"You're a lucky fellow!" said the Russian, with a sigh. "I only wish I'd had some one to teach me when I was your age, I should know a great deal more than I do."
"What? didn't your father teach you, then?"
"He died when I was a mere child," said the Russian, sadly, "and my mother, too."
"Oh dear, I'm so sorry! But had you no brothers or sisters?"
"I had a brother, but he was blind, poor fellow, and couldn't help me; and as for my sister" (here his face darkened fearfully), "instead of being kind to me, she tried to have me killed!"
"What a shame!" cried the boy, indignantly, clinching a fist about the size of a large plum. "I only wish I'd been your brother!—I wouldn't have let anybody touch you!"
This valiant promise of protection, made by a tiny boy to a stalwart soldier of six feet three, tickled the other emigrants so much that they burst into a roar of laughter which made the old walls ring. But the soldier did not laugh; he only passed his hand tenderly over the child's curly head, and then stooped to look at the book which Karl had been reading.
"Ah! the story of Ilia the Strong. I used to be very fond of it when I was a boy. How do you like it?"
"Very much indeed. I didn't think I'd have time to finish it, when they said the Czar was coming to look at us; but I suppose he's too busy amusing himself to care about us poor fellows."
The soldier gave such a terrible frown that the men nearest him started back in dismay, and even Osterman himself looked startled. But the next moment the Russian's face cleared again, though it was still very sad.