The fire in the refectory's great fireplace roared. The Prior, the
Canons, the Sacristan, and everyone else who lived at the Hospice of St.
Bernard and did not have to be away on some urgent business, were
gathered around it.
Jean Greb, who felt well enough to sit up by now, occupied a chair in
front of the fire. Shaken and thoroughly chilled, but not seriously
injured, Professor Luttman lay on Jean's pallet.
The Prior said, "Let us have the dog brought forth. Even though he
cannot understand it, he should hear the message."
All eyes turned to Franz, beside whom Caesar had been sitting only
recently. The boy looked toward the door.
Caesar, who had accepted the stable but found the refectory much too
hot, was waiting just inside the door. His jaws were spread and his
tongue lolled. He wagged his tail at Franz and whined, obviously an
invitation for his master to open the door and let him out into the
comfortable snow.
"He finds the fire much too hot." The boy spoke with a free tongue from
a happy heart. He wondered now why he had ever been overawed by the
Prior or anyone else at the Hospice. Beneath their somber habits beat
very warm and wonderful hearts. If it were any other way, they would not
be here. Franz finished, "He wants me to let him out."
"A true dog of the high pass," the Prior said. "Very well, Franz. You
may let him out."
The boy walked to the door, opened it, and Caesar trotted out
gratefully. He began to roll in the snow. Franz returned to his place.
The Prior said, "All of us know of the miracle, a miracle wrought by a
young _maronnier_ and his dog. Now we shall hear the message Professor
Luttman carries."
"I have imparted the message to you," Professor Luttman protested. "You
are the proper person to tell Franz."
"Not I!" The Prior laughed. "I am merely an onlooker here, and I must
say that, for once, I thoroughly enjoy the spectator's role. Proceed,
Professor Luttman."
"Very well." The Professor turned to Franz. "Do you know what I really
thought the day I expelled you from my school?"
"You thought I was too stupid to learn," Franz replied.
"No such thing!" Professor Luttman denied. "I thought, 'There goes an
Alpinist, one who can never discover in my beloved books any of the
inspiration that he finds in his beloved mountains. It is truly unjust
to keep him in school when he does not belong here.' I thought also
that, one day, you would make your mark in the world."
"I am just a _maronnier_ at St. Bernard Hospice," Franz protested.
"And how grateful I am because you are 'just a _maronnier_,'" Professor
Luttman said. "Were you not, I would have died in the snow."
"They would have found you," Franz insisted.
"We would not!" Anton Martek spoke up. "We would have continued digging
where we thought he was. It never occurred to any of us that he might be
three hundred feet away and down the wall of snow."
"That is true," Father Benjamin agreed.
"Very true," said Father Mark.
"So I am alive today because of you and Caesar," Professor Luttman
continued. "Emil Gottschalk lives for the same reason. He wanted to give
you--" Professor Luttman named a greater sum of money than the boy had
ever thought existed.
"I would not accept his money," Franz asserted firmly.
Professor Luttman said, "So I told him, so your father told him, too,
but both of us agreed that the Hospice of St. Bernard might well use it.
Now the Prior and I have talked, and the Prior declares that you shall
decide how that money may be spent."
Franz murmured, "I would like enough to keep Caesar in food, so that he
will not be sent away from the Hospice."
The Prior laughed. "If there was any danger of Caesar being sent
away--and there isn't the slightest--there is enough money to feed him
for the next hundred years and a vast sum besides."
[Illustration]
Franz looked appealingly at the Prior. "I am not worthy to spend a sum
so huge!"
"You must," the Prior told him. "No one else can."
Franz turned his troubled eyes to the floor. After a moment, he looked
up.
"There is only one thing I would do," he said finally. "I would go down
into the villages, the mountain villages where people and animals alike
must learn the arts of the snow. I would buy more Alpine Mastiffs, dogs
such as Caesar, and bring them to the Hospice. I am sure you may find
someone with sufficient skill to train them properly."
"And I am equally sure we already have someone," the Prior declared.
"His name is Franz Halle. This is a day of great joy for all of us.
Think of the lives that would have been lost but will be saved after we
have these--
"These dogs of St. Bernard."
JIM KJELGAARD was born in New York City. Happily enough, he was still in
the pre-school age when his father decided to move the family to the
Pennsylvania mountains. There young Jim grew up among some of the best
hunting and fishing in the United States. He says: "If I had pursued my
scholastic duties as diligently as I did deer, trout, grouse, squirrels,
etc., I might have had better report cards!"
Jim Kjelgaard has worked at various jobs--trapper, teamster, guide,
surveyor, factory worker and laborer. When he was in his late twenties
he decided to become a full-time writer. No sooner decided than done! He
has published several hundred short stories and articles and quite a few
books for young people and adults.
His hobbies are hunting, fishing, dogs and questing for new stories. He
tells us: "Story hunts have led me from the Atlantic to the Pacific and
from the Arctic Circle to Mexico City. Stories, like gold, are where you
find them. You may discover one three thousand miles from home or, as in
_The Spell of the White Sturgeon_, (winner of the Boys' Life--Dodd,
Mead Prize Competition) right on your own door step." And he adds: "I am
married to a very beautiful girl and have a teen-age daughter. Both of
them order me around in a shameful fashion, but I can still boss the
dog! We live in Phoenix, Arizona."