is time it was my sash, but at last
he brought the wrench and wagged his tail in joy that it was right.
Reaching out with my free hand, after much difficulty I unscrewed the
pillar-nut. The trap fell apart and my hand was released, and a minute
later I was free. Bing brought the pony up, and after slowly walking to
restore the circulation I was able to mount. Then slowly at first but
soon at a gallop, with Bingo as herald careering and barking ahead, we
set out for home, there to learn that the night before, though never
taken on the trapping rounds, the brave dog had acted strangely,
whimpering and watching the timber-trail; and at last when night came
on, in spite of attempts to detain him he had set out in the gloom and
guided by a knowledge that is beyond us had reached the spot in time to
avenge me as well as set me free.

Stanch old Bing--he was a strange dog. Though his heart was with me,
he passed me next day with scarcely a look, but responded with alacrity
when little Gordon called him to a gopher-hunt. And it was so to the
end; and to the end also he lived the wolfish life that he loved, and
never failed to seek the winter-killed horses and found one again with
a poisoned bait, and wolfishly bolted that; then feeling the pang, set
out, not for Wright's but to find me, and reached the door of my shanty
where I should have been. Next day on returning I found him dead in the
snow with his head on the sill of the door--the door of his puppyhood's
days; my dog to the last in his heart of hearts--it was my help he
sought, and vainly sought, in the hour of his bitter extremity.

THE SPRINGFIELD FOX

I

THE HENS had been mysteriously disappearing for over a month; and when I
came home to Springfield for the summer holidays it was my duty to find
the cause. This was soon done. The fowls were carried away bodily one
at a time, before going to roost or else after leaving, which put tramps
and neighbors out of court; they were not taken from the high perches,
which cleared all coons and owls; or left partly eaten, so that weasels,
skunks, or minks were not the guilty ones, and the blame, therefore, was
surely left at Reynard's door.

The great pine wood of Erindale was on the other bank of the river, and
on looking carefully about the lower ford I saw a few fox-tracks and a
barred feather from one of our Plymouth Rock chickens. On climbing the
farther bank in search of more dews, I heard a great outcry of crow