he shock had been a terrible one.

"Come, dear child!" he exclaimed, gently, patting her shoulder. "Courage!
We are almost at the hotel. See, it is on the corner, there. The father
and mother will soon be here."

Wiping her eyes, he led her across the street, explaining as he went how
it happened that he and the dog were on the street when she passed. They
had been in the gardens all morning and were going home to lunch, when
they heard the clatter of the runaway far down the street. The Major could
not see who was in the carriage, only that it appeared to be a child. He
was too old a man, and with his one arm too helpless to attempt to stop
it, but he remembered that Hero had once shared the training of some
collies for police service, before it had been decided to use him as an
ambulance dog. They were taught to spring at the bridles of escaping
horses.

"I was doubtful if Hero remembered those early lessons," said the Major,
"but I called out to him sharply, for the love of heaven to stop it if he
could, and that instant he was at the horse's head, hanging on with all
his might. Bravo, old fellow!" he continued, turning to the dog as he
spoke. "We are proud of you this day!"

They were in the corridor of the hotel now, and the Little Colonel,
kneeling beside Hero and putting her arms around his neck, finished her
sobbing with her fair little face laid fondly against his silky coat.

"Oh, you deah, deah old Hero," she said. "You saved me, and I'll love you
fo' evah and evah!"

The crowd was still in front of the hotel, and the corridor full of
excited servants and guests, when Mr. and Mrs. Sherman hurried in. They
had taken the first carriage they could hail and driven as fast as
possible in the wake of the runaway. Mrs. Sherman was trembling so
violently that she could scarcely stand, when they reached the hotel. The
clerk who ran out to assure them of the Little Colonel's safety was loud
in his praises of the faithful St. Bernard.

Hero had known many masters. Any one in the uniform of the army had once
had authority over him. He had been taught to obey many voices. Many hands
had fed and fondled him, but no hand had ever lain quite so tenderly on
his head, as the Little Colonel's. No one had ever looked into his eyes so
gratefully as she, and no voice had ever thrilled him with as loving tones
as hers, as she knelt there beside him, calling him all the fond endearing
names she knew. He understood far better