and Billy hurried
back to his new possession.

Mrs. Wiggs pinned a shawl over her head and ran across the commons.
A group of men stood around the writhing animal, but the late owner
had departed.

"He's 'most gone," said one of the men, as she came up. "I tole
Billy you'd beat him fer takin' that ole nag offen the man's
han's."

"Well, I won't," said Mrs. Wiggs, stoutly. "Billy Wiggs's got more
sense than most men I know. That hoss's carcass is worth something I
'spect he'd bring 'bout two dollars dead, an' mebbe more living.
Anyway, I'm goin' to save him if there's any save to him!"

She stood with her arms on her hips, and critically surveyed her
patient. "I'll tell you what's the matter with him," was her final
diagnosis; "his lights is riz. Billy, I'm goin' home fer some
medicine; you set on his head so's he can't git up, an' ma'll be
right back in a minute."

The crowd which had collected to see the horse shot began to
disperse, for it was supper-time, and there was nothing to see now
but the poor suffering animal, with Billy Wiggs patiently sitting on
its head.

When Mrs. Wiggs returned she carried a bottle, and what appeared to
be a large marble. "This here is a calomel pill," she explained. "I
jes' rolled the calomel in with some soft, light bread. Now, you
prop his jaw open with a little stick, an' I'll shove it in, an'
then hole his head back, while I pour down some water an' turkentine
outen this bottle."

It was with great difficulty that this was accomplished, for the old
horse had evidently seen a vision of the happy hunting-ground, and
was loath to return to the sordid earth. His limbs were already
stiffening in death, and the whites of his eyes only were visible.
Mrs. Wiggs noted these discouraging symptoms, and saw that violent
measures were necessary.

"Gether some sticks an' build a fire quick as you kin. I 've got to
run over home. Build it right up clost to him, Billy; we 've got to
git him het up."

She rushed into the kitchen, and, taking several cakes of tallow
from the shelf, threw them into a tin bucket. Then she hesitated for
a moment. The kettle of soup was steaming away on the stove ready
for supper. Mrs. Wiggs did not believe in sacrificing the present
need to the future comfort. She threw in a liberal portion of
pepper, and, seizing the kettle in one hand and the bucket of tallow
in the other, staggered back to the bonfire.

"Now, Billy," she commanded, "put this bucket o