"What is there to say about him? He certainly seems a good hand at vodka. He is not up to much." "No need to despise people like that; they will prepare the way excellently, and others will follow. One must wait patiently; I beg you be patient. I will arrange it. Last night I went to see Father Pantelay, the missionary. He is learning Chukchee. By-and-by we may be able to do something. We must learn to understand their customs and be friendly with them, so that they may get to like us. Don't grumble about them." "I am not grumbling, but--they sat here too long." "Well, we also have been sitting here too long." Several days passed. The Chukchee did not show themselves. Despite his assumed indifference and incredulity, Stefan was a little anxious, and looked round hastily every time the door opened. It was late. Having just finished his work, and blown out the candle for the sake of economy, Stefan was musing in the firelight, when his attention was attracted by unusual sounds from outside--a curious noise and shuffling. Then the house door opened violently and banged to; someone rushed panting into the room and held the door against someone else who tried to open it. Stefan jumped up in astonishment and hastily lighted the candle. A Chukchee was standing at the door, covered with snow. He had wound the latch strap round his hand, and, steadying himself with his foot against the door, was pulling at it with all his might. It shook in the struggle. The native looked at Stefan, made an imploring gesture, and showed that he was defenceless. From the hall came the sound of an impatient, hoarse voice cursing, accompanied by heavy kicks on the door. Stefan fancied that he recognized the voice. "Who's there? Stop that kicking at once! To the devil with you!" he exclaimed angrily. The tugging ceased. There was a sound of muttering for some time longer, but when footsteps were heard approaching the unknown person left the hall. The Chukchee dropped the strap and turned to Stefan. "Brother! Gem Kamakatan"--and he pointed to himself--"Gem no knife ... Gem ... brother!" He made a pretence of falling to indicate that he would have been killed. His eyes were friendly; his fat, ugly face, with its wide, extended nostrils, expressed emotion and gratitude. "Brother! Anoai! Anoai!" He went to the fire and began to shake the snow out of his skin jerkin. His furs, hair, and ears were full of it. He indicated by violent shuddering that he was wet, and that the water was running down his body under his clothes. He began to fain shivering and dying. Stefan knew perfectly well that in weather as cold as this even a Chukchee would freeze to death in damp clothes. He guessed what the native wanted, and nodded.