the sky, and the water kept moving all the time. This frightened him,
for he had never seen any water excepting in the little lake at the
Hospice, and that water did not move, for it was nearly always frozen
over. Bewildered, Jan hung back, but the man to whom Mr. Pixley had
handed the rope dragged the dog up a walk of boards to a
strange-looking house on top of the water. Jan stumbled down the dark
stairs, into a hot, smelly place where he was fastened to a wall. An old
sack was thrown down, water and meat placed before him, then he was left
alone. Whistles screamed, bells jangled, all sorts of noises pounded
Jan's shrinking, sensitive ears as he cowered in an agony of fear. The
boat moved; but he thought, as it puffed and trembled, that a huge,
strange animal had swallowed him alive.

The rolling motion made him very sick. He could neither eat nor sleep,
but grew stiff and sore during the days and nights he was kept tied in
the hold of the vessel. Homesick and lonesome, poor little Prince Jan
lay for hours crying softly, but the only attention any one gave him was
to fill pans with water and food.

One day two women, wearing white caps on their heads, climbed down the
stairs with a little girl and boy. The children ran and put their arms
about the dog's neck and Jan wriggled and squirmed with happiness, while
he licked their hands and faces.

"Don't touch him," cried one of the women, pulling the girl away. "He
is filthy, beside, he might bite you."

The child drew back in alarm. Jan's gentle eyes watched them and his
tail waved slowly, trying to make them know that he loved them and would
not hurt them or anybody in the world.