Prince Jan, St. Bernard | Page 8

other dogs could explain this mystery,
though Jan went to each in turn for an answer to his question. At last he
lay down, his nose wedged between his paws, his yellow forehead
wrinkled with thought, and he stared across at the tops of the great
white peaks above the enclosure until his soft eyes closed in sleep.
Soon he was dreaming that he was digging travellers from the snow
and asking them, "Won't you please tell me how a dog can save people
in a land where there is no snow?"
But none of them could answer his question.
Chapter III
A NEW WORLD
The next morning Mr. Pixley and Brother Antoine returned to the
kennel yard and Jan wagged his tail politely to show that he recognized
the visitor, who leaned down and patted him while talking to the monk.
"You may be sure he will receive the very best care," said the man from
California.
"We are always treated kindly," Prince Jan hastened to say, and he
glanced at Rollo, who replied, "Of course, we are!"
The two pups did not notice Mr. Pixley's next words, "My little girl will
be delighted with him."
Brother Antoine called, "Here, Jan," and when the little fellow stood
looking up with bright, expectant eyes, the monk fastened a collar
about the dog's neck.
Jan trembled. He was sure that he was now going to be sent out to do

his first work on the trail. It would not be playing this time, but real
work like the big dogs. The collar was stiff but he did not mind the
discomfort, for it meant that he was not a puppy any longer. He twisted
his head to see which of the older dogs was to go out with him, as he
crossed the forbidden line with the monk. The only dog that followed
Jan was his brother, Rollo, and when Brother Antoine ordered, "Go
back, Rollo!" the pup's ears and tail drooped and he slunk back to his
mother as though in disgrace.
"The big dogs must be waiting outside," thought Jan happily, and he
walked proudly beside the monk until he stood on the top step, then he
looked back at his mother, Bruno, Rollo, and the other dogs who were
watching him. Usually they all barked joyously when a pup was to go
out on his first real work, and the noisy barks were advice. Now, the
only sounds were two short barks from Bruno, "Good-bye, Jan!
Remember your father!"
"I will remember him!" he called back, and then he wondered at the
long, despairing howl from his mother. It filled his heart with dread.
"Come, Jan," the monk spoke, and the little fellow turned obediently
toward the door that would shut him from sight of the other dogs. His
feet dragged now, and as he passed through the doorway leading to the
long corridor he looked back once more.
When he stood outside the big entrance door, he saw the snow covering
the mountains and hiding the chasms that he had seen in the summer
when he had been out having his lessons with Rollo. He knew these
smooth, level places held real danger. Then he saw dog tracks leading
in two directions from the steps, but none of the older dogs were
waiting for him. As he looked up with questioning, brown eyes,
Brother Antoine leaned down and fastened a stout rope to the new
collar and handed the end of this rope to Mr. Pixley, who was muffled
in his big, fur coat. A guide was with Mr. Pixley. As they stood there a
moment, the door of the Hospice again opened, and this time the
grey-eyed man and another guide came out. The kind, grey eyes looked
at Jan, then the man stooped over and patted him gently, and no one but
the dog heard the pitying voice that said, "Poor little Prince Jan!

Good-bye!"
Brother Antoine lifted Jan's nose and the pup looked into the monk's
eyes, but there was something he did not understand. It was all so
different from what the other dogs had told him. He felt the rope tug his
collar and knew that he must follow this stranger. He heard again a
heart-rending howl from his mother, "Good-bye, Jan, good-bye!"
Bruno's voice blended with hers, and then the voices of all the dogs Jan
knew and loved mingled in that call. Something hurt him all over, but
most of the hurt was in his heart.
He halted suddenly, pulled stiffly on the rope and the wild cry he sent
in response echoed mournfully from the high, white crags and died
away to a whispering moan, as Prince Jan, with low-hanging head and
drooping tail, travelled down the path that his ancestors