But no: the thing I meant
has little or nothing to do with the finding of Sirius.
Even Mother Beckett could sit still no longer. She had to be helped out
of the car by me to join the group round Brian and the dog. She took my
arm, and I matched my steps to her tiny trot, though I pined to sprint!
We met Father Beckett coming back with apologies for his one minute of
forgetfulness. The first time in years, I should think, that he had
forgotten his wife for sixty whole seconds!
"It's like something in a story or a play," he panted, out of breath.
"This is Brian's lost dog. You've heard him talk of Sirius, my dear.
There can be no doubt it's the same animal! The man who thought he was
its master admits that. And _guess_ who he is--the man, not the dog."
Mother Beckett reminded her husband that never had she succeeded in a
guess. But she was saved trying by the arrival of the man in khaki who,
having abandoned his dog--or being abandoned by it--had followed Mr.
Beckett.
"Why, Jack _Curtis_!" gasped the little old lady. "It can't be you!"
"I guess it's nobody else," laughed a soldierly fellow, with the
blackest eyes and whitest teeth imaginable. "I'm doing the war for the
New York _Record_--staying here at the chateau of Royalieu with the
British correspondents for the French front."
I longed to get to Brian and be introduced to Sirius, but Mother Beckett
caught my arm. "Mary, dear," she cooed, "I'd like you and Mr.
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