CHAPTER XXVI
THE MOST PAINFUL EVENT OF MY LIFE
Three weeks ago, I was just about to bring this partial story of my life to a close, when something very tragic, yet not altogether unexpected, happened to me.
It began with a lie. I was sitting one sharp, cool afternoon all alone up in the Bonstone orchard, thinking what pleasant homes Gringo and I had, and how few worries we experienced—a dangerous thing for dog or man to do, for something is sure to happen—when [Reddy O’Mare came trotting round the corner of the barn].
Reddy is a bright-red, cocky Irish-American terrier who lives on the next place to the Bonstones—a magnificent estate called Greenlands.
“Hello! Boy,” he said gaily.
“Hello!” I said soberly. “This is the second time you’ve been here to-day.”
“Twice for me, means twice for you,” he said, in his impudent way.
“Look here, Reddy,” I said, “I’m Gringo’s best friend. He doesn’t like you, and he’s laying for you. He says if you come over here once more and sneak Weary Winnie over to Greenlands, he’ll wallop you.”