“I took a walking tour of Switzerland after I finished my studies in Europe,” he said, at last.  “So that was how I happened to be at the Hospice the day that dog was taken away.  I had heard one of the monks tell about this dog’s father, who died saving travellers on an ice-bridge.  I went on my way toward Italy, and I saw this dog start down the trail to Martigny, the opposite direction.  I have never forgotten the pitiful look in his eyes nor the call he gave as he was led away.  I felt then that it was a tragedy, but never had an idea of what the poor little fellow would have to suffer.  Nor had I any idea that the lives of my dear ones would be saved through him!”

“The only thing I ever knew about the St. Bernard dogs was that they lived at the Hospice and went out to hunt lost people in the snow,” the captain spoke.  “You are the first one I ever knew who had been there.  I wish I could have seen it and those splendid dogs!”

“You know, the Pass of Great St. Bernard is the main road of travel between Italy and Switzerland,” the doctor went on, and his wife leaned forward as eagerly as Jan’s master to hear about Jan’s birthplace.  “It was through this Pass that Napoleon Bonaparte led his army of soldiers, single file and afoot, in the month of May, 1800!”

“I have read about that march,” interrupted the old man, “and I know what it meant, with food and ammunition and those big guns to haul.  You see, I served all through the four years of the Civil War.”

“May is the most dangerous time in the Alps, for the snow melts and slides in great avalanches, often catching people with no chance for escape.  When I stood on the stone steps of the Hospice, where many feet have worn little hollows, and I remembered how many people would never have reached those steps without the dogs’ help, I felt that though Napoleon was a great general and a brave man, the dogs of the Hospice were just as great and just as brave.  And the monument to Barry, near the old Hospice, was as fine in my eyes as the beautiful white marble one that Napoleon built in memory of General de Sais, who died on that trip, and which is in the chapel of the Hospice.  Both 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.