My young master's face was lighted by a charming smile. He reached up, put his hand on the shaggy head of the subdued man, and patted it as if he had been a big dog, then he signed to him to follow, and leading him over to the soldier he said, "Maître!"
At the French word, Bolshy trembled, and when Dallas began jabbering in that language he was in a transport of delight. He didn't understand a word of it, but the sound was comforting as he had heard it in his native land. He shook his head a great many times, and when Dallas finished he went and stood humbly in front of the soldier.
"Gee!" said the young man, "this is fine; sit down. Bolshy," and he pointed to a log.
The Russian did as he was told, and the soldier heaved a sigh. "Usually there's an argument about everything he's to do—thank you, young man," he said gratefully to Dallas.
Dallas was exploring his pockets, and after bringing out a bar of chocolate he went over and put it between Bolshy's teeth.
This capped the climax, and the poor Russian sat munching the sweet stuff and laughing with delight in a funny jerky way.
"Here comes the launch" exclaimed Cassowary, and we all turned to the water.
Their big motor-boat, the Heron of Fawn Lake, was rounding the Old Woman's Islands, and came in with a flourish through a bed of yellow and white water lilies to the warden's crib.
Mr. Devering was running it, and smiling as he saw us, his white teeth gleaming against the brown of his skin.