112 A SUMMER ON THE YENESEI 



the boots were thoroughly waterproof, there would be 

 an approving chorus of " Ho^^roshie." 



It would not be a bad thing if everybody, no matter 

 who they may be, were compelled, as part of their 

 education, to spend a month in a choom on the tundra. 

 They would then learn the true value and real uses of 

 their possessions. The first thing that strikes one who 

 returns after a few days spent among the natives, is the 

 enormous number of useless and cumbersome chattels 

 which we have gathered round us as the price of our 

 civilisation. It is a real relief to meet people who wear 

 gloves, not for appearance sake, but to keep their hands 

 warm ; who use saucers under their cups, not as a 

 matter of custom, but because the tea must be cooled 

 before it is drunk ; who, when they yoke up a draught 

 animal, do not weigh it down with a ridiculous para- 

 phernalia of blinkers and pad, but reduce all harness 

 to the essential minimum of a collar and traces. But 

 although they have few possessions, these are dearly 

 prized. When it takes you a week of labour to fashion 

 a pipe stem and bowl from driftwood and hammered 

 iron, is it to be wondered that you value it greatly and 

 set the price at fifteen roubles — the price of a reindeer ? 

 When your knife blade is made from an old Russian 

 file, ground and sharpened by many hours of polishing 

 on a flint stone, and when the wooden haft has been 

 turned, not by some factory process, but by your own 

 brown hand, no wonder that you are loath to sell it. 

 The needs of a native are very few and elemental. The 

 tundra gives him reindeer hides and foxskins for 

 clothing. The river brings him wood for his fire and 



