eater significance to the following
circumstance.

I was not superstitious, and up to this time had had no faith in omens,
but was now deeply impressed by a strange occurrence in which Bingo took
a leading part. There were but two of us now living on the De Winton
Farm. One morning my brother set out for Boggy Creek for a load of hay.
It was a long day's journey there and back, and he made an early start.
Strange to tell, Bingo for once in his life did not follow the team. My
brother called to him, but still he stood at a safe distance, and eyeing
the team askance, refused to stir. Suddenly he raised his nose in the
air and gave vent to a long, melancholy howl. He watched the wagon out
of sight, and even followed for a hundred yards or so, raising his voice
from time to time in the most doleful howlings.

All that day he stayed about the barn, the only time that he was
willingly separated from the horses, and at intervals howled a very
death dirge. I was alone, and the dog's behavior inspired me with an
awful foreboding of calamity, that weighed upon use more and more as the
hours passed away.

About six o'clock Bingo's howlings became unbearable, so that for lack
of a better thought I threw something at him, and ordered him away. But
oh, the feeling of horror that filled m& Why did I let my brother go
away alone? Should I ever again see him alive? I might have known from
the dog's actions that something dreadful was about to happen.

At length the hour for his return arrived, and there was John on his
load. I took charge of the horses, vastly relieved, and with an air of
assumed unconcern, asked, "All right?"

"Right," was the laconic answer.

Who now can say that there is nothing in omens.

And yet when, long afterward, I told this to one skilled in the occult,
he looked grave, and said, "Bingo always turned to you in a crisis?"

"Yes."

"Then do not smile. It was you that were in danger that day; he stayed
and saved your life, though you never knew from what."

IV

Early in the spring I bad begun Bingo's education. Very shortly
afterward he began mine.

Midway on the two-mile stretch of prairie that lay between our shanty
and the village of Carberry, was the corner-stake of the farm; it was a
stout post in a low mound of earth, and was visible from afar.

I soon noticed that Bingo never passed without minutely examining this
mysterious post. Next I learned that it was also visited by the prairie
wolv