ken off, our bodies rubbed with a slippery substance that
might be any bad thing; a shower of warm water let down on us without
warning; again driven to another little room where we sit, wrapped in
woollen blankets till large, coarse bags are brought in, their contents
turned out and we see only a cloud of steam, and hear the women's
orders to dress ourselves, quick, quick, or else we'll miss--something
we cannot hear. We are forced to pick out our clothes from among all the
others, with the steam blinding us; we choke, cough, entreat the women
to give us time; they persist, "Quick, quick, or you'll miss the train!"
Oh, so we really won't be murdered! They are only making us ready for
the continuing of our journey, cleaning us of all suspicions of
dangerous germs. Thank God!

Assured by the word "train" we manage to dress ourselves after a
fashion, and the man comes again to inspect us. All is right, and we are
allowed to go into the yard to find our friends and our luggage. Both
are difficult tasks, the second even harder. Imagine all the things of
some hundreds of people making a journey like ours, being mostly
unpacked and mixed together in one sad heap. It was disheartening, but
done at last was the task of collecting our belongings, and we were
marched into the big room again. Here, on the bare floor, in a ring, sat
some Polish men and women singing some hymn in their own tongue, and
making more noise than music. We were obliged to stand and await further
orders, the few seats being occupied, and the great door barred and
locked. We were in a prison, and again felt some doubts. Then a man came
in and called the passengers' names, and when they answered they were
made to pay two marcs each for the pleasant bath we had just been
forced to take.

Another half hour, and our train arrived. The door was opened, and we
rushed out into the field, glad to get back even to the fourth class
car.

We had lost sight of the Gittlemans, who were going a different way now,
and to our regret hadn't even said good-bye, or thanked them for their
kindness.

After the preceding night of wakefulness and discomfort, the weary day
in the train, the dizzy whirl through Berlin, the fright we had from the
rough proceedings of the Germans, and all the strange experiences of the
place we just escaped--after all this we needed rest. But to get it was
impossible for all but the youngest children. If we had borne great
discomforts on the nig