"He wouldn't notice that—but what's he doing?"
The Russian, after gazing intently at my young master, had begun to pace round him like a big bear.
He did not give me one glance. Evidently he did not care for ponies.
"Bolshy," said the soldier, "what's biting you?"
The Russian stopped short, made a most imploring noise in his throat, and seemed to fairly drink in the light from my young master's eyes.
I put myself between him and Dallas, for I felt that the boy was rather nervous about this big fellow tramping round him.
The Russian was moaning now, and putting his big feet down more and more heavily. He had dropped his pipe, and both hands were clutching his thatch of shaggy hair.
"He's thinking of his home," said Denty kindly.
"How well you understand him," observed Cassowary.
"We're together all day, and I've got so I can read his thoughts. At first I didn't know a word of Russian, but he's taught me a lot."