Through the long hours of the night, though darkness shut away the sight of the other dogs, Jan could hear restless movements and choked whimpers, so that he could not forget where he was, and at last, when morning broke, he lifted his head slowly and looked at the dogs around him.  Then he remembered that morning at the Hospice when he had wakened early, waiting impatiently for his first lesson on the trail.  But these dogs around him, now, were pitiful things, cowering and shivering; the eyes that met his own were dull and hopeless, and the ears all drooped dejectedly.

The dogs started nervously as a key scraped in the lock of the door.  Then the old man came into the room and went from one dog to the other, patting each in turn as he placed clean, freshly cooked meat and a pan of water within easy reach.  The poor animals shrank back, but as they saw that he did not threaten any of them, the ragged tails flopped and the eyes that followed him were less timid.  When he reached Jan, the man stood looking at him and shaking his head slowly.  The dog, still suspicious of every human being, bunched his muscles and waited, but the smile and gentle voice, “You poor old fellow!  I’m afraid I can’t do anything for you,” made Jan look up with his great, wistful eyes pleading for sympathy and kindness.

“I’ll do the best I can, though,” the old man said, at last, as he untied the rope and turned toward the door.

The dog rose stiffly, for every bone in his gaunt body ached, his legs trembled from weakness due to lack of proper food, but he moved trustingly beside this kindly stranger.  As they reached once more the door of the little house where Jan had been washed and fed the night before, the wrinkled hand holding the rope reached out and Prince Jan’s hot tongue touched it in a light caress.

Inside the tiny house the man fixed an old comforter then pointing at it, he said, “Go lie down, Jan.”

With a sigh that was half-weariness, half gratitude, the dog stretched his tired body on the soft quilt, but his eyes watched every movement of his new friend.  Then Jan slept in peace, for the first time since Elizabeth had deserted him.

The odor of warm, fresh meat from a dish near his nose wakened him.  As he moved toward it a tiny yellow bird flew across the room and lit on the floor, watching him pertly and edging cautiously to the plate.  It paused with head perked impudently on one side and its bright little eyes fixed on the big dog.  Jan kept very still, and the old man, sitting across the room, nodded approvingly when the dog allowed the bird to peck at the plate of food.  After tasting Jan’s dinner, the bird, perched on the edge of the dish, lifted its head and sang as though its throat would burst with music.  It finished the song, gave a funny little shake of its wings, then flew across the room and lit on the shoulder of the Poundmaster, where it stayed while he kept moving around the room.