will travel together, and often the youngest will be a babe in its
mother's arms."

"I should think they would wait till later in the summer, and take no
risks."

"Only the good God knows when a snow storm will overtake one in the Pass
of Great St. Bernard," Brother Antoine said. "Even in our summer
months, when a light shower of rain falls in the Valley below, it
becomes a heavy snow up here, and many people are taken unawares. After
winter really begins, in September, the snow is often from seven to ten
feet deep and the drifts pile up against the walls of the Hospice as
high as the third story roof."

"I had planned to visit Berne," Mr. Pixley spoke now, "but after this
sample of your winter weather I have decided to return home to
California. I do not enjoy snow storms. We have none where I live, you
know."

Brother Antoine nodded. "Yes, I know; but I hope some day you will visit
Berne and see Barry. His skin was mounted and is kept in the Museum at
Berne. You know his record? He saved forty-two people and died in 1815,
just after the terrible storm that cost the lives of almost all the
Hospice dogs. Only three St. Bernards lived through those days--Barry,
Pluto, and Pallas. A few crawled home to die of exhaustion and cold; the
rest lie buried under thousands of feet of snow, but they all died like
heroes!"

"A glorious record!" exclaimed the younger man, who had been patting
Jan while the others talked. "I remember, when I was a very small boy,