Bingo 



The Story of My Dog 



T was early in November, 1882, and 

 the Manitoba winter had ju*t set in. 

 I was tilting back in my chair for a 

 few lazy moments after breakfast 

 idly alternating my gaze from the 

 one window-pane of our shanty, 

 through which was framed a bit of 

 the prairie and the end of our cowshed, to the 

 old rhyme of the < Franckelyn's dogge' pinned 

 on the logs near by. But the dreamy mixture 

 of rhyme and view was quickly dispelled by 

 the sight of a large gray animal dashing across 

 the prairie into the cowshed, with a smaller 

 black and white animal in hot pursuit. 



147 



