"I wish the children could see Jan now!"
"I wish the children could see Jan now!" said Mr. Melville, and then he told the captain about finding Jan and the story in the paper that had brought the dog back to his master.
Hippity-Hop had been very lonely after Jan's disappearance, and the dog did not dream that the three-legged kitten had mewed and mewed for him until the old captain picked her up in his arms and said, "He will come back to us some day, Hippity-Hop." And each day the old man, with the kitten at his side, sat on the front porch watching down the road.
The morning after Jan's return, Mr. Melville came again to the bungalow and he and the captain called Jan to get in the automobile with them. Hippity-Hop's forlorn little face peered between the curtains of the front window, but none of them heard her plaintive cry as they all vanished from her sight. When the automobile stopped, Jan saw a grey building of stones with windows crossed by iron bars. He followed his friends into a large room where several men were seated. They spoke to the captain and Mr. Melville, and all looked at Jan, patting his head for some reason, as they talked of him.
Then Jan, the captain, and Mr. Melville followed another man through long dim hallways that had doors on either side, very close together. One of these doors was unlocked, and as Jan and his friends passed through, the door was shut and locked again.
They were in a dingy room with grey walls, the only window being high up and criss-crossed by bars. It was a very small window. On a cot in a corner of the room sat a man. He turned his head toward them and when he saw the dog, he jumped to his feet, calling, "Jan!"
"Woof!" answered the dog in surprise as he leaped toward the man.
Shorty dropped on his knees and took Jan's head between his hands, talking to the big dog as though talking to a little child whom he loved very dearly. Jan did not know, nor would he have cared had he known, that Shorty was in jail. He only knew that this was his friend who had tried to protect him from William's abuse. And all the while, Captain Smith and the artist were watching them with kindly eyes.
At last, Shorty rose and sat on his narrow cot, with his two visitors on either side, and Jan, planted right in front of Shorty, turned his head from one to the other as though he were trying to understand what they were talking about so earnestly. Shorty's hand stroked Jan's head, and every once in awhile the man would say, "I'm so glad you found him."
"You love dogs, don't you?" asked the old poundmaster, as they rose to go.
Shorty looked down at Jan for a second, then answered, "I never had any friends in my life excepting dogs."
They left Shorty alone in the little grey room and went back to the men in the big room, where the sun streamed across the floor like a tiny river of gold, but back in the other room the window was so high and so small that the sun could not shine through it at all. Shorty did not think about that now.
The captain talked to the men, who listened attentively, and finally he said, "Judge, I don't believe that any one who loves dogs and is kind to them is bad all the way through. Shorty says he never had a friend in his life except dogs."
"I do not think he is naturally bad," answered the judge, who sat in a big chair back of a high desk. "From what I can learn, he has been under William Leavitt's control since they were children. Shorty tried to get away from his brother twice, but each time William found and punished him so brutally that the boy was afraid to venture again. There are scars on Shorty's feet made by a hot iron the last time he tried to escape from his brother. Shorty is not quite nineteen yet. That is how he comes under the Juvenile Court."
"Judge," exclaimed the captain, his face alight with eager pleading, "you know there's lots of people that folks call bad, who would be decent if they had a chance. Can't you give Shorty a chance to show that he wants to make good? Send him some place where his brother can't find him?"
"Your Honor," the artist spoke now, "if there is any way to arrange it, I would like to take the lad up to Roseneath and we will try to help him make good in our Land of Make-Believe, as we call our home."
Jan did not understand what they were saying, but he knew it had something to do with Shorty and that the captain was talking very earnestly, so the dog edged between his two friends and stood watching the man at the high desk, for all in the room were looking at him. This man was very quiet, and seemed to be thinking, then he looked up and said, "Bring Shorty in here."
A few minutes passed in silence, then the door swung open and Shorty shuffled through it. He blinked in the bright sunlight and ducked his head as though he were afraid to look up at them all. Jan moved quickly and pushed his nose into Shorty's hand. The face above him lighted with a sudden, winning smile. The judge watched them both but did not speak. Then Shorty remembered where he was and raised his head to face the man on the high platform. That man was looking with very kindly eyes at the lad and the dog.
"Shorty," the judge spoke very plainly, "if I give you two years' suspended sentence and let you go with Mr. Melville to live on his ranch, will you try to make good?"
Shorty only stared stupidly. The judge repeated his words more slowly and added, "We will not let it be known where you are, so you need have no fear of William. I want to know if you will give me your solemn promise—your word of honor—to do your very best?"
Shorty's face twitched, his eyes blinked fast, his hands reached out as if he were feeling for some other hand to grasp. The hands hesitated, groped, then one hand moved upward across his face as though to brush something away that kept him from seeing plainly. Those in the room watched but made no sound.
"Do you mean it, Judge?" the lad's voice was low and husky, but there was a tone of pleading in it. "You ain't just fooling, are you, Judge?"
"No," the judge spoke very firmly, "I'm not fooling, Shorty. You are going to get your chance."
They saw Shorty fling himself down on his knees beside Prince Jan and pull the dog close to him, while racking sobs shook the boy's shoulders. Jan twisted around to lick Shorty's face and comfort him, for the dog did not know his friend was crying from happiness. At last Shorty rose to his feet, brushing away the tears with his ragged coat sleeve.
"Judge, I promise you I'll make good or I'll die in the trying," he said, and all those who heard him knew he would do his best.
The judge stepped down from the big chair and put his hand on the boy's shoulder, saying in a kindly voice, "You're bound to make good, Shorty, and we are all your friends!"
The other men shook Shorty's hand, and the judge said, with a smile, "I have a nice collie pup up at my home that I will give you, if Mr. Melville doesn't object."
"We have no dog, now that Prince Jan is gone," the artist answered quickly, "and I promised my wife that I would bring back some kind of a dog for the children. They would be lonesome now, without one. So the pup will be just as welcome as Shorty will be."
Shorty forgot this man was a judge, and smiled at him, asking, "What's the pup's name, please?"
"He is a registered pup with a long fancy name, but we just call him 'Pup,' so you can pick out a name to suit yourself."
"I'm going to call him 'Prince Jan'!" announced the boy, and all agreed that it was a fine name for any pup.
They shook hands once more with Shorty and wished him good luck, and when the boy walked from the room, he held his head high. A smile was on his lips and hope in his eyes. Mr. Melville walked beside him.
That evening when Jan, Hippity-Hop, Cheepsie, and the captain were sitting together, the old man looked at the dog and said, "Jan, your ancestors rescued travellers from the snow, but to-day you helped Shorty get a new start in life, and that is a bigger thing than if you had saved him from death in the Alps."
The dog did not understand the words, but he knew that the smile was the same happy smile that came when the old poundmaster had found a good home for one of the friendless dogs. So Jan was happy, too.
Chapter XII
THE POUNDMASTER'S PROBLEM
FOR several days after Shorty had gone on his way to the Land of Make-Believe with Mr. Melville, life ran very quietly and happily for Prince Jan and his friends in the little bungalow on the cliffs. Then he began to notice that Captain Smith was worried, and when Jan poked his nose into the hand of his friend, though the hand stroked the dog's head, the poundmaster did not smile and his eyes looked as if he saw something Jan could not see. It worried Jan, though he could do nothing but lie quietly with his anxious eyes fixed on the old man's face.
One evening after supper a loud knock at the door caused the dog to look up quickly, while Hippity-Hop jumped with fuzzed tail and excited eyes. The captain opened the door and two men came in. They shook hands with him and sat down in the chairs he pushed forward. The two men looked around the room, stared at the dog, then turned to Jan's master. The look on the poundmaster's face made the dog feel certain that these men had something to do with the old man's worry, so Jan went over and sat close to him, resting his big head on the captain's knee.
"Is that the dog that was stolen?" one of the visitors asked at last.
"Yes," replied the captain. "This is Prince Jan. He was sent to the pound almost dead with mange and orders through the stableman that the dog was to be killed because he was vicious. But," the poundmaster smiled down at the dog that was gazing with loving eyes into his face, "you see, all he needed was kind treatment and proper care."
"I understand, Smith," the other man now spoke in a voice that sounded cross to Jan, "that you are violating the City ordinances, and are keeping the dogs that are brought to the pound. They are sent here to be killed, not kept."
"I find homes for them all," the old man hastened to say, "and it only takes a short time to find people who will give them good homes. Not one of the dogs that has been brought here since I had charge has been vicious. Those that seemed dangerous at first grew gentle and kind as soon as they found no one would hurt them."
"Of course, we know how you feel about them, but the City hires you to kill the dogs if their owners do not claim or want them. People complain that you keep the dogs and feed them at the public expense. We can't have that, you know."
Captain Smith rose, and the hand he held out suddenly toward the two men was trembling. "I don't know who told you that," he said earnestly, "and I don't believe that whoever did say it meant to tell an untruth, but the only dogs that are fed at public cost are those for which I am allowed money. After any dog has been with me for more than a week, I pay for his food myself."
The two strange men looked at each other and were silent a few minutes. Finally one of them spoke again,
"I'm sorry, Smith, but you will have to get rid of the dogs. The pound is not a boarding place for stray dogs, and the fact that you pay for their feed after a certain time does not change matters."
The old man sat down in his chair as though he were very tired, and stared at the floor until he felt Jan's nose, and then he looked into the dog's sympathetic eyes. The wrinkled hand twitched, but the old man's kindly face turned to the other man.
"I know you can't change the law," he said slowly, "but if you could let me have a little more time, I can find homes for all the dogs that are here now. There are only ten, beside Prince Jan, and he belongs to me. See"—he pushed aside the thick hair on the dog's neck—"I bought a collar and a license for him, and he has never eaten a mouthful of food except what I have paid for myself."
"Too many people have complained," was the reply. "The dogs are noisy, and no one is allowed to have so many dogs inside the city limits. You know it is against the law, Smith. That settles it."
Both men rose to their feet and looked at the old man, but at the door they stopped and talked together in low voices. Then one of them turned and said, "We don't want to be too hard on you, for we know you love dogs, so we will give you two days to find places for them. After that, the dogs that are still here must be killed, or you will have to resign your position as poundmaster."
Smith watched them go down the pathway to the front gate, then with low drooping head and slow steps he went back to the little room. Jan pressed closely against him as the old man sank into his chair. Cheepsie flew from his cage and perched on the captain's shoulder, singing loudly, and Hippity-Hop, not to be left from the little family group, limped across the room and rubbed, purring, against the old poundmaster's leg. They knew that he was troubled, and all of them tried to make him understand they were sorry for him and loved him.
"We've got to do something for those poor dogs," he said to Jan, at last. "Even if I do give up my job it won't help them, now. I can't find homes for them all in such a short time, Jan. Nearly every one I know here has a dog already, and some of them have two. Folks have been mighty good taking my dogs."
Cheepsie sang an answer, Hippity-Hop purred her reply, and Prince Jan's tail, thumping the floor, said very plainly that he agreed with his master. The captain smiled at them all, for he understood their languages. "It's bound to work out right, somehow," he asserted cheerfully, and again his three dumb friends answered him.
The next morning Captain Smith left Jan and Hippity-Hop in the front yard. It was the first time the old man had ever carried his violin with him, and he trudged briskly down the street, only stopping when he reached a corner to wave his hand back where Jan and the kitten stood with noses pushed between the pickets of the fence. Jan was worried because it was the first time the captain had gone away from the house without him.
So, while Hippity-Hop climbed trees, chased butterflies, and washed her face and paws many times, the dog kept perfectly quiet, watching for his master's return. A big bark welcomed the captain home as Jan ran down the street to meet him.
"Come along, Jan," the old man was smiling, and the dog trotted beside him into the pound, where the other dogs pulled on their ropes and greeted them noisily.
The poundmaster stopped in front of each dog and fastened a small metal tag to its collar, then he took them all into his own back yard, where they crowded and leaped about him or chased each other in play. One dog was so happy that he kept turning around and around after his own short tail until he was too dizzy to stand up.
"It's a pretty good-sized family, Jan," laughed the old man, as he sat in a chair on the back porch, smoking his pipe and watching the dogs' antics. "They've all got licenses now, so no one can order any of 'em killed for a year. I guess we can find homes for all of them before that time is up."
So, when the two men came again, Captain Smith took them into the back yard and showed the license on each dog's collar, as he said, "I have found homes for five of them already, and to-morrow I'll take the others to a friend in the country. He will look out for them until we have good places for all."
He smiled happily at the dogs, then looked up at the two men, but his smile faded at their next words.
"Well, what do you intend doing with the next bunch you collect?"
"Why, I'll get homes for them, like these others."
"That won't do, Smith. Either you've got to take care of the work as you are ordered, or else let some other man have your place. What are you going to do about it?"
Smith's hand rumpled the fur on Jan's back. The eyes of the dog and the old man met, then the poundmaster lifted his head and said quietly, "I will give up the place. I thought when I took this work that it would give me a chance to make some poor dumb brutes a little happier and more comfortable, but I never intended to shoot one of them. Why, I couldn't do that. They're all my friends!"
"All right," was the answer. "Suit yourself. We'll have another man take charge to-morrow morning."
Without further words the men left, and the captain, followed by Jan, went into the back yard where the ten dogs rushed to meet them. Barking, leaping, tumbling over each other, they struggled to get close to the old man who stood smiling and patting them, while he said softly, "The best friends a man ever had, Jan."
Prince Jan looked at the bunch of dogs, little dogs, big dogs, curs, and dogs of high breeding. No matter where they had come from, they had found a protector in the old poundmaster, but they did not know that he had given up his position because he would not kill them. Even Jan did not know what his master was writing that evening. It took some time to get the letter just right, then it was folded, placed in an envelope, sealed and stamped, and Jan walked with the captain to the letter-box several blocks away.
When they were home again, the old man sat smoking his pipe and nodding, then he got up and wound the clock, for it was Saturday night. As he put the key on top of the clock, he said, "Well, Jan, we'll have to hunt for another job on Monday, but I don't think it will take long for us to find something we can do."
Monday morning people came for the dogs, and the captain patted each of his four-footed friends, before it went to its new home. A man from a ranch brought an automobile, and into this the five dogs which had not yet found permanent homes were lifted. Then the captain took out his worn pocketbook and counted money, which he handed to the rancher.
"Take good care of them for me," said the old man, "and I'll pay for their food until we find homes for them all."
"All right, Smith," the man answered, and then he drove away with the yelping dogs.
It was very quiet in the house and back yard, but Hippity-Hop was glad of it. She had not enjoyed herself while there were so many dogs in the back of the house. After lunch was over, the captain dressed himself in his best clothes, put on his hat, and with Jan at his side, went to many big buildings where he talked earnestly with several men.
They were very kind to him, patted Jan, and promised they would let the captain know if they saw any work he could do. Jan saw that his old friend seemed tired after they had been to several places, and when the dog thrust his nose into the captain's hand, the faded eyes would smile bravely, as the captain said, "It's bound to work out right in the end, Jan."
Day after day, they made these trips, and at night Jan lay watching the face of his master, but the smile was not seen very often now. One evening the old man was more despondent than ever, so even Jan's wistful sympathy failed to rouse him, though the hand caressed the dog. Jan's heart ached, and unable to stand it longer, he pushed his head on the captain's knee and gave a low whimper.
Captain Smith leaned down and lifted the dog's head between his hands and looking into his puzzled eyes, he said slowly, "We're up against it, Jan. My money is gone, and there does not seem to be any work for me to do. Every one is very kind, and all promise to send for me, but it is just because they are sorry. If I were younger, it would be easy to find plenty to do."
Jan licked the gnarled hand and tried to show that he wished he could help, but the only thing he could do was to show the love and sympathy that filled his loyal heart. That night when the light was out and everything was quiet, Jan lay wide awake trying to puzzle out what it all meant, and then he heard a faint sigh and knew that the captain, on his cot, was awake, too. So the dog rose softly and moved to the side of the narrow bed, where he stretched himself on the floor. Presently he felt a hand touch his head and he turned quickly to caress it with his tongue. Then he heard the old man say, "It's bound to work out right some way, Jan!"
The next morning the captain was more cheerful, and when the postman came along the street, the old man called out, "It's a beautiful day, isn't it?"
The postman nodded, then said, "I have a registered letter for you, Captain."
With surprised eyes and quick steps, the old man reached the gate and signed the card. He turned the letter over, stared at it, then smiled and cried out, "It's from my daughter!"
A happy smile illumined his face and his fingers were unsteady as he tore open the envelope, saying, "She and her husband went to Alaska two years ago. I haven't heard anything from them for six months. You see, when winter begins up there, the river freezes solid, so no boats or mail can reach them."
"Well, the postmen up there have an easy time once in a while," replied the letter-carrier as he slung the heavy pouch over his shoulder and went on his way.
The old man sat on the step of the porch and read the letter, which was a long one. Jan knew his master was glad over something, and yet, when the letter was finished, there were tears rolling down the captain's cheeks. Jan edged tightly against him.
"They're all well," said the old man, "and they want us to come and live with them. Look, Jan!" He held out a piece of paper which the dog sniffed at. "That is to pay our way, and we're going to start just as soon as we can pack up. You see, it worked out right in the end!"
Busy hours followed for them all. The captain hurried about the little house, packing things into boxes, and taking down pictures, which he put into a trunk. One picture he held for some minutes, "That was Jenny when she was a little girl, just able to walk, Jan." Then he wrapped it very carefully in a faded blue knitted scarf and placed it in the trunk with the other things. Hippity-Hop scurried about the room, and Cheepsie had a hard time clinging to the old man's shoulder, for he moved so swiftly and kept leaning over the trunk.
It was three o'clock in the afternoon when the trunk was shut and locked and an old carpet-bag stood beside it. The captain's hat was on his head, Cheepsie chirped in his cage that was wrapped tightly with paper, and Hippity-Hop mewed forlornly from a basket, while Jan moved nervously between the bundles and his master, wondering what it all meant. Then a man drove to the door and carried the trunk and valise to his wagon, leaving the captain to pick up the bird-cage and the hamper that held the kitten.
"Come along, Jan," he called cheerfully, and the dog rushed ahead, turning back to frisk in circles or leap up in front of his friends. Jan was much happier than Hippity-Hop, who was yowling loudly as she stuck one paw through a hole in the basket, and Cheepsie's twitters sounded really cross.
Jan, once again, was put in a baggage car and after a ride of several hours, the captain got him out and led him to a wharf. Jan remembered his trip in the boat when he came to the Land of No Snow. He hesitated to go up the plank walk, but the captain smiled and said, "It's all right, Jan. Come along!" and then the dog trotted fearlessly along the boards that led to the deck of the big boat. Everything was confusion, but Jan did not worry when his master led him down into the lower part of the boat, under the deck. After tying Jan, the old man gave him a final pat and said, "I'll be back soon, Jan"; and the dog, knowing everything was all right, stretched on his side and closed his eyes. He was tired from the trip, the excitement of packing, and from those days of worry before the letter came that made the captain happy again. So he was very glad to have nothing to do, nothing to think about.
Then the boat trembled and puffed, and Prince Jan knew that he and Hippity-Hop and Cheepsie and their loved master were going somewhere together, and he was satisfied.
Chapter XIII
THE VOICES OF THE HOSPICE DOGS
Prince Jan could not tell how many days and nights passed while the boat throbbed on its way. He grew accustomed to the motion and as the captain came often each day to see him and talk to him, and many other people also visited him, Jan found life very pleasant.
Among his visitors was a pretty young woman with big brown eyes and a gentle voice. Nearly always a little child was in her arms, or held by the hand, for it was just beginning to walk. Captain Smith and these two seemed to be great friends. Many times he carried the baby in his arms and it laughed up in his face when he held it down to pat Jan's head. The dog watched for them every day, and he was never disappointed. Once, the captain brought Hippity-Hop to see Jan, and the kitten purred loudly and rubbed against the dog's legs, while Jan poked her gently with his nose. The old man chuckled, "You haven't forgotten each other, have you?" Then he picked up the kitten and carried it away.
That night, without warning, everything seemed to change, somehow. The boat leaped and jumped as though it were frightened at the big waves that washed against and over it. The night was dark, and down in the hold of the vessel it was still darker. Jan listened to men running overhead, voices called loudly and then came a sudden crash. The boat quivered as though it were hurt.
Jan was thrown so heavily against the side of the boat that he lay gasping for breath, then he dragged himself to his feet. Swaying with the jerky motion, but managing to brace himself, he peered through the inky darkness toward the steps leading to the deck. Again he heard the hurried feet, the loud voices of men, and this time there were cries of women and children, too.
He knew something was not right, and as he pulled with all his strength on the rope that held him, and strained his eyes toward the stairway, he heard a sound that made him give a loud bark of joy.
"All right, Jan!" his master was calling through the darkness, "I'm coming!"
The dog whimpered and licked the hands that fumbled at the rope which was tied to the side of the boat. With a leap and yelp of joy, Jan scrambled up the stairs ahead of his master, and both of them reached the deck.
It was very early in the morning and the sky was heavy with dark clouds. The wind screamed and big waves tossed so high that at times the boat appeared to be down in the bottom of a great hole. Although the vessel jerked, groaned, creaked and crunched, it did not move forward. When the water washed back a few minutes, Jan saw jagged rocks poking up and felt the boat pounding on them. He could not understand it at all, and as he looked up with puzzled eyes at his master, he saw the old man was staring straight ahead at a strip of land not very far away, where a lot of people were running about in a great hurry.
One of the boat crew ran past Jan, carrying a rope. Other men were fastening queer looking rings about the bodies of women and children, while still more men were lowering a little boat into the water. But as soon as it touched the waves, it was turned on end and smashed like an egg-shell against the side of the ship. Jan, standing with his legs braced firmly, saw the frightened women and children huddled together. Most of them were very quiet, but some were crying. A few were kneeling on the wet deck, and though their eyes were shut, Jan knew they were not asleep, for their lips were moving as if they were talking to some one whom he could not see.
The shore did not seem very far away, and Jan saw men pushing a little boat into the water. They leaped into it quickly and grabbed up oars.
"Thank God!" said the old poundmaster to a man who stood beside him and Jan. "The Life Guards will save the women and children!"
"There is no Life Saving Station here," Jan heard a woman's voice reply. He looked up and saw the pretty lady beside his old master. Her face was very white and she held her baby tightly in her arms, while she stared at the place where the tiny boat was being shoved into the sea by men who stood waist-deep in the rushing water. Then the boat shot high on a wave and started toward the ship. Those on the shore joined in the cheers that sounded on the stranded ship; but even as they cheered, a bigger wave snatched at the boat and overturned it, dumping all the men into the sea. The little boat was dashed on the beach, but those who had been rowing it bobbed about in the water until helped to land.
A group of men, who had been talking with a man wearing a cap trimmed with gold braid, now carried a rope to the side of the ship and tossed it swiftly toward land. Men on the shore were trying to launch another boat, and every one on the ship leaned forward watching them. The waves carried the rope some distance forward, and then tossed it back against the ship's side as though playing with it, just as a cat plays with a mouse. Tangled and twisted, the rope rose on the crest of a high wave, then dropped from sight, only to bob up once more, and all the time drifting further from land.
"The vessel will be driftwood in half an hour more! She is breaking amidships!" the man beside Jan was speaking again to the poundmaster. "No boat can live in such a sea and no man can swim it."
Captain Smith looked down at Jan. "It doesn't count so much with us, Jan," he said, "but it's the women and children. Maybe you can help them. Come!"
The dog started at the sound of command and followed his master across the water-washed deck to the group of ship's officers who were gathered around the captain of the boat. All were talking earnestly when old Captain Smith and Jan pushed between them.
"Maybe Jan can take the rope to shore," said the poundmaster, while his hand rested on Jan's wet fur. "He's a splendid swimmer and isn't afraid of the water."
The man with the gold-trimmed cap looked down at the dog whose intelligent eyes turned from face to face as though doing his best to find out why they were all looking at him, and what they wanted.
"It is too much to expect of a dog," said the man, shaking his head. "Even if he were strong enough, he could not understand."
"Jan understands everything I tell him," insisted the old man, "and it wouldn't be any harm to try him. When he once knows what we want him to do, he will do it or die in trying."
Just then the boat lurched badly and the people slipped and slid on the slanting, wet deck, but Jan did not move. His firm muscles stiffened, he braced himself steadily and his strong back straightened. The group of officers began talking again and Jan heard them say something about his strength to Captain Smith. A heavier wave lifted the ship from the rocks then dropped her back on the jagged edges that were stabbing her to the heart, while she writhed and groaned like a living thing in agony begging for help.
The ship's captain turned his eyes on the group of women and children, then to the shore, as though he were measuring the distance across the raging water that boomed between the boat and land. Slowly he turned back to the old man and the dog.
"He may be able to do it, if you can make him understand," he said at last. Then he added in a low voice, "It is our only hope!"
Jan saw these men all were looking at him and then the ship's captain spoke.
"If the dog can reach shore with the light rope so we can attach the heavier one, we can rig up a breeches-buoy with the boatswain's chair, and the women and children could ride safely, for we could lash them to it."
Captain Smith leaned down and took Jan's head between trembling hands. The dog and he looked into each other's eyes, and those who watched the two, felt a little thrill of hope. The animal seemed struggling to grasp the meaning of the old man's words. A bit of rope was in the captain's hand, he held it to Jan, who sniffed, then looked back at his master.
Still holding the piece of rope, Captain Smith led the dog to the side of the boat and pointed at the tangled coils that washed on the surface of the waves a short distance away.
"Go get it, Jan!" called the old man sharply.
The people on the deck crowded more closely, and the dog braced himself to spring, but just then a huge wave rose high over the vessel, the white-crested tip hissing like an angry snake, and Jan looked down, down, down into a dark hole and below it gleamed the jagged peaks of the reef, like threatening teeth of a hidden monster. He knew the danger. Drawing back he turned pleading eyes on his master.
"Go, Jan," said the voice he loved, but this time it did not command, it begged.
The big wave slipped back, others rose behind it, each one tipped with white foam, and between those waves were deep, dark hollows. Jan looked at them, and as he looked, something changed those white-capped things into snowy peaks of the mountains around the Hospice, while the dark places between were changed to chasms and crevasses, where Barry, Pluto, Pallas, Rex and all the dogs of the Hospice had travelled year after year for ten centuries past. He heard their voices calling him. Jan's ears cocked up, his body quivered, his muscles stiffened, his nose pointed high in the air and the cry he sent back to the calls of his kin was clear and strong like the music of a wonderful, deep-toned bell. Then he braced himself and leaped far out into the water that caught him like many strong arms and dragged him under the waves.
With all his great strength Jan fought his way to the surface and as he rose, something struck against him. He turned quickly to see what new danger threatened, and then he saw the rope and remembered what he had been told.
"Go get it, Jan!" his master had said.
"Then the roaring in his ears turned to the voices of the Hospice dogs—'The duty of a St. Bernard is to save lives!'"
The dog caught the squirming rope between his teeth, and as he did so, he heard distinctly the cheers of those on the stranded ship echoed by those on the shore before he was pulled down beneath the waves again; but he clung to the rope. When he reached the surface, Jan saw his master leaning far over the edge of the deck, pointing toward the land.
Then he understood, and without a moment's hesitation he flung his body away from the direction of the boat and faced the shore, while the rope trailed behind him, often dragging him back with terrific jerks. The force of the waves tossed him high on dizzy crests, then he was dropped swiftly into depths of seething water. His breath came in painful gasps between his tightly clinched teeth, the water rang in his ears and he was half-blinded by the stinging salt spray that cut like a sharp knife across his eyes.
In spite of his struggles he seemed no nearer the land. Back of him he could see the swaying masts of the boat, and at times the whole length of the deck with people crowded together. Jan, dazed and almost exhausted, turned to swim back to his master and safety. His paws beat the waves more feebly, but his teeth still held the rope. Down, down, down he sank, and over his head rolled the white-crested mountains of water. Then the roaring in his ears turned to the voices of the Hospice dogs. The voices of Barry Bruno, Rex and Jan's mother sounded clearly. Other dogs joined in the chorus until Jan knew that he heard the voices of all the dogs that had ever lived in the Hospice. Hundreds and hundreds of deep notes, like the bells of the Hospice sending a message to him. "The duty of a St. Bernard is to save lives!"
He fought with new strength, and as his head rose above the waves, the rope still dragging along, he heard cheers that grew nearer and louder, but this time the voices came from the land. A breaker curled high, dashed furiously over him and then it carried him with a rush to the beach and flung him, gasping and exhausted, high on the sand, but the end of the rope was clutched tightly between his teeth. He held it, even when men tried to take it from him, but the hands were kindly and as his jaws relaxed he was lifted gently and carried where the cruel waves could not touch him again.
Jan was too tired to open his eyes when some one knelt beside him and stroked his wet hair, and a man's voice said huskily, "You wonderful, brave fellow!"
Cheers sounded loud and long, and at last Jan opened his eyes and lifted his head wearily for a second. Before it dropped again to the sand, he saw men on the shore working with another, heavier rope, and some one called out, "Thank God! They got it that time!"
Jan staggered to his feet and with wobbling legs moved a few steps forward. Then he forgot his weariness and aching muscles and stood watching something strange, something that made women near him cry, and the men cheer wildly.
A rope reached from the shore to the stranded ship, and something was moving slowly along that rope toward the land. Jan's feet were in the surf, but he did not know it as he, too, watched and saw a chair, and in that chair was a woman.
She was seized by eager hands and lifted down among them, laughing and crying and saying, "Oh, quick! Save the others!"
Again and again the chair travelled over the waves that leaped up to clutch it, but the rope was firm. And once when a woman was carried in the chair, a man on the shore gave a big cry of joy as he clasped her in his arms. Jan recognized the pretty lady, but she did not have her baby in her arms this time. Then every one was silent, only a woman's sob sounded softly, and the pretty lady stood staring across the water, where high above the waves swung a big leather mailbag. It came nearer and nearer, and men went far out into the surf to steady it, until it was unfastened, lifted down, opened, and the pretty lady, crying and laughing, held her baby in her arms, and the child laughed back at them all.
Men cheered and cheered, and from the ship came answering cheers, while the mother and father of the child knelt down beside the dog, saying, "You saved her, Prince Jan!"
The dog watched vainly for his master. Trip after trip brought men and women to the land, and each one was welcomed wildly. Then Jan, still watching, gave a great "Woof!" and rushed out into the water. The chair was approaching the shore, and in the chair was Jan's master. A basket was held in the old man's lap and on it was fastened a bird cage with a badly frightened canary. Through a break in the basket waved Hippity-Hop's furry paw. Those on the shore scattered as Prince Jan raced among them uttering hysterical yelps until his master stood safely beside him and leaned down catching the dog's long, soft ears and pulling them gently, while he said over and over, "Jan, Prince Jan! I knew you would do it!"
And so, ninety-one people were brought safely to shore in the boatswain's chair with the rope that Prince Jan had carried, and the baby that had ridden in the mail sack was kissed and hugged by all those who could get near her.
Then Prince Jan followed the captain, the pretty lady, and the man who walked beside her with the baby perched high on his shoulder, and who had his other arm around the waist of the baby's mother. A tiny paw reached out of the hamper Captain Smith was carrying, and the dog felt the tap of Hippity-Hop's paw on his ear. He turned at the touch and put his nose to the basket, and then he saw Cheepsie, fluttering in the cage that was gripped by the old captain's other hand.
The little party reached the top of a bluff and turned around to look across the rough waves. The deserted ship reeled sideways. Water rose and hid it an instant. When next they looked, there was nothing but the sky with threatening clouds and the wind-lashed sea.
No one spoke as they went up the pathway of a little house where the pretty lady lived. The door was opened, they entered, and then the pretty lady knelt suddenly beside Jan and kissed his head.
"God bless you, Prince Jan!" she whispered.
And though the dog did not understand it, he was very happy because he knew they were all glad.
Chapter XIV
A FIRESIDE STORY
That evening, after supper, while Jan dozed in front of the fireplace with its cheerful, glowing logs, and Hippity-Hop curled in a tight ball between his paws, he did not know that the captain was telling how Jan had been brought to the pound, sick from neglect and vicious from abuse, to be killed.
The eyes of the young mother filled with tears, and she glanced from the sleeping dog to a door leading into another room, where her baby was lying, safe and warm. But when she stooped, suddenly and stroked the dog's head gently, his eyes opened, his tail thumped the floor, and then Jan went to sleep again, for he was very tired.
And while he took his second nap, the father of the baby explained to the captain that he was the doctor in the little town, and had it not been for Prince Jan, the pretty little mother and her child would never have come back to the home on the bluff, after their visit to friends in California.
"Prince Jan was born in the Hospice," the old man told them. "He was only a puppy when Mr. Pixley brought him to California. To me, it never seemed just right, taking him away from the place where he belonged and where he could have been so useful, and then to treat him so cruelly. Of course, the Pixleys didn't know the truth, but that didn't help poor Jan."
The doctor turned and knelt down, studying the sleeping dog, then he rose and went back to his chair.
"I took a walking tour of Switzerland after I finished my studies in Europe," he said, at last. "So that was how I happened to be at the Hospice the day that dog was taken away. I had heard one of the monks tell about this dog's father, who died saving travellers on an ice-bridge. I went on my way toward Italy, and I saw this dog start down the trail to Martigny, the opposite direction. I have never forgotten the pitiful look in his eyes nor the call he gave as he was led away. I felt then that it was a tragedy, but never had an idea of what the poor little fellow would have to suffer. Nor had I any idea that the lives of my dear ones would be saved through him!"
"The only thing I ever knew about the St. Bernard dogs was that they lived at the Hospice and went out to hunt lost people in the snow," the captain spoke. "You are the first one I ever knew who had been there. I wish I could have seen it and those splendid dogs!"
"You know, the Pass of Great St. Bernard is the main road of travel between Italy and Switzerland," the doctor went on, and his wife leaned forward as eagerly as Jan's master to hear about Jan's birthplace. "It was through this Pass that Napoleon Bonaparte led his army of soldiers, single file and afoot, in the month of May, 1800!"
"I have read about that march," interrupted the old man, "and I know what it meant, with food and ammunition and those big guns to haul. You see, I served all through the four years of the Civil War."
"May is the most dangerous time in the Alps, for the snow melts and slides in great avalanches, often catching people with no chance for escape. When I stood on the stone steps of the Hospice, where many feet have worn little hollows, and I remembered how many people would never have reached those steps without the dogs' help, I felt that though Napoleon was a great general and a brave man, the dogs of the Hospice were just as great and just as brave. And the monument to Barry, near the old Hospice, was as fine in my eyes as the beautiful white marble one that Napoleon built in memory of General de Sais, who died on that trip, and which is in the chapel of the Hospice. Both the general and Barry did their duty, as they saw it."
The little mother interrupted him, her eyes shining and her hands held out. "Napoleon made that march for his own glory and ambition, and to kill those who opposed his way," she said, "but Barry and the other dogs risked death each day to save lives, with no thought of gain for themselves."
"That's what I was thinking," the old captain nodded and spoke.
"What surprised me most," continued the doctor, "was that the monks who live in the Hospice do not ask pay for anything they do. The people who stop there do not even have to pay for the food that is eaten. When I asked how much I owed for shelter and food those two days I was there, they smiled and told me there was no charge. Of course, I could not leave in that way, and when I insisted, I learned there was a little box in the Monastery Chapel for purely volunteer offerings. No one ever watches that box, and no one is ever asked to put anything into it. And yet," he finished after a little pause, "often as many as five or six hundred people have stopped at the Hospice in one day. I was told that between twenty and twenty-five thousand people pass over the trail each year. Then when one remembers that for a thousand years the ancestors of Prince Jan have been travelling those trails and saving lives, one can understand the splendid work of those monks and the dogs."
"And to-day," the little mother's voice trembled, "dear old Prince Jan proved himself worthy of his ancestors and his heritage."
"Barry saved forty-two lives. His skin has been mounted and stands, wonderfully life-like, in the Museum of Berne," the doctor said, thoughtfully. "He did the work in the familiar places, the work he had been trained to do; but to-day, there were ninety-two lives saved by Prince Jan, with only his wonderful intelligence to guide him through the sea and make him hold fast to that rope."
For several moments none of them spoke, but their eyes were on the dog that slept quietly at their feet, while the little three-legged kitten snuggled closely against his breast and purred loudly.
"One of the most pitiful sights at the Hospice is the House of the Dead, a short distance from the Hospice. Those who have never been identified sleep there. Sometimes, you see, the dogs and monks are too late, or the avalanches of melting snow uncover people who have been buried months, or even years. The Hospice is built on solid rock, so there is no place to dig graves. Not a tree grows within seven miles of the buildings, because it is so cold, and there is no earth for the roots. It is a bare, desolate place at all times."
"Jan must have been bewildered, going from such a place to a home in California," the little mother spoke. "And yet, see how he worked out his life and made himself worthy!"
The doctor lighted a cigar and leaned back in his big chair. "The snow at the Hospice is not like snow in other places," he finally said. "You know how, usually, it clings in masses, and when trodden upon it packs firmly; but in the Alps during a storm, the snow freezes as it falls and forms into little hard pellets. These tiny lumps of ice pile up around a traveller, and when he tries to push onward he sinks as though in a bed of quicksand. Unless help is at hand he soon is buried out of sight. The winds sweep fiercely through the passes between the mountain peaks, and send terrible, whirling clouds of snow that cut the face and blind the eyes, and many times a wanderer plunges over a precipice that he cannot see, or worn by struggles, he sinks exhausted to die. Then, there are the ice-bridges. What I am telling will give only a faint idea of the importance of the work of those magnificent dogs of the Hospice. And there is something that is not generally known, but is just as heroic. The monks who go to the Hospice volunteer for that work, knowing fully that five years up there in the altitude and intense cold mean practically the end of their lives. It ruins their lungs, and so, after a time, they go quietly down into the milder air of the Valley of the Rhone, in France, and there they wait cheerfully during the short span of life ahead of them. Only the young and strong monks are sent to the Hospice."
After the doctor ceased speaking they all sat silently and watched the blazing logs, for each of the listeners, as well as the doctor, was thinking of the sacrifice and unselfishness of those monks, and the brave loyalty of their dog-friends on the trail.
"I wish I had enough money to send Prince Jan back to his own work and home," the captain said wistfully. "Maybe, though, I can manage it some day," he added more hopefully. "I feel as if he ought to be there with the others."
"You are right," agreed the doctor, and his wife nodded her head quickly. "Jan's work, his kin, his home, lie back there at the Hospice. I owe the lives of my wife and my baby to him, and if you are willing to let him go back there, I will take him back to the Hospice myself. But, won't you miss him?"
"It would make me as happy as it would make him, to know he was back there again," answered the old man eagerly, as he stooped over and caressed the dog's head.
Jan, in his sleep, recognized the touch and swished his tail lightly, but he did not open his eyes, and he never knew what the doctor and the captain had been talking about that evening.
But when it was known in the little town that the doctor was planning to take Prince Jan back to the Hospice, and those who had been saved from the ship heard the story of the dog, every one wanted to help. The newspaper printed the story of Prince Jan and his ancestors, and then people kept coming to see him, and most of them brought money for the trip back to the Hospice.
A beautiful collar of silver was made for him, and on it were engraved the words,
A TOKEN OF GRATITUDE FROM THE NINETY-TWO PEOPLE WHOSE LIVES WERE SAVED BY PRINCE JAN, WHEN ALL HOPE WAS LOST.
With this collar was a purse of money sufficient to pay Jan's passage home, and a nice sum left over to give to the monks who cared for the dogs at the Hospice.
But the biggest surprise of all came when Captain Smith found that he, too, was to make the trip to the Hospice with the doctor and Prince Jan.
The old man wrote a letter to his daughter, explaining everything and saying he would come to her as soon as he and the doctor could get back.
Jan did not know what all the excitement in the little home meant, but every one patted him or spoke kindly, and the old captain's eyes were shining all the time, as he trotted about the rooms, whistling.
Chapter XV
AN UNFORGOTTEN TRAIL
Once again Jan went on a big boat, but he did not worry this time, because his friends were with him. Hippity-Hop and Cheepsie had been left with the doctor's wife until the captain should return for them.
The voyage was followed by travelling in a train, and each day of the whole journey the doctor and captain visited Jan. When he was on the train, his friends took him out of the car a number of times, so he could stretch his legs and run about on the ground while the train waited at a station. It did not take Jan long to understand that if he did not get back in the car he would be left behind. So he watched very carefully and at the first call of the captain or the doctor, he ran swiftly to the right car and jumped in it. Passengers on the long train watched him do this, for he never mistook his own car though there were several others just like the one in which he rode.
Jan wore his silver collar, and wherever he went men and women would look at it, then pat his big head and praise him. He was very happy though he did not know where he and his friends were going.
From the train they stopped at a little town, and early the next morning Jan followed the doctor and the captain to a place where a funny little cart waited them. A sleepy-looking mule was hitched to the cart, and a driver stood at the mule's head. After some talk between the driver and the doctor, the old captain climbed into the cart and the doctor trudged beside it, while the muleteer, as the drivers of these little carts are called, kept near the mule's head. At first Jan followed behind them all, but in a short time he found that the road they were trudging became more steep. Then he trotted ahead and led the way, but looked back often to see that every one was all right.
The town where they had spent the night was perched on a high bluff overlooking a noisy, scurrying little river that seemed in a great hurry to get some place else. The road Jan now travelled climbed higher and higher, but as he stopped and looked down he could see the river gurgling and hurrying along. It was a queer little stream, and the muleteer called it the Dranse. In places Jan could not see it at all, and then when he thought it had gone in another direction, it popped out, foaming and spluttering as though it thought Jan had been fooled. Sometimes it appeared to be running backward, and then suddenly it seemed to be racing forward, and always it kept playing its game of hide-and-seek with them all, and laughing and dancing like a merry elf or water-sprite. The river kept all of them interested until they stopped at a little village, which the muleteer said was Cantine de Proz.
Here they walked about, while the mule was unhitched and the little wagon was left behind. The captain now climbed on the back of the mule, and the doctor and muleteer walked on either side of him. The road had changed to a narrow, slippery pathway, one side of which dropped down to a deep chasm with a fringe of snow showing here and there.
In front of them loomed mountains, and as the path twisted sharply, Jan stopped short and stared ahead. Far away rose a huge white mountain, and around it grouped peaks of dazzling snow, the first snow Jan had seen since he was a puppy.
The doctor and the old man were watching him, but Jan did not see them. He was remembering things he had almost forgotten. Slowly the mule climbed, and the twisting trail turned and wound higher and higher. Jan lifted his head and sniffed the air that was growing colder. Then as they turned where the path seemed to end, the dog gave a loud bark and dashed ahead of them where something white lay on the ground. Faster and faster his feet flew until he stood in this white patch. His nose touched it and tossed it in little white clouds, he threw himself down and rolled over and over, then jumped to his feet and barked in sharp, excited tones. Again he snapped at it, and then he raced along the trail, frisking like a puppy, while the doctor and the captain kept smiling at each other and nodding their heads.
But not until a tiny cabin was reached, where they all went inside to rest a short time, did Prince Jan recognize the little Rest House and knew that the white trail winding up the mountain side would end at the door of the Hospice.
So, when the old man was perched again on the mule and the travellers started toward the high white peak, Jan did not wait longer, but raced ahead of them, barking as he ran. Up, up, faster and faster, he ran. His heart pounded, his tongue hung far out of his mouth, he plunged his nose into the soft, cold drifts, sometimes stopping to take a big bite, then with yelps of joy he darted on.
And high above the steep trail rose the sharp peaks that shadowed the hundreds of deep gullies: places where the snow never melted, even in summer. And Prince Jan knew that he was following once more the path that his forefathers had trodden.
He stopped quickly and lifted his nose high, then he sent forth the great cry of the St. Bernard dogs. The deep tones echoed from crag to crag, until it sounded as if all the dogs that had ever trodden that trail were answering him.
Another twist of the pathway showed the jagged tips of the highest peaks, and just back of that crest rose the roof of the Hospice. Jan stood still for a second before he sent again that call of his people. Again he heard the voices answering, but this time the answer came from the dogs in the kennel-yards.
Jan trembled with excitement, then he shot forward and did not stop until he had reached the worn stone steps that he remembered so well. The door was closed, but some instinct made him raise his head and give the cry of the trail.
Slowly the big door swung open and Brother Antoine stood looking with puzzled eyes at a St. Bernard dog that he did not know. But Jan had not forgotten. He reared on his hind legs and let his front paws drop lightly on the shoulders of the monk. Their eyes were level, and as the dog looked at the monk, Brother Antoine called out, "Why! It is Jan—Prince Jan—come back to us!"
"Woof! Woof!" Jan's voice brought other monks hastily to the door, where Brother Antoine stood patting the big, strange dog that stood with bright shining eyes, looking from one to the other, while his fluffy tail bobbed and wagged furiously.
As they stood talking and wondering how he came there, the doctor and the captain, with the muleteer, came in sight. So the mystery was fully understood.
Inside the Hospice, the monks gathered around to listen to the story of the adventures of Prince Jan since that time when he had been led down the trail to a Land of No Snow. His silver collar was examined and admired, and Jan knew they were all glad that he had come back home.
It was Brother Antoine, though, who said, "Come with me, Prince Jan."
The big dog followed at once. Through the corridors of the Hospice, down a few steps, he went swiftly to the basement, under high archways, and through the open entrance that led into the kennel yard. And then, Jan stood once more in the home of his ancestors, and saw again his own kin.
Panting with excitement, he ran among them all and looked eagerly around. Many of the dogs were strangers to him, but when he saw old Bruno limping slowly across to where he stood, Jan's yelp made the other dogs start, and as he reached Bruno's side and showed that he had not forgotten, Bruno's joy was just as plain. Two tawny streaks flashed up to Jan, sniffed, and then yelped and yelped in wildest excitement; and this time Jan's voice mingled with his mother's and Rollo's, while the other dogs joined until the white mountains sent back the call of the Hospice dogs.
Brother Antoine, smiling happily, patted Jan and left him with the other dogs. But later in the day he returned and bade Jan follow. They went into the Big Room where the captain and the doctor were talking with several travellers and two more monks. They watched the dog move to the side of the old man; then Brother Antoine unfastened the silver collar from Jan's neck and hung it over the fireplace beside the big painting of the St. Bernard dog rescuing a man from the snow.
"It shall hang there so that all who come to the Hospice may see it and hear the story of Prince Jan," said Brother Antoine.
Every one praised Jan, and he then went back to the kennel, where he was quickly surrounded by the other dogs. It was a great day for the St. Bernards, and they were very proud of Jan when he told them the story of his adventures in the strange land where there was never any snow.
Chapter XVI
PRINCE JAN DECIDES
Jan slept soundly that night, and when he woke just before the first peep of day, and saw the other dogs stretched around him, he remembered that he was back home once more with his mother, Rollo, Bruno, and the rest of the Hospice dogs, and that now he would have a chance to do the work of his forefathers.
The soft, deep tones of the Hospice bell called them all to waken for a new day and its work. The voices of the monks singing in the chapel ceased, and at once all the dogs turned expectant eyes toward the corridor, where Brother Antoine appeared with food for their breakfast.
They leaped around the monk, or mauled each other in play, while the hot food was poured into a small trough, and soon Prince Jan was eating his share with the rest of them. They all made way for him, and there was no crowding, growling, or fighting over their morning meal.
When it was over the door leading into the yard was opened and the dogs tumbled out, barking, jumping, knocking each other over, or scampering full tilt in merry play. Rollo and his brother forgot they were grown-up and frisked together as they had done in the days before Prince Jan had been taken to the Land of No Snow.
Once more Brother Antoine stood on the steps watching them, and at last he called Jan, who trotted obediently to him, and followed through the arched corridors and the long hallway until they reached the three doors that opened, one after the other, to the outside steps.
Jan saw the doctor and the captain already there. The old man was mounted on the mule, Ketty, while Pierrot, the driver, waited beside it. The doctor held a long, stout stick.
With a bark of welcome, the dog hurried to them and stood up on his hind legs so he could lick the hand of the captain and feel its gentle touch on his head.
Brother Antoine paused at the top step and watched, but he did not speak as Pierrot called aloud and the mule started briskly down the trail leading to Martigny. The doctor walked beside the mule, and then Jan understood that they were leaving the Hospice.
He stopped and gazed back wistfully. The monk on the step gave no sign, uttered no word to call him back. Sadly Jan turned and moved along the trail behind the mule. The doctor and the captain, and even Pierrot, looked at the dog, but none of them spoke to him.
For some little distance Jan trudged heavily, then he stopped suddenly and twisted for a last look at his home. He saw the high-peaked roof and the snow-clad mountains looming above it, then he turned again to follow the travellers. They were now some distance ahead of him and a jagged cliff hid them from his eyes. Jan did not move.
Through a gap he saw the captain, the doctor, and the guide. They halted this time. They were waiting there for him.
The dog started quickly toward them, but something made him look again where Brother Antoine stood on the steps. Jan hesitated, then he sat down facing the trail toward Martigny. In a few minutes he saw the little procession start on its way. He knew he could catch up with them easily if he ran fast, but still he sat without moving, his eyes fastened on that gap between the mountains.
He lifted his head and sent out the cry of his forefathers, so that the echoes rang again and again. The answering voices died away, there was no sound save the swish of melting snow that slipped down the steep places, and then Prince Jan, St. Bernard, turned and trotted up the trail to the home of his ancestors.
Brother Antoine waited on the top step. As the dog reached him, the monk stooped and patted him, whispering softly, "It is not easy, Prince Jan, when the paths that Love and Duty travel lie far apart."
And so Prince Jan came back to the work of his ancestors, and as the months passed by he saved many lives and was very happy. The young dogs listened in respectful wonder when he told of the strange places and things that he had found in the Land of No Snow. They learned from him the lessons of obedience, loyalty, and kindliness.
"If you do the very best you know how, it will always work out right in the end," Jan ended each talk.
But sometimes at night as he slept among the other dogs, he saw the captain walking about a room. Cheepsie was perched on the old man's shoulder, while Hippity-Hop skipped beside them, and the dog-knew that they were thinking of him.
Then Jan's ears cocked up, his tail swished gently on the stone floor of the Hospice, for in his dreams he heard the faint sound of a quavering voice singing: