The sound of Brother Antoine’s voice made them look up quickly, and they saw two visitors were with him.  The dogs were accustomed to visitors, for in the summer many people came to see the Hospice and the dogs, but in the winter the strangers sought refuge from storms.

“Come on, Rollo,” called Jan, as the monk and the men with him came down the steps.  “There’s Brother Antoine.  I’ll beat you to him!  Show him how fast we can run!”

Before Jan had finished, the two puppies were tearing madly toward the monk and the other men.  One of these strangers wore a long fur overcoat, the other was a much younger man with kindly grey eyes.  Jan won the race, but was going so fast that he could not stop until he bumped against this grey-eyed man, who smiled and leaned down to pat him.  Jan squirmed around and touched the hand with his nose, then edged nearer Brother Antoine, who called the dogs about him.

It was a splendid sight to see them cross the enclosure, their great heads held proudly, their eyes beaming with intelligence and kindness, the strong muscles moving beneath the tawny skins, as though each one of them, old and young, understood that the honor of his forefathers must be guarded from any act that would injure it.

Bruno limped slowly, Jan’s mother walked sedately beside him, back of them were Jupitiere, Junon, Mars, Vulcan, Pluton, Leon, and among the older dogs came those the same age as Jan and Rollo, followed by the mothers with still smaller puppies.  They reached a place in the yard where all of them stopped, and though the man in the fur coat, who stood a distance back of Brother Antoine and the younger man, called to them, the dogs only wagged their tails and did not go any closer.

“You will have to come further,” said the monk.  “The dogs know that they must not cross to you, for the first thing a puppy learns is to respect the boundary line.”

The fur-coated man moved to where Brother Antoine and the other man stood, then the dogs grouped about while the monk talked to the visitors.

“They seem to understand every word you say,” the old man spoke.  “Their eyes are so intelligent.”

“They are living sermons on obedience, loyalty, and self-sacrifice,” answered Brother Antoine’s gentle voice.  “Not one of these dogs would hesitate to risk his life to save his most bitter enemy.  That has been their heritage for almost a thousand years, now.”

“Natural instinct counts for a great deal,” the grey-eyed man spoke as he looked into the upturned faces of the dogs, “but the patient training you give them has developed it.”

“The older dogs help us teach the youngsters,” went on the monk, whose hand rested on Jan’s head.  “We send out four dogs each morning—­two younger ones and two of the old ones.  One pair goes on the trail down the Italian slope toward Aosta, the other travels the Swiss path leading to Martigny.  None of them turns back until the last cabin of refuge has been reached, where they look to see if any person is waiting.  It is not unusual for the dogs to stay out all night in a hard storm.  There have been many instances of their remaining away for two days and nights, without food or shelter, though at any time they could have come home.”