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 ma.s.ses, 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 pa.s.ses 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 alt.i.tude 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 GRAt.i.tUDE 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 pa.s.sage 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. Pa.s.sengers 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. .h.i.tched 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 bas.e.m.e.nt, 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