Far up the mountain
sounded the faint tinkling of goat-bells, and the clear, sweet yodelling
of a peasant, on his homeward way. At intervals, the deep tolling of the
bell of St. Oswald floated out across the water.
"When the snow falls," he said, after a long pause, "I shall be far away
from here. They tell me that at the hospital where I am going, I shall
find a cure. But I know." He pointed to an hour-glass on the table
beside him. "See! the sand has nearly run its course. The hour will soon
be done. It is so with me. I have felt it for a long time."
Lloyd looked up, startled. He went on slowly.
"I cannot take Hero with me to the hospital, so I shall leave him behind
with some one who will care for him and love him, perhaps even better
than I have done." He held out his hand to the dog.
"Come, Hero, my dear old comrade, come bid thy master farewell."
Fumbling under his pillow as he spoke, he took out a small leather case,
and, opening it, held up a medal. It was the medal that had been given
him for bravery on the field of battle.
[Illustration: "HE FASTENED THE MEDAL TO HERO'S COLLAR"]
"It is my one treasure!" murmured the old soldier, turning it fondly, as
it lay in his palm. "I have no family to whom I can leave it as an
heirloom, but thou hast twice earned the right to wear it. I have no
fear but that thou wilt always be true to the Red Cross and thy name of
Hero, so thou shalt wear thy country's medal to thy grave.
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