Bobby leaned over the back of the seat and looked at the collar.
“M-A-T-S-I-E,” he spelled out slowly. “What a funny name. But there’s some more—C-L-I-F-T-O-N P-A-R-K.”
“Why, Clifton Park is thirty miles from here,” said Father Blossom in surprise. “The poor dog never could have come that distance. I wonder——”
Before he could say what he wondered, a handsome shining limousine, coming down the road slowly from the other direction, stopped. The chauffeur held up his hand.
“Have you seen anything of a dog?” he asked anxiously. “A little white dog, with a silver collar?”
And maybe that chauffeur wasn’t surprised when four children shouted at him, “Is the dog’s name ‘Matsie’?”
“Yes, we found such a dog,” said Father Blossom, smiling. “Back about forty rods, under a bush. He was pretty cold, but he seems to be all right.”
The chauffeur came over and took the dog Meg held out to him.
“I’m much obliged to you,” he said awkwardly. “It would cost me my job if I went home and told ’em I’d lost Matsie; that dog’s worth a thousand dollars and took first prize at the last dog show. Mrs. Hemming thinks a heap of him.”
“Well, it is easy to lose a small animal like that,” said Father Blossom. “Don’t you think you’d better shut him up in a safe place till you get home?”