He, at least, had found her.

He was digging her out of chaos, and he was filled with the joyous exultation of a triumphant discoverer--almost the thrill of ownership.

He held his breath as he watched the little forefinger telling him its story on the map.
From Copenhagen it went to Moscow--which must have been Muskvas, and from there it trailed slowly to St.Petersburg and thence straight across Russia and Siberia to Bering Sea.
"Skunnert," she said softly, and her finger came across to the green patch on the map which was Alaska.
It hesitated there.

Evidently it was a question in her own mind where she had gone after that.

At least she could not tell him on the map.
And now, seeing that he was understanding her, she was becoming visibly excited.