A SUMMER ON THE YENESEI 197 



calculators do not reckon that tlieir customers may want 

 to make pictures at 1 a.m., the attempt was not unsuc- 

 cessful. The nest was a small depression on a high 

 ridge of tundra, lined with down, but it was more like 

 a duck's nest than that of a goose, for the down was 

 arranged neatly round the eggs instead of littering the 

 surrounding grass. 



While I was packing up the eggs, a pair of plover 

 began to pipe close by. To my surprise and delight, 

 the binoculars clearly made them out to be grey plover 

 — the first that I had seen on the Yenesei. They were 

 undoubtedly breeding in the neighbourhood, but to find 

 the nest was more easily said than done on that bald 

 expanse of tundra. Clearly the only way was to watch 

 the bird on to the eggs, but in order to do this, it was 

 necessary to get rid of my two companions, whose only 

 idea of birds'-nesting was to wander aimlessly about 

 until they either noticed the eggs or accidentally trod 

 upon them. An ignorance of Russian was a disability 

 under these circumstances, but Sylkin quickly grasped 

 what was required of him, and went off. It was more 

 difiicult to dispose of Vassilli, but at last I thought that 

 I had done so by bidding him go away for an hour to 

 shoot geese. 



As soon as he was out of sight, I took covert under 

 the river-bank. When the coast was clear, the plovers 

 quickly recovered from their alarm, and ventured back 

 into the neighbourhood. My hopes were rising propor- 

 tionately, when all at once they both took wing and 

 flew screaming up the hill. Judge of my feelings, when 

 into the field of my binoculars walked Vassilli, with a 



