ON THE WAY HOME 291 



a clear, pale blue sky. My Russian postman friend 

 had just drawn the sliding door to with his left hand, 

 while in his right he carried a tin kettle full of hot 

 water. .When he saw that I was awake he bid me 

 good-morning very politely, and asked me if I would 

 have a glass of tea with him, to which I gladly 

 iassented, sitting up on my flat mattress to enjoy 

 breakfast with my fellow-travellers. 



We had great fun owing to my being deficient in 

 a number of Russian words, which I supplied by all 

 manner of gestures. I found it was by no means 

 a disadvantage to be ignorant of the language, as, 

 when I made any particularly strange remark, it 

 brought out roars of laughter, and all nations under- 

 stand a good laugh. 



The day was very warm and the steppes were 

 flooded in every direction. It became very apparent 

 that the region of the River Obi was more backward 

 than the district we were now passing through, which 

 was about 250 miles nearer west, as all the snow 

 had melted. The railings, which had kept the snow 

 from covering the railway line, had been taken down 

 and piled up at intervals. 



We opened the windows to let the delicious air 

 into the carriage, and they were no longer heated 

 and unbearable to an Englishman, as in the winter, 

 but comfortable and cool. Towards mid-day I sat 

 down and wrote two letters, which I posted on the 

 train by dropping them into sL small tin box attached 

 to the last carriage and distinguished by a small 

 red cross painted on it. 



That morning I was treated to a Siberian thunder- 

 storm. From behind the train I could see the effects 

 of each flash, without the interference of buildings. 

 The lightning was very vivid, and the rumbling of 

 the thunder rolled right around us. The rain came 

 down in sheets. The darkness was intense. The 



