and
numerous windy cracks in the floor, we felt a little comfort before an
immense fire kindled in the open chimney. Our provisions were already
adamantine; the meat was transformed into red Finland granite, and the
bread into mica-slate. Anton and the old Finnish landlady, the mother of
many sons, immediately commenced the work of thawing and cooking, while
I, by the light of fir torches, took the portrait of a dark-haired,
black-eyed, olive-skinned, big-nosed, thick-lipped youth, who gave his
name as Eric Johan Sombasi. When our meal of meat, bread, and coffee
had been despatched, the old woman made a bed of reindeer skins for us
in one corner, covered with a coarse sheet, a quilt, and a sheepskin
blanket. She then took her station near the door, where several of the
sons were already standing, and all appeared to be waiting in silent
curiosity to see us retire. We undressed with genuine Finnish freedom of
manner, deliberately enough for them to understand the peculiarities of
our apparel, and they never took their eyes from us until we were stowed
away for the night in our warm nest.

It was snowing and blowing when we arose. Long Isaac had gone to the
woods after the reindeer, and we employed the delay in making a
breakfast off the leavings of our supper. Crossing the Muonio at
starting, we entered the Russian territory and drove up the bed of the
Palajok, a tributary stream which comes down from the north. The sky
became clearer as the dawn increased; the road was tolerably broken, and
we sped merrily along the windings of the river, under its tall banks
fringed with fir trees, which, loaded with snow, shone brilliantly white
against the rosy sky. The temperature was 8 deg. below zero, which felt
unpleasantly warm, by contrast with the previous evening.

After a time we left the river and entered a rolling upland--alternate
thickets of fir and birch, and wastes of frozen marsh, where our path
was almost obliterated. After more than two hours' travel we came upon a
large lake, at the further end of which, on the southern side of a hill,
was the little hamlet of Suontajarvi. Here we stopped to bait the deer,
Braisted's and mine being nearly fagged out. We entered one of the huts,
where a pleasant woman was taking charge of a year-old baby. There was
no fire on the hearth, and the wind whistled through the open cracks of
the floor. Long Isaac and the woman saluted each other by placing their
right arms around each o