His yurta stood near the bank, so I quickly found myself at its gate. A bright fire was burning within, and voices could be heard talking. So they were not asleep yet! I went up to the door, and peeped through the chink. Chachak was sitting before the fire, with his face towards me, holding a net which he was not winding, for his hand was stretched slightly in front of him while he related something to the listeners gathered round him. At his feet a small naked child played with the brass chain of a knife hanging in a wooden sheath sewn to his leather trousers above the right shin. Chachak was very animated; every now and then he bent forward towards his listeners, and stamped his massive heel on the clay floor of the cottage. 'They have a horror of horseflesh, and eat pigs!' he was saying, 'yet a horse is a very clean and sensible animal.' 'Why, yes!' his listeners assented. 'But pigs!--I have seen them! They're disgusting! They've no hair! They're bare, dirty, stupid, and bad tempered! They've enormous mouths, thin curling tails like snakes, small eyes, and teeth like a dog's. They're spiteful too!--When I was at Yakutsk I had an adventure with the pigs, and they all but ate me. There're lots of them there. I had gone out by myself in the early morning to finish my pipe in the passage; everyone was still asleep, and it had only just begun to dawn. The pigs were going round the courtyard, squealing. I was young, and liked a joke, so when they ran round me I shook my fist at them. They rushed at me like mad!' He broke off with a laugh. 'I ran along the passage, they after me; I jumped on to a bench, and they came grunting round me, while I kept shaking my fist at them. Ha-ha!' He spat into his hand, and stretched it out before him. Suddenly the door creaked. The woman exclaimed, the lads jumped up from the floor, the children began to cry. 'Who's coming? A Russian, perhaps, and pigs with him!' Chachak stopped talking, and drew back his outstretched fist. The entrance, as is usual in a Yakut yurta, was behind the fireplace, the one source of light in the evening; thus a full minute of fear and anxious expectation passed before I entered from the darkness. Yes, it was a 'Russian,' but a well-known one, a friend, and, into the bargain, without pigs! Their faces brightened, and they stretched out their hands, welcoming me warmly and frankly, as guests are always welcomed in the North. Chachak laughed, made room for me on the bench before the fire, and ordered the kettle to be put on. 'Tell us the news, and what is happening,' they begged me. I began to relate the local news. They all listened attentively, although, as it turned out, they had already long known it. The companion of my night journey entered, and the conversation became general. The men grouped themselves round the table, on which Chachak's wife had set supper for us; freshly made soup, sour milk, and a large pile of fish, dried and smoked.