Then, pressing her hands to her own breast, she added eagerly:

"Celie Armin--Danmark!"

"Denmark!" exclaimed Philip. "Is that it, little girl? You're from
Denmark? Denmark!"

She nodded.

"Kobenhavn--Danmark!"

"Copenhagen, Denmark," he translated for himself. "Great Scott,
Celie--we're TALKING! Celie Armin, from Copenhagen, Denmark! But
how in Heaven's name did you get HERE?" He pointed to the floor
under their feet and embraced the four walls of the cabin in a
wide gesture of his arms. "How did you get HERE?"

Her next words thrilled him.

"Kobenhavn--Muskvas--St. Petersburg--Rusland--Sibirien--Amerika."

"Copenhagen--Muskvas, whatever that is--St. Petersburg--Russia--
Siberia--America," he repeated, staring at her incredulously.
"Celie, if you love me, be reasonable! Do you expect me to believe
that you came all the way from Denmark to this God-forsaken
madman's cabin in the heart of the Canada Barrens by way of Russia
and Siberia? YOU! I can't believe it. There's a mistake somewhere.
Here--"

He thought of his pocket atlas, supplied by the department as a