Bingo 



I was not superstitious, and up to this time 

 had had no faith in omens, but was now deep- 

 ly 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 

 eying the team askance, refused to stir. Sud- 

 denly 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 me more and more as the hours 

 passed away. 



About six o'clock Bingo's howlings became 

 158 



