A door opened. Jan sprang to his feet, hoping he might be able to break the rope and escape before the door was closed. He crouched and leaped with all his strength, but the rope was too strong and he fell with a thud to the floor, where he panted heavily. A flash of light almost blinded him, but he saw William and snarled defiance. Another man was in the room. Jan caught a glimpse of him, gave a sniff, and knew that this other man was the one who had been with William in the Pixley stable. He felt that he had two enemies now to fight.

As William came toward the dog, Jan strained on the rope.

"You'll get that temper taken out of you before long," threatened the man, at the same time keeping carefully beyond the length of the rope. But William's hatred outbalanced his caution, and he lifted his foot to give the dog a kick. Jan shrank back, not from fear as William supposed, but to get a better chance to spring and grab the man's leg.

"Let him alone," called the other man. "The worse you treat that dog the harder it will be to handle him."

William scowled. "The best thing is to kill him now. We're taking a big risk on the chance of selling him."

"Oh, go ahead and kill him if you want to," the other man shrugged his shoulders. "Let your spite keep you from making a thousand dollars."

He held out a bottle, "Here's the chloroform. Go on, finish the job if you're going to."

"I don't believe you can sell him," sneered William. "You just said that because you knew I was going to kill him before I left here."

"If you didn't hate dogs the way you do," replied Shorty, "you'd know that he'll sell for a thousand dollars as soon as he is over the Canadian line. The man I told you about will buy that dog without a question."

"Some one will recognize the dog before we get there, if the old man stirs things up."

"Not when I get him fixed," bragged Shorty.

"There's no time to fool with him," persisted William, "We've got to get away quick."

"Let me alone," snapped Shorty. "This is my end of the job. If you stop picking on the dog, I'll have no trouble with him. I never knew a dog from the time we were kids that didn't hate you on sight."

"Yes, and you're a regular fool over them," William retorted. "You take care of him and get the money for him, and I'll look out for the machine and sell that. But you've got to keep that dog muzzled or there'll be trouble coming your way fast and plenty. See?"

Shorty did not answer and William went out. Jan and Shorty faced each other. The dog's muscles were taut, his eyes alert. The man looked at him steadily.

"You're the dandiest, spunkiest dog I ever saw," he said at last, as though sure that Jan understood the words. "I like you, old fellow, and I'd turn you loose, if I dared."

He placed a pan of water in front of the dog and the angry gleam softened in Jan's eyes. He thrust his nose into the pan but the muzzle was too tight to permit him to drink. The dog looked up at Shorty, who reached out his hand. Jan's tail waved, then he felt fingers run lightly along his shoulders, fumble at the buckle of the muzzle and the cruel thing fell to the floor. Before the dog lapped the water that he craved, he stared into Shorty's face and saw a kindly smile that told him this man was a friend. Jan's hot tongue touched Shorty's hand before turning to lap the cool liquid.

"You'll be all right now," Shorty said as he rubbed the places where the strap had cut deeply. Then when Jan had finished drinking, the man fed him bits of meat.

After the meal was over, Shorty took a pair of clippers and cropped Jan's long hair close to the skin. It did not hurt, so the dog submitted quietly. A sponge and bucket of dark liquid were brought by the man and Jan was thoroughly saturated, until the dye dripped to the floor.

"Got to put on that muzzle, boy, before he gets back," but this time the strips did not hurt so badly.

William chuckled when he saw the dog. "Great stunt, Shorty! The poundmaster wouldn't know his own dog if he caught him now!"

He picked up a couple of bundles and a suitcase, while Shorty led Jan by the rope. They were in a deep canyon, where no sound of the ocean could be heard. Jan did not know the place. He had never been away from the noise of the surf since living in California. A big, black automobile stood under a tree. William tossed the things into it and climbed to the front seat with a laugh.

"The police will have as much trouble finding a grey machine as the poundman will have finding a long-haired St. Bernard dog. We'll hit the road lively at night and camp in the day. There's just one thing you've got to remember. If I see you getting stuck on that dog I'm going to kill him. I'm taking him along because you said you could sell him, and I'm not going to stand any nonsense about it."

Shorty's only answer was to open the back door of the machine and motion the dog to jump. He obeyed and curled on the floor. Shorty sat in the back seat while William drove.

Jan did not sleep during the long, dark hours they sped over the road. He kept wondering what the captain would think, and hoping he could get back home some way. Once in a while he lifted his head as a flash of light showed another automobile passing. At daybreak William turned into thick brush and drove over rough ground until they stopped beside a shallow stream.

Still muzzled, Jan leaped from the car and followed Shorty, but he watched William closely. The dog was tied after he had been allowed to drink at the creek. William loafed while Shorty made coffee and cooked a meal, which the older man ate, grumbling all the time. Then he threw himself on the ground and dragged his hat over his face.

Shorty fed Jan, and after clearing away the breakfast things, moved closer to the dog. Jan's tail rustled the dry leaves and twigs, as Shorty, with a boyish smile, stretched on the ground beside him. A hand touched one of Jan's ears and pulled it gently, but the hand was friendly and the dog's eyes showed he understood. Then, tired from the long ride, Shorty and Jan slept soundly.

At dusk another meal was prepared and eaten, and they started again on their journey. For two more days and nights they travelled in the dark and camped in hidden places during the day, so that no one could see them. The muzzle was never taken again from Jan's nose, for William watched constantly and repeated his warnings several times. He did not know, however, that Shorty eased the strap so that the wire and leather could not cut, and in this way he made Jan as comfortable as was possible.

The night of the third day there was a full moon, and dim shadows were cast by scattered trees near the road. It was very warm and Jan's muzzle worried him; then, too, he was stiff from lack of the exercise to which he had been accustomed. Shorty noticed the dog's restlessness and leaned down. His fingers slipped under the strap and wires, then touched the buckle at the side of the head. Jan squirmed nearer and wagged his tail. Each night when they were well on the way, Shorty did this much to help the dog, but he had to tighten the muzzle before William turned the machine from the road to camp for the day.

As Shorty leaned over, the car reached a clear place in the road, where the moon shone brightly. Shorty did not see William turn, but a brutal fist struck full force against Shorty's face and he tumbled from the seat into the bottom of the automobile against Jan.

The dog growled, but the growl was meant for William, not Shorty. Then Jan knew that Shorty was up on his feet and both men were swearing and fighting, while the automobile twisted from side to side of the road, and was going faster and faster. There was a crash. Jan whirled over and over through the air and as he struck the ground he heard a man's scream of pain. He did not know whether it was Shorty or William who cried out, but he did know that he was free, and he dashed into the darkness of the thick trees, not knowing where he was going, not caring where he went, only the one thing was in his mind—he was leaving William behind and he must run as fast as he could.



Chapter IX

JAN'S JOURNEY TO THE LAND OF MAKE-BELIEVE

After the first wild dash for freedom, Jan settled to a steady jog for the rest of the night. When dawn came, some instinct made him turn into the brush where it grew most thickly. His one fear now was that William might find him. His one wish was to get back home. He did not know what kept him moving toward the south. He had nothing to guide him save the strange feeling that made him sure if he just kept on, some day he would reach the gate of the bungalow and see Hippity-Hop and the captain watching down the street for him.

Jan was able to lap water when he found it, but he could not fight, nor eat, even if he had found food, for the muzzle clamped his jaws together. He knew better now than to tug at it with his claws or rub it against the ground. The second night he was very hungry, but he started hopefully on his way, plodding steadily in the same direction. At dawn he was faint and weak from hunger and exhaustion, and when it grew dark again he did not want to move. Then he thought of the captain. Wearily Jan rose to his feet and with low-hanging head he dragged slowly along.

The fourth day after the escape, he was too weak to struggle further, and lay limp on the ground, with his eyes closed. He wanted to keep perfectly still, though he was suffering keenly from thirst, for he had not found any water that day. A rabbit darted from the thick brush close to Jan's head. The rustling of leaves made the dog's eyes open. He saw the little creature sit up in sudden fright, but Jan did not try to catch it, he was too tired and besides he knew that the muzzle held him a prisoner. So he watched the rabbit hop about him fearlessly, until the sound of steps in dry leaves startled it into the bushes.

Jan heard the steps, too. He thought William had found him, and knowing that he could not fight nor defend himself, he dragged himself wearily to his feet and staggered with trembling legs a few, short steps. Then he dropped heavily.

Voices sounded. Jan's ears lifted and quivered, his eyes brightened and his tail moved slightly. He was not afraid of children. They had always loved and petted him. Once more he rose and slowly pushed through the thicket to an open place where two little girls laughed and chattered as they picked wild blackberries into a small tin pail.

He edged toward the sunbonnets bobbing over the pail. The children heard the rustle and turned about, then the pail dropped, the berries spilled on the ground and the sunbonnet children ran, screaming wildly, "Father! Father! It's a big, black bear to eat all of us up!"

The dog halted, wondering why they ran from him. He heard a man's quick words, the children's excited voices and a woman's soothing tones.

"It's all right now!" thought poor Prince Jan. "Women and children won't hurt me."

He moved through the brush, but found himself looking straight into the barrel of a gun held by steady hands. Jan knew what that meant. His legs trembled as he pressed forward. Oh, if he could only make this man understand that he did not mean to hurt or frighten the little girls! He only wanted some one to take off this horrible muzzle.

The dog's pleading eyes were lifted to the man's face and then, unable to stand any longer, Jan fell weakly to the ground and pulled himself forward, inch by inch, to show that he meant no harm, and all the while his ragged tail kept beating very feebly. The man looked at him, then lowered the gun.

"Come here, girls! Your bear is only a lost dog!"

Jan did not look around at the patter of feet, but his paws went to the muzzle, and as he lay with his head against the man's feet, the pitifully pleading eyes and tugging paws of the dog spoke as plainly as words.

"Poor fellow!" said a gentle voice, then a woman's fingers worked carefully at the strap and Jan felt the muzzle fall away.

He touched her hand with his dry, stiff tongue, and saw the two little sunbonnet children, laughing, yet still afraid of the big dog, come to their mother's side. The man noticed the broken rope and examined the collar.

"No name or license," he spoke at last, "but somebody will be looking for him. I wonder how long he has been wandering around with this muzzle on him, poor chap!"

"Bring water, children," said the mother, "and the things that were left over from lunch. He must be hungry."

The tin pail was rescued from the ground and filled twice with water before Jan's thirst was slaked and he looked up with grateful eyes and dripping jaws. While he was drinking his fill, a basket had been opened by the children and slices of cold meat and bits of buttered bread were placed before him. He swallowed the food greedily, but paused between gulps to wag his tail and let them know how he thanked them.

For some time after this he lay quietly resting while the sunbonnet children sat close beside him and wondered where he came from and what his name was. Ruth, the younger, put out her hand to touch him timidly.

"I'm not afraid of him. He won't bite. He isn't a bear to eat us all up, is he, Charlotte?"

"I—I—aren't afraid, either," Charlotte's voice was uncertain, but her hand touched the dog's big head. Then both children lost all fear of him and Jan forgot about William and the hours of suffering, for the two little girls curled close to him, and soon they were all three fast asleep.

The sun was almost setting when the father and mother tucked the basket and shawls into the automobile. Jan watched with puzzled eyes as they carefully put away some little boards. He had noticed when he woke from his doze that both the man and the woman were sitting on stools with these boards propped before them, and they were making marks on them. The father was already in the machine and the little girls climbed in, then the mother put her foot on the step and Jan let out a wild howl that made them all start. He thought they were going to leave him behind and he knew that he could never run fast enough to follow them.

"Good gracious! What a howl!" exclaimed the man, laughing. "We won't leave you. Jump up, old chap!"

Jan lost no time scrambling into the automobile, then it ran swiftly along a smooth road which finally twisted through a beautiful canyon. Great trees were on all sides and a tiny stream bubbled and danced far below. Birds sang and rabbits dashed out of the brush with swift hops and jerks, but Jan did not want to eat the rabbits now. The children kept laughing and clapping their hands, calling to Jan, "Look, look, quick!" Sometimes their hands pressed his head to make him turn where they pointed.

Jan was very happy on that ride, but he still hoped that by and by he might get back home to Hippity-Hop and the captain.



Chapter X

THE HOME OF THE SUNBONNET BABIES

The home of Jan's new friends was perched high on the top of a mountain peak, far above the canyon through which they had driven. Jan heard them call this place Topango Pass. The house stood alone with overhanging oak trees and a garden full of flowers that made him think of the yard in front of the captain's bungalow.

A big stone fireplace was near the house, and pink geraniums grew closely around the little home, while over the porch climbed yellow roses that looked as if the fairies had hidden their gold among the green leaves.

"This is Roseneath," announced Charlotte to Jan as the automobile stopped in front of the porch and the two girls jumped out, followed by the dog.

"Charlotte!" Ruth said suddenly, stopping halfway up the path, "we've got to find a name for that dog right away!"

It was a very serious matter, so the children sat on the lowest step of the porch and Jan squatted before them. He wished he could help by telling his name and about the Hospice, but all he could do was to sit still and look from one eager little face to the other. After trying several names they decided on "Bruin."

"Because he is so big and black, just like a bear!"

Jan rather liked the name. It sounded like Bruno, but of course, the sunbonnet children did not know anything about Bruno and the Hospice, so they said Jan was very smart to remember the new name without any trouble at all.

The next morning he was wakened early by the children's voices and hurried to meet them in front of the house. Charlotte had a tin bucket in her hand and Jan wondered if they were going to pick more berries. But they went down a path that led to the stable and then he stood still in surprise.

Right in front of them was a strange creature about the size of a common dog. It had long, white hair, a white beard like a very old man's, two horns curved back over its head and its feet had sharp-pointed hoofs. It was tied by a rope and back of it was a smaller animal of the same kind.

Charlotte went past the larger one and sat down on a little wooden stool beside the smaller animal and soon the tin pail was full of milk. Back to the house trotted the children, and Jan, very much puzzled, kept beside them. In the kitchen they found the mother cooking breakfast. Jan lifted his nose and sniffed at the odor of broiling steak and hot biscuit.

"Milk for the berries we picked yesterday," the mother of the sunbonnet children said smiling. "Won't we have a fine breakfast this morning! And there's a nice bone in the steak for Bruin, too!"

She poured a little milk into a pan and placed it on the floor for Jan. He knew that the white animal must have been a cow, yet it was not like the cow at the Pixleys' home, but when he tasted the milk, it was just as nice as the big, yellow cow's milk.

While breakfast was being eaten, the children and their parents chatted together and Jan looked about the place. The walls of the rooms were hung with beautiful pictures, among them many fat little babies with sunbonnets hiding their faces. He was sure that if the sunbonnets were pushed back he would see the faces of Ruth and Charlotte laughing at him.

As time went by Jan was quite happy and learned to love his gentle playmates very dearly. He grew accustomed to seeing the artists sitting before boards, painting pictures like those on the walls. Even the little girls, Ruth and Charlotte, sometimes sat on the ground and made him lie still while they worked away with pencils and pieces of paper and told him they were making his picture to put in a book. It did not quite explain matters to Jan when Ruth held up one of these papers in front of his nose and said, "You see, Bruin, we're going to be ill—us—trators like mother when we grow up, and then we'll put you in a book, maybe!"

After Jan had several good baths the ugly black dye began to wear off and his white shirt-front and paws and the white streak on his nose showed plainly. Then the rusty black fur on his entire body became its natural tawny red and grew rapidly. The Melvilles now realized that Jan had been stolen and often wondered who had lost him. They asked the few people they saw but none of them had heard of such a dog, so the family felt that Jan belonged to them.

Ruth and Charlotte were much interested when their parents told them that Bruin was a St. Bernard dog, and all about the noble animals that lived at the Hospice, for the two artists had visited the place many years before Ruth or Charlotte had been born. When their mother finished telling them these things, Ruth exclaimed, "Mother! Then you and daddy and Charlotte and me are all St. Bernard dogs, because we found Bruin when he was lost, didn't we?"

Jan was not the only pet of this family. The "Melville Menagerie" was what their mother called the collection of animals. There were two grown-up goats, named Captain Kidd and Mrs. Cream; two baby-goats, Peaches and Strawberry; a mother cat named Chicago, because she was smoke color, and her three kittens, Texas, California, and Pennsylvania. Next was the canary bird, Pitty-Sing, and last, but not least, five horn-toads which were nameless, but who lived peacefully together in a box with sand to burrow in.

All of these members of the family interested Jan, but he wanted to be friends with the old cat and her kittens, because he missed Hippity-Hop. Whenever he tried to go near them, the four jumped to their feet, arched their backs, and spat at him so rudely that he gave up making friends, and decided that only three-legged cats liked dogs.

Each day about three o'clock all work was put aside by the artists, for this was the time they went to visit "The Land of Make-Believe." Sometimes they were gypsies, and supper was cooked over a campfire among the oak trees. Again, they pretended Jan was a big bear and he found it great fun to chase after the children while they ran away as though really afraid of him. Then it was "Little Red Riding Hood" with Jan for the wolf, but he did not eat any one, like the wolf did, for he knew he would have a nice piece of meat cooked over the wood fire as they all sat about on the ground and pretended they had no place to sleep excepting underneath the trees. When the stars began to twinkle, the sunbonnet children said that the angels were lighting the candles in Heaven, and very soon it was time to go home for the night.

Haying time in California is different from that of other parts of the world, for it is in May, and many months ahead of other places. The fields were dotted with little mounds of yellow hay drying in the sun, and one evening Mrs. Melville told the children she had a new game for the Land of Make-Believe. The next afternoon they could hardly wait until they reached the hay-fields.

"Now, children," said their mother, "these are the snow-covered peaks of the Alps that I told you about. Ruth must be a lost traveller and wander around among these mountains of snow until she is too tired to go any further. Then she must lie down and pull the hay over her and wait to be rescued from death in the snow."

As Ruth scampered away, Jan followed her, but Mrs. Melville called him back. He sat looking at her, but his head turned frequently toward the place he had last seen little Ruth. Several times he started to get up, but each time he sat down again and waited.

"You, Charlotte, are a monk from the Hospice and Bruin will go with you to search for lost travellers in this terrible snow-storm."

Jan stood very still, but his tail flapped around in circles while Mrs. Melville fastened a canteen of water to his collar, then she said, "Now, Bruin, go find Ruth!"

"Woof! Woof!" rang out the big voice, just as the dogs of the Hospice called when they started on the trail. Followed closely by Charlotte, Jan led the way from one hay mound to another, poking his nose deeply into each. Charlotte kept calling, "Find Ruth, Bruin! Go find her! She's lost in the snow and will freeze to death if we don't find her soon!"

Jan forgot it was only the Land of Make-Believe, while he burrowed into the haycocks. As he ran from one to the other, his bark sounded again and again, for he remembered the lessons Brother Antoine had given him and Rollo, and the canteen that bumped against his breast felt like the little wooden casket he had carried on the trail. At last he found the lost traveller. Jan lifted his head and uttered a sharp bark of triumph before his nose began tossing the hay that completely covered Ruth.

"He found her! He found her!" shrieked Charlotte in greatest excitement, just as though Ruth had really been lost in the snow-drifts.

Both parents ran to watch the game and Ruth's face appeared in the hay, like a pink Easter egg in a nest. She squinted up, saw her mother and father, Charlotte and Jan, then remembered that she was lost and shut her eyes quickly. Jan touched her cheek with his nose, and licked her face. She could not keep still any longer, because she wanted to sneeze and that would spoil the whole game. So she opened her eyes, put up her hand and unfastened the canteen from Jan's collar and swallowed such a big gulp of water that she almost choked. Her arms went about Jan's neck and while she clung, he moved slowly away from the mound, his tail waving rapidly and his big eyes full of pride. Ruth had been saved from a terrible death in the snow-drifts of the Alps!

The whole party of rescuers hastened to the Hospice under the trees, where supper was almost ready, and as they sat around the outdoor fireplace waiting the meal, they all declared that Bruin had acted just as if he had really lived at the Hospice and knew all about the dogs there and how they worked.

Three months after Jan went to live at Roseneath, the family sat reading one evening, and Jan sprawled at their feet. Ruth and Charlotte were deeply interested in the pictures of a new magazine for children, and Mr. Melville held a newspaper. He had been to the nearest town that day and had brought the mail home with him.

Suddenly he let the paper drop to his lap and sat looking at Prince Jan, then he picked up the paper again, saying, "Listen to this!"

All of them turned expectantly, for the parents always read aloud anything that might interest the children.

CAPTURED THIEF WORRIES OVER LOST DOG

John Leavitt, alias Shorty, now held as one of the two men who stole and wrecked an automobile belonging to Paul E. Wallace of Los Angeles, has made a confession implicating his half-brother, William Leavitt, formerly stableman at the beach-home of the Pixleys.

According to Shorty's statement, they had stolen a St. Bernard dog from Captain Smith, the Poundmaster, intending to sell the animal in Canada. Shorty became attached to the dog, Prince Jan, and in a quarrel with his brother over the muzzling of the dog, the machine was wrecked.

Leavitt evidently supposed Shorty was dead beneath the wreckage, and escaped. Shorty was found later, seriously injured, and his recovery was not expected. His one anxiety seems to be that Prince Jan, being muzzled, might have died of starvation. Any one knowing the fate of the dog is asked to communicate with Captain Smith, through this paper.

Prince Jan is a pure St. Bernard, with long fur, but he had been clipped and his hair dyed black.

No trace of William Leavitt has been found, but the authorities are looking for him. He has a criminal record in the East and is now wanted there. Shorty has been bound over for trial.

The family looked at the dog sleeping peacefully at their feet.

"Not the least doubt," said Mr. Melville.

"Call him, Ruth. Call his name—Prince Jan—and see how he acts."

The child's lips quivered and her eyes filled with tears as she went to her mother's side. "But, mother, if he is Prince Jan, will somebody take him away from us?"

Charlotte's eyes, too, were blurred and her lower lip dropped.

"Suppose," the mother spoke gently, and her arm went about the slender little figure leaning against her in half-choked grief, "Suppose, dear, some one found you when you were lost, and daddy and I didn't know where you were, and the people couldn't understand when you tried to tell them who you were and where we lived," the voice grew very tender and grave, "and then the people found out where you belonged and that we were looking everywhere for you, and grieving because we did not know whether you were hungry and unhappy. Do you think it would be right for them to keep you away from us, even if they did love you very, very dearly?"

Ruth's head hung low and nobody spoke until she lifted her face with a tear-wet smile, "Jan! Prince Jan!" she called in her high, sweet voice.

They saw the muscles of the sleeping dog twitch. The big paws moved slightly, as though in his dreams he was running to answer that name. His tail threshed lightly on the floor, but still he slept.

"Jan, Prince Jan!" both children now called.

He leaped to his feet. Quivering with excitement he faced them.

"Jan!" repeated Mr. Melville.

The dog darted to the man's side and stood with eager, expectant eyes and furiously switching tail. When he heard the name from Mrs. Melville, Jan ran to her and laid his head on her knee, looking into her face questioning her dumbly.

"He knows his name! He is Prince Jan!" the children cried as they swooped down on him with squeezes and hugs, while the dog whined and twisted and uttered sharp barks of excitement until they were all laughing at him.

"Do you want to go home to the captain, Jan?" Mrs. Melville leaned over him as she spoke.

"Woof! Woof!" he answered promptly, and they all knew that he meant "Yes."

So Mr. Melville got pen and ink and wrote to the poundmaster, telling that Prince Jan was safe and well, and that he, himself, would bring the dog home.

That was how Prince Jan came back to the captain and Hippity-Hop, at last. He was very happy at going home, yet he looked back wistfully at Ruth and Charlotte standing on the porch waving their hands, as the automobile drove away from the Land of Make-Believe, where Jan had been so kindly treated. But when he saw the ocean again and the road up the bluff and knew that he was near the bungalow, he was ready to leap from the machine and dash madly to the place where the captain, Hippity-Hop, and Cheepsie lived. He knew then that he loved them more than anybody in the whole world.



Chapter XI

PRINCE JAN VISITS SHORTY

Jan reached the front gate and let out a ringing "Woof" of joy that brought the captain and Hippity-Hop out at once. The old man's arms went about Jan's neck, and the dog gave little whines of delight, his tongue touched the wrinkled hands, and his tail went around so fast that it did not look like a tail, but just a blur of fuzzy hair.

When Mr. Melville was seated, and the Captain on a chair near by, Jan's head rested on the old man's knee and the toil-worn fingers stroked the dog's soft fur. Hippity-Hop rubbed against Jan's legs, purring like a noisy little buzz-saw, and Cheepsie flew down from his cage to perch first on the shoulder of the captain and then on Prince Jan's head, while a flood of bird-music filled the little room.



"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.



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.