Prince Jan, St. Bernard | Page 5

of it. Now they
bunched themselves into furry balls with their heads against their
mother's soft breast, as she began: "In the Big Room are many beautiful
pictures that have been sent from travellers rescued by our kinsfolk.
Sometimes a handsome collar is sent to a dog that has saved a life, but
the greatest honor of all was the medal that was given to Barry, and the
beautiful marble monument that you puppies have seen near the
Hospice. Your father had a collar sent to him by the men he saved.
They knew he would never wear it, but they asked that it be hung above
the fireplace in the Big Room. Some day, I hope you, Jan and Rollo,
will have collars there. Now, run and play," she ended, giving each pup
a push with her nose. "Even though you cannot go out to-day, you must
romp, for that will make your backs and legs strong. If you are not
strong you will be sent away from the Hospice and never come back.
That is a terrible thing for a St. Bernard. I don't want it to happen to

either of you!"
Though it was so cold and stormy, the two dogs leaped to their feet and
ran through the half-shut door that led to the big enclosure. Jan was
ahead, and Rollo scampered after him. Around and around the yard
they went, dodging each other until Rollo managed to catch the tip of
his brother's fuzzy tail. This did not make Jan stop running, so Rollo
was dragged after him through the heaps of snow, rolling over and over
but clinging tightly until Jan turned and pounced upon him. They
tumbled about, sometimes Jan was on top, sometimes Rollo, and they
looked like a huge, yellow spider with eight sturdy, furry legs kicking
wildly. At last, panting, they sprawled facing each other with pink
tongues hanging from their open mouths and eyes twinkling merrily.
The sound of Brother Antoine's voice made them look up quickly, and
they saw two visitors were with him. The dogs were accustomed to
visitors, for in the summer many people came to see the Hospice and
the dogs, but in the winter the strangers sought refuge from storms.
"Come on, Rollo," called Jan, as the monk and the men with him came
down the steps. "There's Brother Antoine. I'll beat you to him! Show
him how fast we can run!"
Before Jan had finished, the two puppies were tearing madly toward the
monk and the other men. One of these strangers wore a long fur
overcoat, the other was a much younger man with kindly grey eyes. Jan
won the race, but was going so fast that he could not stop until he
bumped against this grey-eyed man, who smiled and leaned down to
pat him. Jan squirmed around and touched the hand with his nose, then
edged nearer Brother Antoine, who called the dogs about him.
It was a splendid sight to see them cross the enclosure, their great heads
held proudly, their eyes beaming with intelligence and kindness, the
strong muscles moving beneath the tawny skins, as though each one of
them, old and young, understood that the honor of his forefathers must
be guarded from any act that would injure it.
Bruno limped slowly, Jan's mother walked sedately beside him, back of

them were Jupitiére, Junon, Mars, Vulcan, Pluton, Leon, and among the
older dogs came those the same age as Jan and Rollo, followed by the
mothers with still smaller puppies. They reached a place in the yard
where all of them stopped, and though the man in the fur coat, who
stood a distance back of Brother Antoine and the younger man, called
to them, the dogs only wagged their tails and did not go any closer.
"You will have to come further," said the monk. "The dogs know that
they must not cross to you, for the first thing a puppy learns is to
respect the boundary line."
The fur-coated man moved to where Brother Antoine and the other man
stood, then the dogs grouped about while the monk talked to the
visitors.
"They seem to understand every word you say," the old man spoke.
"Their eyes are so intelligent."
"They are living sermons on obedience, loyalty, and self-sacrifice,"
answered Brother Antoine's gentle voice. "Not one of these dogs would
hesitate to risk his life to save his most bitter enemy. That has been
their heritage for almost a thousand years, now."
"Natural instinct counts for a great deal," the grey-eyed man spoke as
he looked into the upturned faces of the dogs, "but the patient training
you give them has developed it."
"The older dogs help us teach the youngsters," went on the monk,
whose hand rested