138 A SUMMER ON THE YENESEI 



round the tent, but never once returned to her eggs, 

 and in the end I gave it up as a bad job. I was a 

 good deal hampered also by a drunken native, who 

 staggered through the marsh with a vodka bottle, 

 begging all the world to join him in his cups. That 

 is the worst of vodka. It must have some of the 

 properties of the mediseval love philter, judging by 

 the kind of universal affection and philanthropy that 

 it seems to inspire in its victims ! 



On the following morning I called on our next- 

 door neighbours, and pressed into my service little 

 Nicolai Protyvik, the youngest but three of the large 

 family of that ilk. Of course I could not explain to 

 the small boy why I wanted him, but with the 

 delightful obligingness of his race, he followed me at 

 once. In fact, the only difficulty was to restrain all 

 the rest of the household from coming too, so eager 

 were they to find out what my business might be. 



The photographer always has a bad moment when 

 approaching a marked nest. Will the bird have for- 

 saken it, and are his preparations made in vain ? In 

 this case the eggs were hot, showing that the bird had 

 only just left them. Doubtless she was watching us 

 from somewhere close at hand. I crept inside the tent 

 with the camera and bade Nicolai go home at once. If 

 he did, I promised him sweets — l:onfetie — in the even- 

 ing. But Nicolai's face fell, and he hung about 

 dissatisfied. What was the matter — didn't he like 

 sweets ? No use to give him kopecks, for at Golchika 

 there was nowhere to spend them. With a beseeching 

 smile and expressive gesture, he said : " Kowxet — 



