esson, to know that she was bounded on one side by the famous
Alpine mountain, and on the other by the River Rhone, whose source she
had often traced on the map. The sunshine, the music, and the gay crowds
made it seem to Lloyd as if the whole world were out for a holiday, and
she ate her melon and listened to the plans for the day with the
sensation that something very delightful was about to happen.

"We'll go shopping this morning," said Mrs. Sherman. "I want Lloyd to
see some of those wonderful music boxes they make here; the dancing
bears, and the musical hand-mirrors; the chairs that play when you sit
down in them, and the beer-mugs that begin a tune when you lift them
up."

Lloyd's face dimpled with pleasure, and she began to ask eager
questions. "Could we take one to Mom Beck, mothah? A lookin'-glass that
would play 'Kingdom Comin',' when she picked it up? It would surprise
her so she would think it was bewitched, and she'd shriek the way she
does when a cattapillah gets on her."

Lloyd laughed so heartily at the recollection, that an old gentleman
sitting at an opposite table smiled in sympathy. He had been watching
the child ever since she came into the dining-room, interested in every
look and gesture. He was a dignified old soldier, tall and
broad-shouldered, with gray hair and a fierce-looking gray moustache
drooping heavily over his mouth. But the eyes under his shaggy brows
were so kind and gentle that the shyest child or the sorriest waif of a
stray dog would claim him for a friend at first glance.

The Little Colonel was so busy watching the scene from the window that
she did not see him until he had finished his breakfast and rose from
the table. As he came toward them on his way to the door, she whispered,
"Look, mothah! He has only one arm, like grandfathah. I wondah if he
was a soldiah, too. Why is he bowing to Papa Jack?"

"I met him last night in the office," explained her father, when the old
gentleman had passed out of hearing. "We got into conversation over the
dog he had with him--a magnificent St. Bernard, that had been trained as
a war dog, to go out with the ambulances to hunt for dead and wounded
soldiers. Major Pierre de Vaux is the old man's name. The clerk told me
that when the Major lost his arm, he was decorated for some act of
bravery. He is well known here in Geneva, where he comes every summer
for a few weeks."

"Oh, I hope I'll see the war dog!" cried the Little Colonel. "Wh