oth the general and
Barry did their duty, as they saw it."

The little mother interrupted him, her eyes shining and her hands held
out. "Napoleon made that march for his own glory and ambition, and to
kill those who opposed his way," she said, "but Barry and the other dogs
risked death each day to save lives, with no thought of gain for
themselves."

"That's what I was thinking," the old captain nodded and spoke.

"What surprised me most," continued the doctor, "was that the monks who
live in the Hospice do not ask pay for anything they do. The people who
stop there do not even have to pay for the food that is eaten. When I
asked how much I owed for shelter and food those two days I was there,
they smiled and told me there was no charge. Of course, I could not
leave in that way, and when I insisted, I learned there was a little box
in the Monastery Chapel for purely volunteer offerings. No one ever
watches that box, and no one is ever asked to put anything into it. And
yet," he finished after a little pause, "often as many as five or six
hundred people have stopped at the Hospice in one day. I was told that
between twenty and twenty-five thousand people pass over the trail each
year. Then when one remembers that for a thousand years the ancestors of
Prince Jan have been travelling those trails and saving lives, one can
understand the splendid work of those monks and the dogs."

"And to-day," the little mother's voice trembled, "dear old Prince Jan
proved himself worthy of his ancestors and his heritage."

"Barry saved forty-two lives. His skin has been mounted and stands,
wonderfully life-like, in the Museum of Berne," the doctor said,
thoughtfully. "He did the work in the familiar places, the work he had
been trained to do; but to-day, there were ninety-two lives saved by
Prince Jan, with only his wonderful intelligence to guide him through
the sea and make him hold fast to that rope."

For several moments none of them spoke, but their eyes were on the dog
that slept quietly at their feet, while the little three-legged kitten
snuggled closely against his breast and purred loudly.

"One of the most pitiful sights at the Hospice is the House of the Dead,
a short distance from the Hospice. Those who have never been identified
sleep there. Sometimes, you see, the dogs and monks are too late, or the
avalanches of melting snow uncover people who have been buried months,
or even years. The Hospice is built on solid roc