door, where our faces were scorched, Our backs shivering, and our eyes smarting with the smoke.  An old woman who sat next me eyed us inquisitively, and would gladly have entered into conversation; but almost our sole Greek phrase, ‘It is cold,’ (eeny krio), we had exhausted immediately on entering the room.  Basil essayed Italian, having a vague idea that it would pass any where in Greece, as French does in Italy, but with no success.  Neither was our conversation among ourselves brilliant.  We were tired, cold, sleepy, and hungry, and we thought despairingly on the long miles back that we had last seen our baggage.  At length a shout at the door gladdened our hearts; our beds and that ever-welcome basket were handed in, and Dhemetri was soon deeply engaged in preparing supper.  Meanwhile, a fire had been built in the upper room, and we went up by a ladder.  But here we were worse off than below.  Roof, floor, walls, and (wooden) windows, all were amply provided with cracks and knot-holes, through which the wind roved at its will.  A wretched fire was smoldering on the hearth, and a candle was burning in a tin cup hanging by its handle on a nail in the wall, which, set it where we would, flickered in the wind.  And when our supper came, fricassee, boiled chicken, roast hare, omelette, bread, cheese, figs, and wine—­for such a bill of fare had Dhemetri made ready for us—­we swallowed it hastily, huddled our beds about the fire, wrapped ourselves in our blankets, and lay down at once.  The inquisitive old lady below, on seeing the extensive preparations for the supper of three fellow-mortals, was struck with reverence for us, and expressed her belief that those, who lived on such marvelous and unheard-of delicacies would never die.  We, indeed, had requested Dhemetri to cater more simply for us; but his professional pride would not suffer it.