She smiled at him, and he smiled back, a queer crooked smile. And then he coughed again. And the heavy rattling swish of the incoming train swept past, and the Station Master and Peter and Phyllis went out to meet it. Bobbie was still holding the stranger's hand when they came back with Mother. The Russian rose and bowed very ceremoniously. Then Mother spoke in French, and he replied, haltingly at first, but presently in longer and longer sentences. The children, watching his face and Mother's, knew that he was telling her things that made her angry and pitying, and sorry and indignant all at once. “Well, Mum, what's it all about?” The Station Master could not restrain his curiosity any longer. “Oh,” said Mother, “it's all right. He's a Russian, and he's lost his ticket. And I'm afraid he's very ill. If you don't mind, I'll take him home with me now. He's really quite worn out. I'll run down and tell you all about him to-morrow.” “I hope you won't find you're taking home a frozen viper,” said the Station Master, doubtfully. “Oh, no,” Mother said brightly, and she smiled; “I'm quite sure I'm not. Why, he's a great man in his own country, writes books--beautiful books--I've read some of them; but I'll tell you all about it to-morrow.” She spoke again in French to the Russian, and everyone could see the surprise and pleasure and gratitude in his eyes. He got up and politely bowed to the Station Master, and offered his arm most ceremoniously to Mother. She took it, but anybody could have seen that she was helping him along, and not he her. “You girls run home and light a fire in the sitting-room,” Mother said, “and Peter had better go for the Doctor.” But it was Bobbie who went for the Doctor. “I hate to tell you,” she said breathlessly when she came upon him in his shirt sleeves, weeding his pansy-bed, “but Mother's got a very shabby Russian, and I'm sure he'll have to belong to your Club. I'm certain he hasn't got any money. We found him at the station.” “Found him! Was he lost, then?” asked the Doctor, reaching for his coat. “Yes,” said Bobbie, unexpectedly, “that's just what he was. He's been telling Mother the sad, sweet story of his life in French; and she said would you be kind enough to come directly if you were at home. He has a dreadful cough, and he's been crying.” The Doctor smiled. “Oh, don't,” said Bobbie; “please don't. You wouldn't if you'd seen him. I never saw a man cry before. You don't know what it's like.” Dr. Forrest wished then that he hadn't smiled. When Bobbie and the Doctor got to Three Chimneys, the Russian was sitting in the arm-chair that had been Father's, stretching his feet to the blaze of a bright wood fire, and sipping the tea Mother had made him. “The man seems worn out, mind and body,” was what the Doctor said; “the cough's bad, but there's nothing that can't be cured. He ought to go straight to bed, though--and let him have a fire at night.”