important illustration.

Old Gordon and Oliver were close neighbors and friends; they
joined in a contract to cut wood, and worked together
harmoniously till late on in winter. Then Oliver's old horse died,
and he, determining to profit as far as possible, dragged it out on
the plain and laid poison baits for wolves around it. Alas for poor

Bingo! He would lead a wolfish life, though again and again it
brought him into wolfish misfortunes.

He was as fond of dead horse as any of his wild kindred. That very
night, with Wright's own dog Curley, he visited the carcass. It
seemed as though Bing had busied himself chiefly keeping off the
wolves, but Curley feasted immoderately. The tracks in the snow
told the story of the banquet; the interruption as the poison began
to work, and of the dreadful spasms of pain during the erratic
course back home where Curley, falling in convulsions at Gordon's
feet, died in the greatest agony.

'Love me, love my dog,' No explanations or apology were
acceptable; it was useless to urge that it was accidental; the
long-standing feud between Bingo and Oliver was now
remembered as an important sidelight. The wood-contract was
thrown up, all friendly relations ceased, and to this day there is no
county big enough to hold the rival factions which were called at
once into existence and to arms by Curley's dying yell.

It was months before Bingo really recovered from the poison. We
believed indeed that he never again would be the sturdy old-time