The orderly turned with an exclamation of admiration as the dog came toward him, and held out his hand with a friendly snap of the fingers.  “Ah, old comrade,” he called out in French, in a deep, hearty voice.  “Come, give me a greeting!  I, too, am from the motherland.”

At sound of the familiar speech, the dog went forward, wagging his tail violently, as if he recognised an old acquaintance.  Then he stopped and snuffed his boots in a puzzled manner, and looked up wistfully into the orderly’s face.  It was a stranger he gazed at, yet voice, speech, and appearance were like the man’s who had trained him from a puppy, and he gave a wriggle of pleasure when the big hand came down on his head, and the deep voice spoke caressingly to him.

When the orderly mounted his horse.  Hero would have followed had not the Little Colonel called him sharply, grieved and jealous that he should show such marked interest in a stranger.  He turned back at her call, but stood in the road, looking after his new-found friend, till horse and rider disappeared down the bridle-path that led through the deep woods to the other camp.

CHAPTER XV.

THE SENTRY’S MISTAKE

Promptly on Thursday, at the time appointed, the orderly rode over to Camp Walton to escort the party back to the camp at Calkin’s Cliff.  The four boys led the way on their ponies; the rest piled into a great farm wagon filled with straw, that had been procured from one of the neighbouring farms for the occasion.

Hero followed obediently, when the Little Colonel ordered him to jump up beside her, but he turned longing eyes on the orderly, whom he had welcomed with strong marks of pleasure.  It was only their second meeting, but Hero seemed to regard him as an old friend.  He leaped up to lick his face, and bounded around him with quick, short barks of pleasure that, for the moment, gave Lloyd a jealous pang.  She was hurt that Hero should show such an evident desire to follow him in preference to her.

“I don’t see what makes Hero act so,” she said to Mrs. Walton.

“The orderly certainly must bear a strong resemblance to some one whom Hero knew and loved in France,” she replied.  “You have owned him less than two months, and he has been away from France only a year, you must remember.  Everything must seem strange to him here.  He was not brought up to play with children, as many St. Bernards are.

“The other night, at the entertainment, I wondered many times what Hero must think of his strange surroundings.  His life here is different in every way from all that he has been used to.  A dog trained from puppyhood to the experiences of soldier life would naturally miss the excitement of camp as much as a soldier suddenly retired to the life of a private citizen.”

“Oh, deah!” sighed Lloyd, “I wish he could talk.  I’d ask him if he is unhappy. Are you homesick, old fellow?”