At first they talked about the poachers, and then Mrs. Devering, with the children hanging on her words, told her husband all about Bolshy's midnight visit.
When anyone told Mr. Devering of anything wrong that had been done, this good man never showed temper. He always said, "Why did So-and-So do this naughty thing, and what can we do to help him?"
In case of the poachers, he had been for punishment. In the case of Bolshy, he said, "Our Russian friend is in the melting-pot, thanks to Denty and Dallas. Now what can the rest of us do to keep the home fires burning?"
The family discussed a number of plans, and it was Mrs. Devering who finally said, "He is a stranger in a strange land. Let us do something to remind him of home."
"Good!" said her husband. "Now, Jock, my lad, your turn."
"Show your Russian pictures in the school-house," said the young man, grinning cheerfully over his delicious cup of tea.
"Fine!" exclaimed Mr. Devering. "Now, children," and he turned to the younger ones.
Cassowary, who was eating a piece of sponge cake with the calm air of a saint who feels a halo round her head, said sweetly, "If I were a girl alone in Russia, I should think of my dear home and my loving mother, also my religion," and she rolled her eyes piously in the direction of the attractive white chapel up the road built for the settlement by Mrs. Devering's mother.
"Oh! you naughty girl," I wanted to whinny, while her father said joyfully, "Right you are, girlie. We'll practise some Russian chants and have a men's chorus behind a screen as they have in the Greek Church—but tell me everyone, where is my boy?" and he looked restlessly about.
Cassowary got up in a leisurely way and said, "I will get him. I think he has a toothache."