sitting at an opposite table smiled in sympathy. He had been watching the
child ever since she came into the dining-room, interested in every look
and gesture. He was a dignified old French soldier, tall and
broad-shouldered, with gray hair and a fierce-looking gray moustache
drooping heavily over his mouth. But the eyes under his shaggy brows were
so kind and gentle that the shyest child or the sorriest waif of a stray
dog would claim him for a friend at first glance.

The Little Colonel was so busy watching the scene from the window that she
did not see him until he had finished his breakfast and rose from the
table. As he came toward them on his way to the door, she whispered,
"Look, mothah! He has only one arm, like grandfathah. I wondah if he was a
soldiah, too. Why is he bowing to Papa Jack?"

"I met him last night in the office," explained her father, when the old
gentleman had passed out of hearing. "We got into conversation over the
dog he had with him--a magnificent St. Bernard, that had been trained as a
war dog, to go out with the ambulances to hunt for dead and wounded
soldiers. Major Pierre de Vaux is the old man's name. He served many years
in the French army, but was retired after the siege of Strasburg. The
clerk told me that it was there that the Major lost his arm, and received
his country's medal for some act of bravery. He is well known here in
Geneva, where he comes every summer for a few weeks."

"Oh, I hope I'll see the war dog!" cried the Little Colonel. "What do you
suppose his name is?"

The waiter, who was changing their plates, could not resist this
temptation to show off the little English he knew. "Hes name is _Hero_,
mademoiselle," he answered. "He vair smart dog. He know _evair_ sing