give the command so well that Hero
shall obey you as he does me."

Then he began talking of Christine, her fair hair, her blue eyes, her
playful ways; and Lloyd, listening, drew him on with many questions.

Suddenly the Major arose, bowing courteously, for Mrs. Sherman, seeing
them from the doorway, had smiled and started toward them. Springing up,
Lloyd ran to meet her.

"Mothah," she whispered, "please ask the Majah to sit at ou' table
tonight at dinnah. He's such a deah old man, and tells such interestin'
things, and he's lonesome. The tears came into his eyes when he talked
about his little daughtah. She was just my age when she died, mothah,
and he thinks she looked like me."

The Major's courtly manner and kind face had already aroused Mrs.
Sherman's interest. His empty sleeve reminded her of her father. His
loneliness appealed to her sympathy, and his kindness to her little
daughter had won her deepest appreciation. She turned with a cordial
smile to repeat Lloyd's invitation, which was gladly accepted.

That was the beginning of a warm friendship. From that time he was
included in their plans. Now, in nearly all their excursions and drives,
there were four in the party instead of three, and five, very often.
Whenever it was possible, Hero was with them. He and the Little Colonel
often went out together alone. It grew to be a familiar sight in the
town, the graceful fair-haired child and the big tawny St. Bernard,
walking side by side along the quay. She was not afraid to venture
anywhere with such a guard. As for Hero, he followed her as gladly as he
did his master.

CHAPTER III

THE RED CROSS OF GENEVA

A week after the runaway, the handsomest collar that could be bought in
town was fastened around Hero's neck. It had taken a long time to get
it, for Mr. Sherman went to many shops before he found material that he
considered good enough for the rescuer of his little daughter. Then the
jeweller had to keep it several days while he engraved an inscription on
the gold name-plate--an inscription that all who read might know what
happened on a certain July day in the old Swiss town of Geneva. On the
under side of the collar was a stout link like the one on his old one,
to which the flask could be fastened when he was harnessed for service,
and on the upper side, finely wrought in enamel, was a red cross on a
white square.

"Papa Jack!" exclaimed Lloyd, examining it with interest, "that is the
same