"Oh, Alexander shall show me the way," he said, and he stepped outside into the garden, where that always hungry creature was cracking a large bone.
"Alexander, I mean to follow my fortune," he said, "but I don't know where it is. Can you help me?"
To his surprise, Alexander looked up, wagged his tail, and then said quite as plain as could be: "All right; let me finish this bone and then I'll come!"
George stared at him. "Can you really talk, Alexander?"
"Talk? Of course I can talk," he replied. "Who ever heard of a dog who couldn't talk? I've talked to you ever since I've known you, only I don't talk like a boy. I talk like a dog."
This was quite true, for he still had a 'doggy' voice, and there was a sound of "Wuff, wuff!" in everything he said.
"Good gracious!" cried George. "I never knew you were talking. I thought you were only barking."
"Well, barking is talking. What would be the use of my barking if it meant nothing?" replied Alexander rather crossly, for he hated to be interrupted in the middle of a meal. "Sit down a minute and then I shall be ready."
George sat down and waited quietly. It was quite still everywhere; there was a soft little breeze which was just enough to set the flowers in the garden nodding their heads. It kissed George gently on the cheek, and then gave a puff which made the golden weathercock on the roof-top turn round and round until it must have become giddy.
"Now I'm ready," said Alexander, licking his lips and brushing his whiskers carefully, in case there might still be a fragment left of his meal.