"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!"