ne can
read comfortably and let it pour. The steady patter on the tent
gives one the delightful sensation of immediately escaping extreme
discomfort. There is no pleasure in being warm unless the weather is
cold; and one never realizes how agreeable it is to be dry unless
the day is wet. This day was very wet indeed. We had a month's
accumulation of unopened magazines which a Mongol had brought to our
base camp just before we left, so there was no chance of being
bored. The fire had been built half under a huge, back-log which
kept a cheery glow of coals throughout all the downpour, and Chen
made us "_chowdzes_"--delicious little balls of meat mixed with
onions and seasoned with Chinese sauce. The Mongols slept and ate
and slept some more. We ate and slept and read. Therefore, we were
very happy.

The weather during that summer in the forest was a source of
constant surprise to us. We had never seen such rapid changes from
brilliant sunshine to sheets of rain. For an hour or two the sky
might stretch above us like a vast blue curtain flecked with tiny
masses of snow-white clouds. Suddenly, a leaden blanket would spread
itself over every inch of celestial space, while a rush of rain and
wind changed the forest to a black chaos of writhing branches and
dripping leaves. In fifteen minutes the storm would sweep across the
mountain tops, and the sun would again flood our peaceful valley
with the golden light of early autumn.

For autumn had already reached us even though the season was only
mid-August. It was like October in New York, and we had nightly
frosts which withered the countless flowers and turned the leaves to
red and gold. In the morning, when I crossed the meadows to the
forest, the grass was white with frost and crackled beneath my feet
like delicate threads of spun glass. My moccasins were powdered with
gleaming crystals of frozen dew, but at the first touch of sun every
twig and leaf and blade of grass began to drip, as though from a
heavy rain. My feet and legs waist-high were soaked in half an hour,
and at the end of the morning hunt I was as wet as though I had
waded a dozen rivers.

One cannot move on foot in northern Mongolia without the certainty
of a thorough wetting. When the sun has dried the dew, there are
swamps and streamlets in every valley and even far up the mountain
slopes. It is the heavy rainfall, the rich soil, and the brilliant
sunshine that make northern Mongolia a paradise of luxuri