"Yes," Bruno added in a queer voice, "but this man said he was from California, where they never have any snow!"

"What?" shouted all the dogs together. "A place where they never have any snow? Oh, what a funny place that must be!"

"What do they walk on?" asked Jan's mother curiously.

Before Bruno could answer, Jan shoved up and said earnestly: "But, mother, how do dogs save people where there is no snow?"

"I am sure I don't know," she told him. "Ask Bruno."

Neither Bruno nor any of the other dogs could explain this mystery, though Jan went to each in turn for an answer to his question. At last he lay down, his nose wedged between his paws, his yellow forehead wrinkled with thought, and he stared across at the tops of the great white peaks above the enclosure until his soft eyes closed in sleep.

Soon he was dreaming that he was digging travellers from the snow and asking them, "Won't you please tell me how a dog can save people in a land where there is no snow?"

But none of them could answer his question.

Chapter III

A NEW WORLD

The next morning Mr. Pixley and Brother Antoine returned to the kennel yard and Jan wagged his tail politely to show that he recognized the visitor, who leaned down and patted him while talking to the monk.

"You may be sure he will receive the very best care," said the man from California.

"We are always treated kindly," Prince Jan hastened to say, and he glanced at Rollo, who replied, "Of course, we are!"

The two pups did not notice Mr. Pixley's next words, "My little girl will be delighted with him."

Brother Antoine called, "Here, Jan," and when the little fellow stood looking up with bright, expectant eyes, the monk fastened a collar about the dog's neck.

Jan trembled. He was sure that he was now going to be sent out to do his first work on the trail. It would not be playing this time, but real work like the big dogs. The collar was stiff but he did not mind the discomfort, for it meant that he was not a puppy any longer. He twisted his head to see which of the older dogs was to go out with him, as he crossed the forbidden line with the monk. The only dog that followed Jan was his brother, Rollo, and when Brother Antoine ordered, "Go back, Rollo!" the pup's ears and tail drooped and he slunk back to his mother as though in disgrace.

"The big dogs must be waiting outside," thought Jan happily, and he walked proudly beside the monk until he stood on the top step, then he looked back at his mother, Bruno, Rollo, and the other dogs who were watching him. Usually they all barked joyously when a pup was to go out on his first real work, and the noisy barks were advice. Now, the only sounds were two short barks from Bruno, "Good-bye, Jan! Remember your father!"

"I will remember him!" he called back, and then he wondered at the long, despairing howl from his mother. It filled his heart with dread.

"Come, Jan," the monk spoke, and the little fellow turned obediently toward the door that would shut him from sight of the other dogs. His feet dragged now, and as he pa.s.sed through the doorway leading to the long corridor he looked back once more.

When he stood outside the big entrance door, he saw the snow covering the mountains and hiding the chasms that he had seen in the summer when he had been out having his lessons with Rollo. He knew these smooth, level places held real danger. Then he saw dog tracks leading in two directions from the steps, but none of the older dogs were waiting for him. As he looked up with questioning, brown eyes, Brother Antoine leaned down and fastened a stout rope to the new collar and handed the end of this rope to Mr. Pixley, who was m.u.f.fled in his big, fur coat. A guide was with Mr. Pixley. As they stood there a moment, the door of the Hospice again opened, and this time the grey-eyed man and another guide came out. The kind, grey eyes looked at Jan, then the man stooped over and patted him gently, and no one but the dog heard the pitying voice that said, "Poor little Prince Jan! Good-bye!"

Brother Antoine lifted Jan's nose and the pup looked into the monk's eyes, but there was something he did not understand. It was all so different from what the other dogs had told him. He felt the rope tug his collar and knew that he must follow this stranger. He heard again a heart-rending howl from his mother, "Good-bye, Jan, good-bye!" Bruno's voice blended with hers, and then the voices of all the dogs Jan knew and loved mingled in that call. Something hurt him all over, but most of the hurt was in his heart.

He halted suddenly, pulled stiffly on the rope and the wild cry he sent in response echoed mournfully from the high, white crags and died away to a whispering moan, as Prince Jan, with low-hanging head and drooping tail, travelled down the path that his ancestors had trodden many years on their errands of mercy. He wondered why he had been sent out with a rope tied to his collar, why no older dog went with him, and why he must follow this stranger instead of one of the monks. Jan felt that he was disgraced. Someway he had failed. For a while he followed despondently, then he tried to comfort himself as he trudged at the end of the rope.

"Bruno and mother will know what is the matter," he thought hopefully.

"I'll ask them as soon as I get home to-night."

He looked back wistfully several times to see if the kindly, grey-eyed stranger might be following them, but he had taken the opposite trail from the one Mr. Pixley was travelling. Jan did not mind the long tramp which ended at a place where houses were scattered about. Here a carriage and horses were brought, and Jan would have been much interested in these strange things had he not been so worried. He felt himself lifted into the carriage with Mr. Pixley; then, as it moved, Jan was thrown against the fur coat and looked up in fright.

"You are going to a new land," Mr. Pixley said, smoothing the pup's velvety ear.

The dog lifted one paw and laid it on the man's knee, the brown eyes that looked up were dull with misery. Jan knew, now, that he was being taken away from the Hospice.

"Won't you take me back?" he begged.

But the man only heard a little whimper, and gave the dog a quick pat.

"You and Elizabeth will be great friends. Lie down now and be quiet!"

Jan dropped to the floor of the carriage, his head between his paws, and his eyes that stared at the strange new master were full of wistful pleading.

After that ride came days in a big, dark place that b.u.mped and jerked with horrible noises. He did not know that he was on a train. Jan had lived all his life where the only disturbing sounds were the soft thud of melting snow and the hissing of the avalanches down the mountain sides. These strange noises hurt his ears. The pain in his heart kept growing until he could only lie still and draw his breath in smothered little whimpers that tore the inside of his throat. He could not eat nor drink.

When Mr. Pixley took him from the train, the dog was led through crowds of people and bustling, noisy streets that made Jan cringe and cower. At last they reached a place where water stretched so far that it touched the sky, and the water kept moving all the time. This frightened him, for he had never seen any water excepting in the little lake at the Hospice, and that water did not move, for it was nearly always frozen over. Bewildered, Jan hung back, but the man to whom Mr. Pixley had handed the rope dragged the dog up a walk of boards to a strange-looking house on top of the water. Jan stumbled down the dark stairs, into a hot, smelly place where he was fastened to a wall. An old sack was thrown down, water and meat placed before him, then he was left alone. Whistles screamed, bells jangled, all sorts of noises pounded Jan's shrinking, sensitive ears as he cowered in an agony of fear. The boat moved; but he thought, as it puffed and trembled, that a huge, strange animal had swallowed him alive.

The rolling motion made him very sick. He could neither eat nor sleep, but grew stiff and sore during the days and nights he was kept tied in the hold of the vessel. Homesick and lonesome, poor little Prince Jan lay for hours crying softly, but the only attention any one gave him was to fill pans with water and food.

One day two women, wearing white caps on their heads, climbed down the stairs with a little girl and boy. The children ran and put their arms about the dog's neck and Jan wriggled and squirmed with happiness, while he licked their hands and faces.

"Don't touch him," cried one of the women, pulling the girl away. "He is filthy, beside, he might bite you."

The child drew back in alarm. Jan's gentle eyes watched them and his tail waved slowly, trying to make them know that he loved them and would not hurt them or anybody in the world.

"He won't hurt us, Nurse," the boy declared and put his hand on the dog's big head. "I don't care whether he's dirty or clean, he's a bully fine dog, and I wish he belonged to me and sister!"

"Oh, if they will only stay with me!" hoped Jan. "Maybe they would understand and some day take me back to the Hospice."

The boy smiled into Jan's eyes, but he did not know what the dog was trying to say.

"Come, children, we must go," one of the women spoke. "Now, you have seen a dog that cost over a thousand dollars and is being taken to live in California, where oranges grow and there is never any snow."

Jan turned quickly. He remembered all the dogs at the Hospice had talked about the place where there was never any snow.

"How can a dog save lives where there is no snow?" he asked; but the women and children, as they turned away, thought he was whining because they were leaving him alone.

With miserable eyes Jan lay staring into the dark, wondering how he could be like his father and Barry in a country where there was no snow.

Chapter IV

THE LAND OF NO SNOW

The voyage ended, then followed another long trip in a train and Jan reached his new home. A little girl with long, yellow curls, big blue eyes, and pink cheeks, danced down the steps from the wide porch of a big house as they approached.