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
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 bumped 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.