above sea-level, she was to spend the night. The 

 cold wind blew a gale, roaring and booming 

 among the crags, the alpine brooklet turned to 

 ice, while, in the lee of the crag, shivering with 

 cold, hugging shaggy Scotch in her arms, she 

 lay down for the night. 



I had given my word not to go in search of her 

 if she failed to return. However, I sent out four 

 guides to look for her. They suffered much from 

 cold as they vainly searched among the crags 

 through the dark hours of the windy night. Just 

 at sunrise one of them found her, almost ex- 

 hausted, but, with slightly frost-bitten fingers, still 

 hugging Scotch in her arms. He gave her food 

 and drink and additional wraps, and without 

 delay started with her down the trail. As soon 

 as she was taken in charge by the guide, patient 

 Scotch left her and hurried home. He had saved 

 her life. 



Scotch's hair is long and silky, black with 

 a touch of tawny about the head and a little 

 bar of white on the nose. He has the most ex- 

 pressive and pleasing dog's face I have ever seen. 

 There is nothing he enjoys so well as to have 



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