Lloyd’s face dimpled with pleasure, and she began to ask eager questions.  “Couldn’t 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 French 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.  He served many years in the French army, but was retired after the siege of Strasburg.  The clerk told me that it was there that the Major lost his arm, and received his country’s medal 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.  “What do you suppose his name is?”

The waiter, who was changing their plates, could not resist this temptation to show off the little English he knew.  “Hes name is Hero, mademoiselle,” he answered.  “He vair smart dog.  He know evair sing somebody say to him, same as a person.”

“You’ll probably see him as we go out to the carriage,” said Mr. Sherman.  “He follows the Major constantly.”

As soon as breakfast was over, Mrs. Sherman went up to her room for her hat.  Lloyd, who had worn hers down to breakfast, wandered out into the hall to wait for her.  There was a tall, carved chair standing near the elevator, and Lloyd climbed into it.  To her great confusion, something inside of it gave a loud click as she seated herself, and began to play.  It played so loudly that Lloyd was both startled and embarrassed.  It seemed to her that every one in the hotel must hear the noise, and know that she had started it.

“Silly old thing!” she muttered, as with a very red face she slipped down and walked hurriedly away.  She intended to go into the reading-room, but in her confusion turned to the left instead of the right, and ran against some one coming out of the hotel office.  It was the Major.