i 9 o2] THE ORDINARY ROUTINE 351 



have been at work on it demand admittance ; the door is un- 

 fastened and they come tumbling in with a confused medley of 

 night-coats and foot-gear. All now squat round the hissing 

 cooker, and we gain what comfort we can from the heat that 

 escapes from it. The confined space within is now filled to 

 repletion, and elbows and knees have to be managed with 

 caution to avoid disaster to the cooker. By this time, in the 

 spring, the sun has sunk below the horizon, and the gloom of 

 the tent is lightened only by the flickering rays of a candle 

 placed in a collapsible lantern which hangs from a tent-pole. 

 So small is the space that an incautious movement often sends 

 this contrivance flying, and there is much groping and impre- 

 cation before light can be produced again on the scene. 



Whilst the cook devotes his attention to the all-important 

 supper we others make shift to change our foot-gear ; in the 

 narrow, cramped space we tug and pull at sodden finneskoes 

 and ice-covered socks, and, diving into our warm breast- 

 pockets, hasten to cover bared feet with the night-socks which 

 have been dried in that receptacle. Suddenly, without warn- 

 ing, a leg shoots out whilst the owner exclaims loudly under 

 the sharp pain of violent cramp. The cooking- pot rocks 

 wildly, but in the confusion the ever-watchful cook rises to the 

 occasion and prevents a catastrophe. 



A few moments more, and little spurts of steam rise from 

 the centre of interest ; snow has been converted into boiling 

 water, and the cook's busiest moment has arrived. Off come 

 the lids and covers, and in a moment all is hidden in a dense 

 cloud of steam, through which one can dimly perceive that the 

 cook has seized the candle and with its aid is conveying the 

 frozen ingredients of the supper into the boiling pot. Soon, 

 as he stirs, the most fragrant odour in the world greets our 

 nostrils. All other work ceases as the pot is lifted and its 

 precious contents poured into the ready pannikins. The cook 

 takes his perquisites by scraping out, with his spoon, all that 

 remains ; this done he refills the empty pot from the outer 

 cooker and sets it once more to boil. Then follows an inter- 

 regnum of comparative silence, broken only by the crunch of 



