OUR BOYS & GIRLS.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 933, 17 January 1890, Page 5

OUR BOYS & GIRLS.

THE STORY OF TURKBy F. H. Throop. (Continued.) A figure moved from the dusky corner opposite and I recognised the admirer of Napoleon’s army, who returned in an instant with all the prider of a full blown soldier, bearing in his arms a mass of down, which, upon being placed on the ground, resolved itself in three great awkward puppies—balls of yellow and white fur that rolled about helplessly ia the confused firelight or balanced themselves on most unsteady legs. The mother-dog followed closely, a very intelligent animal, with soft eyes and gentle manner, crouching low beside her master, or standing erect for service as the call directed. * We have waited for your coming to name them, Jean,’ said Pdre Luisier, affectionately laying his hand on the bry’s sleeve, ‘ if you like we call this fellow, “Napoleon”’ (the boy’s idea vras not unknown, then, to P6re Luisier), and be laughed as he indicated a very round little pup whose four paws were at that iustaut waving heroically in space, — * and that brown one, the boys ask to name “ Leon,” after our good Father Morton, — and this V The priest lifted up the smallest of the three. Although the youngest, he bore an air of determined courage in his bright iittle eyes. The boy hesitated. 1 Father, I wish you would call him—call him’--their eyes met. The boy’s lip trembled, and seizing little * Turk,’ he carried him from the room. P&re Luisier rose abruptly. ‘ The boy almost unnerved me,’ he said. * I will return directly.’ And gathering the remaining puppies in his arms, he retired, followed by the majestic mother-dog. Presently he returned loaded to the chin with fire-wood. ‘ One must not come emptyhatded,’ was his reply, when we remonstrated because of its weight. ‘ That boy Jean has taken a great fancy to you, sir,’ he added. ‘ He wants me to tell about Turk, and I mush have a good fire before I begin, for it’s a cold story at best. This is Turk’s skin, sir. I' keep it here beside the logs where he liked best to stay when off duty, and this is hi 3 photograph, and this, his collar. Turk, died in harness, as, please the Lord ! will I. He crossed himself, threw some more pinecones on the fire, and began the story ; ‘ It happened two winters ago, on a night when the wind had taken down every standing thing about us, and only the hospice and monastery remained. All day long I had heard the boulders rolling down the moun-tain-side : but the whirl of snow was so blinding I could not see my hand before my face. Still the sound was enough—l knew the rooks never fell alone, and I prayed God there might be no travellers on the pass that night.. Each day we visited the “ refuges.” You perhaps noticed them, stone huts along the pass. They are kept open during the winter, a bed in each, a fire ready to light, food and brandy on the shelf. Peasants who reach one can wait in comparative comfort till we come, and many are the poor souls we find sheltered there. How do we go 1 simply enough—priests and dogs, hand in hand as it were. First in line, one of the dogs leads, his “barrel ” attached to his collar, a coat strapped on his back ; a rope from his collar passing through the strap, is tied about the waist of the first Brother, on to the next behind until all are attached in line of march. Sometimes there are two, sometimes more, according to the difficulties of the weather. Heavy rubber-coats liued with fur, high boots, a long spiked pole in the hand, an axe and shovel strapped across the back, such is the uniform of a St Bernard monk on duty. At daybreak we begin the descent, feeling our way step by step, often stopping to cut a path through a bank of snow and ice ; and should the dog in front disappear, falling suddenly forward, we know there is a dangerous crevasse ahead, and, dragging him out,, we go on more cautiously. ‘ On that day it was my morning off duty ; I stayed in the library at work on my papers and boobs ; at noon the Piedmont party* returned ; about two, I heard the call of the Valais men coming up the pass : it was the “ distress cry,” and we all hastened to help them in with two poor fellows that they had found in the first refuge, The priests had ( been told by them that they were aloDe. But in the warmth of the fire, one began to sob, confessing they had lied, and begging us to save his brother. The truth was soon told, and to our horror we found that they were two from a party of five, who had left St. Pierre the day before, and been overtaken in the storm. There was no time to be lost then, —no word of reproach was spoken to the poor wretches who, to save themselves, had concealed their comrades’ fate. Father L6on and I were the only men in the monastery who were fresh and unwearied. It was folly for the others to talk of joining us, and they soon gave up the idea. All the dogs had bßen out often, ton, and the day had been unusually hard, We would not force them out, but I went and stood a moment at the kennel door. Turk instantly jumped to my side, running to and fro from his harness to my feet, and I knew he was ready and willing to go, Jean was here in those days, and when he found Turk was going, he begged to be of the party ; I refused once and again, but he loved him like a human brother, and there was no keeping him back; he was a strong lad, knowing every foot of the pass. So it was not in my heart to refuse him, on the Lord s errand,

remembering the work we had in hand, there being only two of us for the three below there in the snow. Jean was ready on the instant. And out we went into the blinding storm, leaving the door just as the clock struck ths half hour past two. ‘lt was terrible. Turk led the way, ploughing along like some great engiue ; I followed ; Jean came next, and Ffere Ldon last. We sank knee-deep, constantly lost our footing completely in snow-drifts, or found ourselves abont to fall in some Chasm, from which we hauled one another. We were three hours in reaching sight of the first refuge. There was no building to be seen, but we knew the direction, and turning off began to dig for our lives into the the great bank. The snow had ceased, the air was clear and cold, darkness had overtaken us and we were almost exhausted. Ah ! that was cheerless work, digging our way into the little hut, but we were rewarded at last; Jean’s shovel struck the very door, and in a few minutes we were fanning into flame the smouldering remains of the morning’s fire. ‘To find the travellere, get them to the refuge that night, give them the care which alone could" save their poor half frozen bodies —this was our one thought. We waited only to get some of the numbness out of our feet and hands, to rub up the lanterns, place a light on the bank outside, and then we were off again, this time even more cautiously than before; for now we must swing the lanterns far out on either side, push the snow to right and left, and begin that dreary searoh which in its eager intensity can never be described —and, thank Heaven ! there are few who know it from experience !’ Pbre Luisier paused here ; his strong face looked gray in the firelight. ‘ Ah ? it is so hard to tell these things ; yet, if the world knew more of what we suffer, it would perhaps be more eager to send us the help we so much need.+ But, enough—we found them. Turk tracked them from the hut by scent, following back the steps of the rescued ones, and not far away they were lying just under the snow. One past help. The other two we carried to the refuge, and when the morning came they were able to take their coffee and start with the rest of us.

(To be concluded.)