I have, as you know, been among the Swiss mountains; and the thought
of the good monks living in those awful solitudes through the storms
of winter, with the avalanches for their music, and only an
occasional traveller for society, and with these gentle, loving dogs
for companions, gave me a new love for these excellent animals.
I thought, too, of the poor traveller who had lost his way, and
found his strength failing. I imagined his joy at the sight of one
of these dogs with a cloak on his back, and a bottle of cordial tied
to his neck.
I saw, in my mind, the good "fellow-creature" showing the way to the
shelter which his truly Christian masters are so glad to afford.
These monks, it is said, keep a bell ringing during storms. It seems
to me I can see one of the old monks sitting over his fire, putting
on more wood, and making his tight chalet as warm as he can, in case
a traveller should come.
Presently he hears a cheerful bark from one of the dogs. He opens
his door; the poor, frozen, half-starved traveller enters.
The monk takes off the wet garments; he rubs the stiff, cold hands;
he speaks kind words to the stranger, and gives him something warm
to drink.
Meanwhile, the good dog lies down on the floor, looking with his
big, kind eyes at the wayfarer, and seems to say, "I'm glad I found
you and brought you here to my master.
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