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THE STORY OF THE RED CROSS
AS TOLD TO
THE LITTLE COLONEL
=Works of=
=ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON=
=The Little Colonel Series=
(_Trade Mark, Reg. U.S. Pat. Of._)
Each one vol., large 12mo, cloth, illustrated
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and "Two Little Knights of Kentucky.")
The Little Colonel's House Party 1.50
The Little Colonel's Holidays 1.50
The Little Colonel's Hero 1.50
The Little Colonel at Boarding School 1.50
The Little Colonel in Arizona 1.50
The Little Colonel's Christmas Vacation 1.50
The Little Colonel: Maid of Honor 1.50
The Little Colonel's Knight Comes Riding 1.50
The Little Colonel's Chum: Mary Ware 1.50
Mary Ware in Texas 1.50
Mary Ware's Promised Land 1.50
The above 12 vols., _boxed_, as a set 18.00
The Little Colonel Good Times Book 1.50
The Little Colonel Doll Book--First Series 1.50
The Little Colonel Doll Book--Second Series 1.50
=Illustrated Holiday Editions=
Each one vol., small quarto, cloth, illustrated, and printed
in color
The Little Colonel $1.35
The Giant Scissors 1.35
Two Little Knights of Kentucky 1.35
Big Brother 1.35
=Cosy Corner Series=
Each one vol., thin 12mo, cloth, illustrated
The Little Colonel $.60
The Giant Scissors .60
Two Little Knights of Kentucky .60
Big Brother .60
Ole Mammy's Torment .60
The Story of Dago .60
Cicely .60
Aunt 'Liza's Hero .60
The Quilt that Jack Built .60
Flip's "Islands of Providence" .60
Mildred's Inheritance .60
The Little Man in Motley .60
=Other Books=
Joel: A Boy of Galilee $1.50
In the Desert of Waiting .60
The Three Weavers .60
Keeping Tryst .60
The Legend of the Bleeding Heart .60
The Rescue of the Princess Winsome .60
The Jester's Sword .60
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Travelers Five Along Life's Highway 1.25
=THE PAGE COMPANY=
=53 Beacon Street= =Boston, Mass.=
[Illustration: "'Do you suppose that I could train my dogs to do that?'"
(_See page 39_)]
THE STORY OF THE RED CROSS
_AS TOLD TO_
THE LITTLE COLONEL
_By Annie Fellows Johnston_
AUTHOR OF "THE LITTLE COLONEL SERIES,"
"ASA HOLMES," "THE JEWEL SERIES," ETC.
_Illustrated by John Goss_
[Illustration]
THE PAGE COMPANY
BOSTON MDCCCCXVIII
_Copyright, 1902_,
BY THE PAGE COMPANY
_Copyright, 1918_,
BY THE PAGE COMPANY
_All rights reserved_
First Impression, October, 1918
THE COLONIAL PRESS
C.H. SIMONDS CO., BOSTON, U.S.A.
Publisher's Note
This story in its original form appeared in
=The Little Colonel's Hero=,
the fourth volume in the famous
=Little Colonel Series=.
The publishers would have appropriately used on the cover of this book
the Red Cross on a white field, adopted as its emblem by the Red Cross
Society, but any use of that emblem for purposes other than those of
this society has been prohibited by law.
The Red Cross Society adopted its emblem in honor of Switzerland, where
the society originated, but reversed the colors of the Swiss flag, which
are a White Cross on a red field. It is consequently, under the
circumstances, appropriate that the cover design should show the White
Cross of Switzerland, where the Red Cross Society originated, and where
its story was told to =The Little Colonel=.
[Illustration: The LITTLE COLONEL]
[Illustration: CONTENTS]
CHAPTER PAGE
I Lloyd Meets Hero 1
II Hero's Story 24
III The Red Cross of Geneva 44
IV Homeward Bound 69
V In After Years 82
[Illustration: The MAJOR]
[Illustration: LIST of ILLUSTRATIONS]
PAGE
"'Do you suppose that I could train my dogs to do that?'"
(_See page 39_)
_Frontispiece_
"He stepped aside to let the great creature past him" 8
"But it did not stop their mad flight" 16
"He plunged out alone into the deep snow" 30
"The two were wandering along beside the water together" 62
"He fastened the medal to Hero's collar" 67
[Illustration: HERO]
The Story of the Red Cross
_as Told to_
The Little Colonel
CHAPTER I
LLOYD MEETS HERO
It was in Switzerland in the old town of Geneva. The windows of the big
hotel dining-room looked out on the lake, and the Little Colonel,
sitting at breakfast the morning after their arrival, could scarcely eat
for watching the scene outside.
Gay little pleasure boats flashed back and forth on the sparkling water.
The quay and bridge were thronged with people. From open windows down
the street came the tinkle of pianos, and out on the pier, where a
party of tourists were crowding on to one of the excursion steamers, a
band was playing its merriest holiday music.
Far away in the distance she could see the shining snow crown of Mont
Blanc, and it gave her an odd feeling, as if she were living in a
geography lesson, to know that she was bounded on one side by the famous
Alpine mountain, and on the other by the River Rhône, whose source she
had often traced on the map. The sunshine, the music, and the gay crowds
made it seem to Lloyd as if the whole world were out for a holiday, and
she ate her melon and listened to the plans for the day with the
sensation that something very delightful was about to happen.
"We'll go shopping this morning," said Mrs. Sherman. "I want Lloyd to
see some of those wonderful music boxes they make here; the dancing
bears, and the musical hand-mirrors; the chairs that play when you sit
down in them, and the beer-mugs that begin a tune when you lift them
up."
Lloyd's face dimpled with pleasure, and she began to ask eager
questions. "Could we take one to Mom Beck, mothah? A lookin'-glass that
would play 'Kingdom Comin',' when she picked it up? It would surprise
her so she would think it was bewitched, and she'd shriek the way she
does when a cattapillah gets on her."
Lloyd laughed so heartily at the recollection, that an old gentleman
sitting at an opposite table smiled in sympathy. He had been watching
the child ever since she came into the dining-room, interested in every
look and gesture. He was a dignified old soldier, tall and
broad-shouldered, with gray hair and a fierce-looking gray moustache
drooping heavily over his mouth. But the eyes under his shaggy brows
were so kind and gentle that the shyest child or the sorriest waif of a
stray dog would claim him for a friend at first glance.
The Little Colonel was so busy watching the scene from the window that
she did not see him until he had finished his breakfast and rose from
the table. As he came toward them on his way to the door, she whispered,
"Look, mothah! He has only one arm, like grandfathah. I wondah if he
was a soldiah, too. Why is he bowing to Papa Jack?"
"I met him last night in the office," explained her father, when the old
gentleman had passed out of hearing. "We got into conversation over the
dog he had with him--a magnificent St. Bernard, that had been trained as
a war dog, to go out with the ambulances to hunt for dead and wounded
soldiers. Major Pierre de Vaux is the old man's name. The clerk told me
that when the Major lost his arm, he was decorated for some act of
bravery. He is well known here in Geneva, where he comes every summer
for a few weeks."
"Oh, I hope I'll see the war dog!" cried the Little Colonel. "What do
you suppose his name is?"
The waiter, who was changing their plates, could not resist this
temptation to show off the little English he knew. "Hes name is _Hero_,
mademoiselle," he answered. "He vair smart dog. He know _evair_ sing
somebody say to him, same as a person."
"You'll probably see him as we go out to the carriage," said Mr.
Sherman. "He follows the Major constantly."
As soon as breakfast was over, Mrs. Sherman went up to her room for her
hat. Lloyd, who had worn hers down to breakfast, wandered out into the
hall to wait for her. There was a tall, carved chair standing near the
elevator, and Lloyd climbed into it. To her great confusion, something
inside of it gave a loud click as she seated herself, and began to
play. It played so loudly that Lloyd was both startled and embarrassed.
It seemed to her that every one in the hotel must hear the noise, and
know that she had started it.
"Silly old thing!" she muttered, as with a very red face she slipped
down and walked hurriedly away. She intended to go into the
reading-room, but in her confusion turned to the left instead of the
right, and ran against some one coming out of the hotel office. It was
the Major.
"Oh, I beg your pahdon!" she cried, blushing still more. From the
twinkle in his eye she was sure that he had witnessed her mortifying
encounter with the musical chair. But his first words made her forget
her embarrassment. He spoke in the best of English, but with a slight
accent that Lloyd thought very odd and charming.
"Ah, it is Mr. Sherman's little daughter. He told me last night that you
had come to Switzerland because it was a land of heroes, and he was sure
that you would be especially interested in mine. So come, Hero, my brave
fellow, and be presented to the little American lady. Give her your paw,
sir!"
He stepped aside to let the great creature past him, and Lloyd uttered
an exclamation of delight, he was so unusually large and beautiful. His
curly coat of tawny yellow was as soft as silk, and a great ruff of
white circled his neck like a collar. His breast was white, too, and his
paws, and his eyes had a wistful, human look that went straight to
Lloyd's heart. She shook the offered paw, and then impulsively threw her
arms around his neck, exclaiming, "Oh, you deah old fellow! I can't help
lovin' you. You're the beautifulest dog I evah saw!"
[Illustration: "HE STEPPED ASIDE TO LET THE GREAT CREATURE PAST HIM"]
He understood the caress, if not the words, for he reached up to touch
her cheek with his tongue, and wagged his tail as if he were welcoming a
long-lost friend. Just then Mrs. Sherman stepped out of the elevator.
"Good-bye, Hero," said the Little Colonel. "I must go now, but I hope
I'll see you when I come back." Nodding good-bye to the Major, she
followed her mother out to the street, where her father stood waiting
beside an open carriage.
Lloyd enjoyed the drive that morning as they spun along beside the
river, up and down the strange streets with the queer foreign signs over
the shop doors. Once, as they drove along the quay, they met the Major
and the dog, and in response to a courtly bow, the Little Colonel waved
her hand and smiled. The empty sleeve recalled her grandfather, and gave
her a friendly feeling for the old soldier. She looked back at Hero as
long as she could see a glimpse of his white and yellow curls.
It was nearly noon when they stopped at a place where Mrs. Sherman
wanted to leave an enamelled belt-buckle to be repaired. Lloyd was not
interested in the show-cases, and could not understand the conversation
her father and mother were having with the shopkeeper about enamelling.
So, saying that she would go out and sit in the carriage until they were
ready to come, she slipped away.
She liked to watch the stir of the streets. It was interesting to guess
what the foreign signs meant, and to listen to the strange speech around
her. Besides, there was a band playing somewhere down the street, and
children were tugging at their nurses' hands to hurry them along. Some
carried dolls dressed in the quaint costumes of Swiss peasants, and some
had balloons. A man with a bunch of them like a cluster of great red
bubbles had just sold out on the corner.
So she sat in the sunshine, looking around her with eager, interested
eyes. The coachman, high up on his box, seemed as interested as
herself; at least, he sat up very straight and stiff. But it was only
his back that Lloyd saw. He had been at a fête the night before. There
seems to be always a holiday in Geneva. He had stayed long at the
merrymaking and had taken many mugs of beer. They made him drowsy and
stupid. The American gentleman and his wife stayed long in the
enameller's shop. He could scarcely keep his eyes open. Presently,
although he never moved a muscle of his back and sat up stiff and
straight as a poker, he was sound asleep, and the reins in his grasp
slipped lower and lower and lower.
The horse was an old one, stiffened and jaded by much hard travel, but
it had been a mettlesome one in its younger days, with the recollection
of many exciting adventures. Now, although it seemed half asleep,
dreaming, maybe, of the many jaunts it had taken with other American
tourists, or wondering if it were not time for it to have its noonday
nosebag, it was really keeping one eye open, nervously watching some
painters on the sidewalk. They were putting up a scaffold against a
building, in order that they might paint the cornice.
Presently the very thing happened that the old horse had been expecting.
A heavy board fell from the scaffold with a crash, knocking over a
ladder, which fell into the street in front of the frightened animal.
Now the old horse had been in several runaways. Once it had been hurt
by a falling ladder, and it had never recovered from its fear of one. As
this one fell just under its nose, all the old fright and pain that
caused its first runaway seemed to come back to its memory. In a frenzy
of terror it reared, plunged forward, then suddenly turned and dashed
down the street.
The plunge and sudden turn threw the sleeping coachman from the box to
the street. With the lines dragging at its heels, the frightened horse
sped on. The Little Colonel, clutching frantically at the seat in front
of her, screamed at the horse to stop. She had been used to driving ever
since she was big enough to grasp the reins, and she felt that if she
could only reach the dragging lines, she could control the horse. But
that was impossible. All she could do was to cling to the seat as the
carriage whirled dizzily around corners, and wonder how many more
frightful turns it would make before she should be thrown out.
The white houses on either side seemed racing-past them. Nurses ran,
screaming, to the pavements, dragging the baby-carriages out of the way.
Dogs barked and teams were jerked hastily aside. Some one dashed out of
a shop and threw his arms up in front of the horse to stop it, but,
veering to one side, it only plunged on the faster.
Lloyd's hat blew off. Her face turned white with a sickening dread, and
her breath began to come in frightened sobs. On and on they went, and,
as the scenes of a lifetime will be crowded into a moment in the memory
of a drowning man, so a thousand things came flashing into Lloyd's mind.
She saw the locust avenue all white and sweet in blossom time, and
thought, with a strange thrill of self-pity, that she would never ride
under its white arch again. Then came her mother's face, and Papa
Jack's. In a few moments, she told herself, they would be picking up her
poor, broken, lifeless little body from the street. How horribly they
would feel. And then--she screamed and shut her eyes. The carriage had
dashed into something that tore off a wheel. There was a crash--a sound
as of splintering wood. But it did not stop their mad flight. With a
horrible bumping motion that nearly threw her from the carriage at
every jolt, they still kept on.
[Illustration: "BUT IT DID NOT STOP THEIR MAD FLIGHT"]
They were on the quay now. The noon sun on the water flashed into her
eyes like the blinding light thrown back from a looking-glass. Then
something white and yellow darted from the crowd on the pavement, and
catching the horse by the bit, swung on heavily. The horse dragged along
for a few paces, and came to a halt, trembling like a leaf.
A wild hurrah went up from both sides of the street, and the Little
Colonel, as she was lifted out white and trembling, saw that it was a
huge St. Bernard that the crowd was cheering.
"Oh, it's H-Hero!" she cried, with chattering teeth. "How did he get
here?" But no one understood her question. The faces she looked into,
while beaming with friendly interest, were all foreign. The eager
exclamations on all sides were uttered in a foreign tongue. There was no
one to take her home, and in her fright she could not remember the name
of their hotel. But in the midst of her confusion a hearty sentence in
English sounded in her ear, and a strong arm caught her up in a fatherly
embrace. It was the Major who came pushing through the crowd to reach
her. Her grandfather himself could not have been more welcome just at
that time, and her tears came fast when she found herself in his
friendly shelter. The shock had been a terrible one.
"Come, dear child!" he exclaimed, gently, patting her shoulder.
"Courage! We are almost at the hotel. See, it is on the corner, there.
Your father and mother will soon be here."
Wiping her eyes, he led her across the street, explaining as he went how
it happened that he and the dog were on the street when she passed. They
had been in the gardens all morning and were going home to lunch, when
they heard the clatter of the runaway far down the street. The Major
could not see who was in the carriage, only that it appeared to be a
child. He was too old a man, and with his one arm too helpless to
attempt to stop it, but he remembered that Hero had once shared the
training of some collies for police service, before it had been decided
to use him as an ambulance dog. They were taught to spring at the
bridles of escaping horses.
"I was doubtful if Hero remembered those early lessons," said the Major,
"but I called out to him sharply, for the love of heaven to stop it if
he could, and that instant he was at the horse's head, hanging on with
all his might. Bravo, old fellow!" he continued, turning to the dog as
he spoke. "We are proud of you this day!"
They were in the corridor of the hotel now, and the Little Colonel,
kneeling beside Hero and putting her arms around his neck, finished her
sobbing with her fair little face laid fondly against his silky coat.
"Oh, you deah, deah old Hero," she said. "You saved me, and I'll love
you fo' evah and evah!"
The crowd was still in front of the hotel, and the corridor full of
excited servants and guests, when Mr. and Mrs. Sherman hurried in. They
had taken the first carriage they could hail and driven as fast as
possible in the wake of the runaway. Mrs. Sherman was trembling so
violently that she could scarcely stand, when they reached the hotel.
The clerk who ran out to assure them of the Little Colonel's safety was
loud in his praises of the faithful St. Bernard.
Hero had known many masters. He had been taught to obey many voices.
Many hands had fed and fondled him, but no hand had ever lain quite so
tenderly on his head, as the Little Colonel's. No one had ever looked
into his eyes so gratefully as she, and no voice had ever thrilled him
with as loving tones as hers, as she knelt there beside him, calling him
all the fond endearing names she knew. He understood far better than if
he had been human, that she loved him. Eagerly licking her hands and
wagging his tail, he told her as plainly as a dog can talk that
henceforth he would be one of her best and most faithful of friends.
If petting and praise and devoted attention could spoil a dog, Hero's
head would certainly have been turned that day, for friends and
strangers alike made much of him. A photographer came to take his
picture for the leading daily paper. Before nightfall his story was
repeated in every home in Geneva. No servant in the hotel but took a
personal pride in him or watched his chance to give him a sly sweetmeat
or a caress. But being a dog instead of a human, the attention only made
him the more lovable, for it made him feel that it was a kind world he
lived in and everybody was his friend.