Rescue Dog of the High Pass

It had not been easy to coax Caesar inside, even into a stable, but Franz had succeeded both in getting him in and in persuading the big Alpine Mastiff to sleep at his feet. Now, as the wind screamed through St. Bernard Pass and the frost cut like a sharp knife, Franz grinned to himself. He understood that the three other mariners at the Hospice; the novices, or apprentice priests; the Aumonier, who welcomed guests and dispensed charity; the Clavandier, who watched over all stores; the Sacristan, whose duty it was to take charge of the Chapel; the Abbe, who watched over the novices; the four Canons, whose authority was exceeded only by that of the Prior, and even the great Prior himself, slept in unheated cells. He was not positive about this because anyone as lowly as he could never be sure about the doings of people as mighty as they. For all he knew, the Hospice would collapse if he spoke to any of the Canons, and the mountains themselves would tumble if he even looked at the Prior. But he thought it was true. If it was, then he, Franz Halle, the humblest of the humble mariners had by far the finest sleeping quarters in Great St. Bernard Pass. With fragrant hay as a mattress, plenty of blankets, a dog to keep his feet warm, and the four gentle cows of the Hospice to add their warmth to the stable, let the wind scream as it would and the frost crackle as it might. He would never care. Caesar shifted his position at Franz’s feet, to bring his head nearer the boy’s right hand. Franz took his hand from beneath the blankets to tickle Caesar’s ears, and a worried frown creased his forehead.