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 out of his pocket, and showed that it was half full of foreign stamps. "Look here," he said, "let's shew him these—"

Bobbie looked and saw that the stranger had dried his eyes with her handkerchief. So she said "All right."

They shewed him an Italian stamp, and pointed from him to it and back again, and made signs of question with their eyebrows. He shook his head. Then they shewed him a Norwegian stamp—the common blue kind it was—and again he signed No. Then they shewed him a Spanish one, and at that he took the envelope from Peter's hand and searched among the stamps with a hand that trembled. The hand that he reached out at last, with a gesture as of one answering a question contained a Russian stamp.

"He's Russian," cried Peter, "or else he's like 'the man who was'—in Kipling, you know. Russia's an awful place. That's why he's so frightened. They do dreadful things to you there just for nothing at all—Mother told me."

The train from Maidbridge was signalled.

"I'll stay with him till you bring Mother in," said Bobbie.

"You're not afraid, Missie?"