"Oh, no," Mother said brightly, and she smiled; "I'm quite sure I'm not.Why, he's a great man in his own country, writes books--beautiful books--I've read some of them; but I'll tell you all about it to-morrow."She spoke again in French to the Russian, and everyone could see the surprise and pleasure and gratitude in his eyes.He got up and politely bowed to the Station Master, and offered his arm most ceremoniously to Mother.She took it, but anybody could have seen that she was helping him along, and not he her.
"You girls run home and light a fire in the sitting-room," Mother said, "and Peter had better go for the Doctor."But it was Bobbie who went for the Doctor.
"I hate to tell you," she said breathlessly when she came upon him in his shirt sleeves, weeding his pansy-bed, "but Mother's got a very shabby Russian, and I'm sure he'll have to belong to your Club.
I'm certain he hasn't got any money.We found him at the station.""Found him! Was he lost, then?" asked the Doctor, reaching for his coat.
"Yes," said Bobbie, unexpectedly, "that's just what he was.He's been telling Mother the sad, sweet story of his life in French; and she said would you be kind enough to come directly if you were at home.He has a dreadful cough, and he's been crying."The Doctor smiled.
"Oh, don't," said Bobbie; "please don't.You wouldn't if you'd seen him.I never saw a man cry before.You don't know what it's like."Dr.Forrest wished then that he hadn't smiled.
When Bobbie and the Doctor got to Three Chimneys, the Russian was sitting in the arm-chair that had been Father's, stretching his feet to the blaze of a bright wood fire, and sipping the tea Mother had made him.
"The man seems worn out, mind and body," was what the Doctor said;"the cough's bad, but there's nothing that can't be cured.He ought to go straight to bed, though--and let him have a fire at night.""I'll make one in my room; it's the only one with a fireplace," said Mother.She did, and presently the Doctor helped the stranger to bed.
There was a big black trunk in Mother's room that none of the children had ever seen unlocked.Now, when she had lighted the fire, she unlocked it and took some clothes out--men's clothes--and set them to air by the newly lighted fire.Bobbie, coming in with more wood for the fire, saw the mark on the night-shirt, and looked over to the open trunk.All the things she could see were men's clothes.And the name marked on the shirt was Father's name.Then Father hadn't taken his clothes with him.And that night-shirt was one of Father's new ones.Bobbie remembered its being made, just before Peter's birthday.Why hadn't Father taken his clothes?
Bobbie slipped from the room.As she went she heard the key turned in the lock of the trunk.Her heart was beating horribly.WHYhadn't Father taken his clothes? When Mother came out of the room, Bobbie flung tightly clasping arms round her waist, and whispered:--"Mother--Daddy isn't--isn't DEAD, is he?""My darling, no! What made you think of anything so horrible?""I--I don't know," said Bobbie, angry with herself, but still clinging to that resolution of hers, not to see anything that Mother didn't mean her to see.
Mother gave her a hurried hug."Daddy was quite, QUITE well when Iheard from him last," she said, "and he'll come back to us some day.
Don't fancy such horrible things, darling!"Later on, when the Russian stranger had been made comfortable for the night, Mother came into the girls' room.She was to sleep there in Phyllis's bed, and Phyllis was to have a mattress on the floor, a most amusing adventure for Phyllis.Directly Mother came in, two white figures started up, and two eager voices called:--"Now, Mother, tell us all about the Russian gentleman."A white shape hopped into the room.It was Peter, dragging his quilt behind him like the tail of a white peacock.
