92 CASUALS IN THE CAUCASUS 



welcome awaited us in the quarters of a friendly 

 gunner whose acquaintance we made in Tiflis. 



It had been a Prasnik — Saint's Day. A very fragile 

 reason brings a prasnik, and, inevitable fixtures apart, 

 some years there are so very many — our ribald host 

 told us this — that there are more prasniks than days on 

 which to keep them. The leanest years bring more 

 than a hundred. 



In the verandahed whitewashed house our hosts at 

 by the samovar drinking the weak tea beloved of 

 Russians. The very instant the boiling water has 

 been poured on the leaves it is poured off again. Most 

 English travellers affect to prefer this weak decoc- 

 tion, flavoured with lemon, and served in little glasses, 

 to our own home-brewed. I like the tea-cup idea much 

 better, and but for the myriad lumps of sugar the 

 Muscovite might as well be swallowing hot water, 

 slightly dashed with lemon. Tea comes on at all hours 

 of the day with a frequency only equalled on Canadian 

 ranches. 



Everything in the little tin-roofed abode was very 

 rough, but very ready, and the tremendous ungrudging 

 hospitality of Russians would make up for any de- 

 ficiencies. Kenneth was quartered somewhere else, as 

 the house was only able to raise one " best room." 



I always think that there are two hubs necessary to 

 every household, and if they aren't there all things must 

 go haphazard. The mother and the kitchen fire. You 

 may be able to manage without them, lots of people 

 have to, but it is only managing at the best. Our host 

 had neither comfort. No mother, because soldiers 



