A SUMMER ON THE YENESEI 221 



it served no human purpose. It came out of nowhere, 

 flowed a little way, bubbling contentedly in the sun- 

 shine, and then disappeared into nowhere. In some 

 sort the river was typical of the tundra itself. The 

 tundra is a land of the present. It has no past. No 

 history was ever made there, and its people scarcely 

 reckon the flight of years. It has no future. What 

 can you do with a million square miles of lichen and 

 moss, which for nine months of the year are frozen fast 

 and deep ? The life of the tundra is an eternal present. 

 Thus it was an aeon back ; thus it will be an a3on hence. 

 It is one of Pan's pleasure gardens. Of which — alas ! — 

 there are so few remaining in this small and much- 

 trodden earth. 



To me, passing along the tops of the hills, flew a pair 

 of golden plover, zealously feigning a broken wing. 

 One was shy and kept her distance : I am ashamed to 

 say that I think from her plumage that this was 

 the lady. The other was a bold bird, and ran so close 

 to me that, time and again, he might almost have been 

 caught in a butterfly net. Presently I lay down to 

 watch the couple. The male bird soon dropped his 

 plaintive whistle, and began to pick up imaginary worms 

 — which, to those who know Ploverski, is a reassuring 

 sign ; but his mate speedily discovered my whereabouts 

 and told all the tundra about the espionage. However, 

 by and by she had to go oft' to attend to a Buffon's 

 skua who was trespassing too closely, and as soon as 

 she had gone, her mate came back to the neighbourhood 

 of the eggs. I watched him for over an hour, and 

 finally, after marking him down, once or twice, I found 



