was thrown against the fur coat and looked up in fright.

"You are going to a new land," Mr. Pixley said, smoothing the pup's
velvety ear.

The dog lifted one paw and laid it on the man's knee, the brown eyes
that looked up were dull with misery. Jan knew, now, that he was being
taken away from the Hospice.

"Won't you take me back?" he begged.

But the man only heard a little whimper, and gave the dog a quick pat.
"You and Elizabeth will be great friends. Lie down now and be quiet!"

Jan dropped to the floor of the carriage, his head between his paws,
and his eyes that stared at the strange new master were full of wistful
pleading.

After that ride came days in a big, dark place that bumped and jerked
with horrible noises. He did not know that he was on a train. Jan had
lived all his life where the only disturbing sounds were the soft thud
of melting snow and the hissing of the avalanches down the mountain
sides. These strange noises hurt his ears. The pain in his heart kept
growing until he could only lie still and draw his breath in smothered
little whimpers that tore the inside of his throat. He could not eat nor
drink.

When Mr. Pixley took him from the train, the dog was led through crowds
of people and bustling, noisy streets that made Jan cringe and cower. At
last they reached a place where water stretched so far that it touched