She looked around apprehensively. Yes, the door was shut. She remembered
that Dr. O'Farrell had told her never to encourage the child's
confidences, but, on the other hand, never to check them.
"I first saw him the evening she came to supper," Timmy mumbled. "They
were walking together down the avenue. I thought he was a real old
gentleman. There was a dog with him, a terrier exactly like Flick, only a
little bigger. Of course I thought it was a real dog too. But now I know
that it wasn't. I know now that it was a ghost-dog. It is _that_ dog,
Mum, that frightens the other dogs who meet them--not herself, as she's
come to think."
"Oh, Timmy,"--Janet felt acutely uncomfortable--"you know I cannot bear
to think that such things really happen to you. If you really think them
I'd rather know, but I'd so much rather, dear boy, that you didn't think
them."
But Timmy was absorbed in what he was saying. "I know now that it was
Colonel Crofton," he went on, "because I've seen an old photograph of
him, Mum. Mrs. Crofton brought a tin box full of papers with her, and
there were some old photographs in it. There was one of an officer in
uniform, and it had written across it, 'Yours sincerely, Cecil Crofton.
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