222 A SUMMER ON THE YENESET 



the nest. It contained one newly-hatched chick and 

 three chipping eggs. The old bird need not have made 

 all that fuss about the skua, for without field-glasses 

 he could never have found her treasure. Both eggs and 

 young were tinted wisely. The chick was dusky and 

 golden-green as the moss on which he crouched ; the 

 eggs, modestly marbled with umber and grey, were drab 

 like the lichen. Each was a mighty successful piece 

 of scenic painting in miniature, and quite invisible on 

 the tundra. The cock bird was so tame that I determined 

 to return the next day and photograph him at the nest. 



The second night in the choom was much more 

 comfortable than the first had been. It was dry, and 

 not really cold if you stuck your feet into the ashes of 

 the fire. The dogs came in to share the warmth. There 

 were two of them — Malchik and Ouss. Both were trained 

 to herd the deer, but while Ouss was quite a rising 

 practitioner, Malchik was a fool. Ouss knew his superi- 

 ority, and traded on it. He would not allow his brother 

 to sit by the fire, scarcely would he permit him to enter 

 the choom. They were both prick-eared, long-coated 

 curs, with tails curled tightly over their backs like Chow 

 or Pomeranian dogs. 



I turned out early on the following morning, and 

 went to call on the golden plover with my camera. It 

 was a beautiful day, and under a cloudless sky, the 

 tundra was for the first time buzzing with mosquitoes. 

 The pests swarmed everywhere and turned photography 

 into a regular martyrdom. It was impossible to focus 

 the camera through a veil, and I speedily found that most 

 of the decoctions which are recommended as preventives 



