breed that was part Newfoundland and part St. Bernard proved a failure. They could not stand the snow storms. Now, we very rarely keep a long-haired pup. He is generally sold or presented to some one who will give him kind treatment."

Jan looked suddenly at Rollo and the other puppies near him. All except himself had short hair. Now he remembered his mother's worried eyes each time the monks had examined him. He hurried to her side and pushed her with his nose, as he whispered, "Mother, will they send me away because I have long hair? You know, Brother Antoine said that I was one of the best dogs they have had for a long time!"

"Don't worry, Jan," she soothed him. "Even though your fur is long, you are so strong and so like your father, who had long hair, too, that I am sure you will be kept here. Hurry, Jan I Brother Antoine is calling you back."

Jan pushed among the other dogs until he stood again at the monk's side. The two strangers looked at Jan, and Brother Antoine touched the pup's head lovingly.

"His father was one of our best dogs," the monk spoke. "But that was not surprising. He was a direct descendant of Barry. Four travellers owe their lives to Jan's father, Rex."

The little fellow tried not to look too proud as he listened again to the story his mother had told him and Rollo many times.

"Rex was guiding four men to the Hospice after a big storm last Fall. It was the worst since 1815. The men told us the story after they reached us. They had lost all hope, their guide had fallen down a crevasse and they were exhausted when Rex found them. They knew that their only chance of life was to follow him. He went ahead, moving very slowly and looking back while he barked to encourage them. An ice-bridge had formed. It was hidden by deep snow and they did not understand the danger that Rex knew so well. The dog went ahead, the men keeping closely behind him. Half way across he turned and began barking fiercely, and as they drew nearer, he started toward them uttering savage snarls.

"They thought the dog had gone mad, and backed away as he advanced threateningly. Then suddenly his snarl turned to a mournful howl that was lost in frightful cracking as the ice-bridge broke away. Rex was never seen again, but his warning prevented those four men from being smothered in the chasm under hundreds of feet of snow. So, you see, this little fellow comes of royal blood. That is why we named him 'Prince Jan.' He looks just like his father, too!"

Jan thrust his warm nose into Brother Antoine's hand.

"I want to be like my father and Barry," he said, hoping they would understand him, as he understood them. "I will do my very best to be worthy of them both!"

The visitors and the monk did not know what Jan said, but the other dogs understood. Bruno's dim eyes beamed on the pup.

"You will be a credit to us all, Prince Jan!"

The strangers and Brother Antoine left the yard, and the dogs formed in little groups to talk among themselves, as they always did when new people came to see them.

"That man came from America," Bruno said to Jan's mother.

"Lots of people from America visit us," she replied, trying not to yawn, for the storm had kept her awake. All night, while she felt the warm little bodies of the puppies pressed against her side, she had stared into the darkness, thinking of the time when Prince Jan and his brother must go out, like their father, Rex, to do the work of the St. Bernards.

"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 passed through the doorway leading to the long corridor he looked back once more.

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

Brother Antoine lifted Jan's nose and the pup looked into the monk's eyes, but there was something he did not understand. It was all so different from what the other dogs had told him. He felt the rope tug his collar and knew that he must follow this stranger. He heard again a