Dallas shook his head sadly, but Cassowary said nothing.
The Russian snatched his treasure from the soldier who was examining it too closely to suit him. Then picking up his pipe he relighted it and smoked furiously for a few minutes. However, something was still worrying him, for every few seconds he turned to Dallas and wrinkled his heavy eye-brows.
"I believe," said the soldier, "that Bolshy is all mixed up in his mind. He was brought up to humble himself before rich people. Then men came who told him that his mud-walled hut and his starving wife and children were due to the rich who had taken his money. Finally his wife and children starved to death. He was angry, and went into the army, and tried to kill, kill, kill—but instead of killing he was nearly killed himself. Then the beautiful lady saved his life. And now he loves the boy because he has her eyes. But the beautiful lady could not read. He never saw her with a book in her hand—look at him."
Bolshy, snarling disagreeably, was making a face at his idol, and coming toward him in an ungainly way, pulled something from his pocket.
The soldier's hand was on the Russian's wrist. He must have hurt him, for Bolshy cried out and dropped the little paper-covered volume.
"My riddle-book!" exclaimed Dallas. "I brought it to amuse the children."
The soldier returned it to him, and said, "Bolshy began to throw all our books in the river till I made him play water-dog and retrieve them—Bolshy, apologise to Miss Cassowary's cousin for your impudence."
The Russian became angry and with rude gestures threatened the soldier until he saw his hand go to his side.
There was a holster there, and Mr. Bolshy soon became civil and uttered some queer-sounding words that we all knew meant that he was not sorry but he said he was.
"Try kindness," said Cassowary softly. "Treat him as the beautiful lady did. You sing, don't you, Dallas? Do you know any French songs? They might appeal to him, for Russian society people use that language so much."