Saviours of the train.

           TheRussiangentlemanwasbetterthenextday,andthedayafterthatbetterstill,andonthethirddayhewaswellenoughtocomeintothegarden.Abasketchairwasputforhimandhesatthere,dressedinclothesofFather’swhichweretoobigforhim.ButwhenMotherhadhemmeduptheendsofthesleevesandthetrousers,theclothesdidwellenough.Hiswasakindfacenowthatitwasnolongertiredandfrightened,andhesmiledatthechildrenwheneverhesawthem.TheywishedverymuchthathecouldspeakEnglish.MotherwroteseveralletterstopeopleshethoughtmightknowwhereaboutsinEnglandaRussiangentleman’swifeandfamilymightpossiblybe;nottothepeoplesheusedtoknowbeforeshecametoliveatThreeChimneys—sheneverwrotetoanyofthem—butstrangepeople—MembersofParliamentandEditorsofpapers,andSecretariesofSocieties.

           Andshedidnotdomuchofherstory-writing,onlycorrectedproofsasshesatinthesunneartheRussian,andtalkedtohimeverynowandthen.

           ThechildrenwantedverymuchtoshowhowkindlytheyfelttothismanwhohadbeensenttoprisonandtoSiberiajustforwritingabeautifulbookaboutpoorpeople.Theycouldsmileathim,ofcourse;theycouldandtheydid.Butifyousmiletooconstantly,thesmileisapttogetfixedlikethesmileofthehyaena.Andthenitnolongerlooksfriendly,butsimplysilly.