“He forgot to eat his bone,” said the jolly cook; “poor fellow, we were getting used to him, and we shall miss him. He belonged to the town—he was ‘our dog.’”
This was the last time he went for his bone. It was all over, and Bummer and Lazarus became a remembrance which has passed into a tradition.
The skin of Bummer was carefully stuffed, and placed in a glass case. It may still be seen in some restaurant on Montgomery Street, where it is preserved as a precious relic of the olden time.
This is a true story, little ones, and no doubt the fathers will tell you, how, in the olden days, he has often seen Bummer and Lazarus.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic spelling that may have been in use at the time of publication has been retained.
Errors in the Table of Contents have been corrected.