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—<br />

"THE PARTING TEEE" 53<br />

village it is, in fact, and an American walled village<br />

at that—though such a thing no man may have heard<br />

of heretofore. It has a Town Gate, West Gate, and<br />

North Gate, and there is a gatekeeper—or warder, let<br />

us say—at each, and the gates are heavily-barred<br />

solid pieces of carpentry that more than once have<br />

troubled a mob. Its houses are connected by telephone,<br />

and you find that electric lighting is mooted ;<br />

but in spirit it is an old-fashioned walled village of<br />

a well-doing, friendly, hospitable people. By so much<br />

have Americans, thrown together in Asia Minor, been<br />

led by instinct and necessity to adopt some of the<br />

picturesque forms of the Middle Ages.<br />

Such is the old Mission Compound at Marsovan,<br />

the original settlement and place of sentiment. It is<br />

not really old ; but time soon gathers memories,<br />

especially for exiles. Hidden away in one corner of<br />

the compound is a little green secluded spot which<br />

is the Mission burying-ground, where for fifty years<br />

they have been laying their dead and making it a<br />

place of memories. There was also another place,<br />

too, with many associations about it, but that<br />

has now been lost. It was no more than an old<br />

walnut-tree— "the Parting Tree" they called it<br />

beside the vineyard path, a mile outside the compound.<br />

During many years it had been a custom of<br />

the Mission to go there in a body and say farewell to<br />

those who were leaving,—for not seldom these proved<br />

to be last farewells. But the owner of the tree, or<br />

some other Moslem, took offence ; there was singing, I<br />

suppose, and perhaps prayer, so in despite the tree<br />

was felled. Now you are shown merely the stump,<br />

and hear that the practice which grew up about the<br />

spot has fallen into disuse, as if with the tree went<br />

the associations which had hallowed it so long.<br />

If the Mission as it stands is in guise a peaceful<br />

village, nothing of the sleepiness traditional to village<br />

life broods over it. It is a place of restless activity,<br />

spread over long hours each day. In the Mission<br />

houses they breakfast at seven ; by eight the day's

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