that I found a picture in a book. It showed a St. Bernard dog digging a
man from the snow, and last night I recognized the picture in that
painting which hangs over the fireplace in the refectory."

"It was a gift from a noted artist," replied the monk. "The dogs used to
carry a little saddle with a warm shawl, but the extra weight was hard
on them, so we do not use the saddle any longer, but a flagon, or wooden
keg of white brandy that we call 'kirsch,' is fastened to the collar,
together with a bell, so that the tinkling will tell that help is near,
even though it may be too dark for any one to see the dog."

"I notice that most of the dogs are short-haired," the grey-eyed man
observed. "Such fur as this pup's would afford better protection against
the cold. He has a magnificent coat of hair!"

"That is the only point against him," said Brother Antoine. "During the
big storm of 1815 we learned that long-haired dogs break down from the
snow clinging and freezing like a coat of mail; or the thick hair
holding moisture developed pneumonia. We brought Newfoundland dogs to
fill the kennels when only three St. Bernards were left, but the long,
heavy hair of the new 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