Abu Hanna, or Ishoc, is a noble Christian man, one of the best men in Syria.  He has suffered very much for Christ’s sake.  The Greeks in the village on the hill have tried to poison him.  They hired Nusairy Mughlajees to shoot him.  They cut down his trees at night, and pulled up his plantations of vegetables.  They came at night and tore up the roof of his house, and shot through at him but did not hit him.  But the Mohammedan Begs over there always help him, because he is an honest man, and aids them in their business and accounts.  When the Greeks began to persecute him, they told him to fire a gun whenever they came about his house, and they would come over and fight for him.  They even offered to go up and burn the Greek village and put an end to these persecutions.  But Ishoc would not let them.  He said, “Mohammed Beg, you know I am a Christian, not like these Greeks who lie and steal and kill, but I follow the words of our Lord Jesus Christ, who said, ’Love your enemies,’ and I do not wish to injure one of them.”  The Begs were astonished at this, and went away, urging him if there were any more trouble at night to fire his gun and they would come over from Halba at once.

I love this good man Ishoc.  His pure life, his patience and gentleness have preached to these wild people in Akkar, more than all the sermons of the missionaries.

Would you like to see Im Hanna make bread for our supper?  That hole in the ground, lined with plaster, is the oven, and the flames are pouring out.  They heat it with thorns and thistles.  She sits by the oven with a flat stone at her side, patting the lumps of dough into thin cakes like wafers as large as the brim of your straw hat.  Now the fire is burning out and the coals are left at the bottom of the oven, as if they were in the bottom of a barrel.  She takes one thin wafer on her hand and sticks it on the smooth side of the oven, and as it bakes it curls up, but before it drops off into the coals, she pulls it out quickly and puts another in its place.  How sweet and fresh the bread is!  It is made of Indian corn.  She calls it “khubs dura.”  Abu Hanna says that we must eat supper with them to-night.  They are plain fellaheen, and have neither tables, chairs, knives nor forks.  They have a few wooden spoons, and a few plates.  But hungry travellers and warm-hearted friendship will make the plainest food sweet and pleasant.

Supper is ready now, and we will go around to Abu Hanna’s house for he has come to tell us that “all things are ready.”  The house is one low room, about sixteen by twenty feet.  The ceiling you see is of logs smoked black and shining as if they had been varnished.  Above the logs are flat stones and thorns, on which earth is piled a foot deep.  In the winter this earth is rolled down with a heavy stone roller to keep out the rain.  In many of the houses the family, cattle, sheep, calves and horses sleep in the same room.  The family sleep in the elevated part of the room along the edge