Mrs. Wiggs of the Cabbage Patch

								

and the necessity for steady employment kept her from brooding over
her trouble.
It was still needful to maintain the strictest economy, for half the
money which had been given them was in Miss Olcott's keeping as a
safeguard against another rainy day. Mrs. Wiggs had got as much
washing as she could do; Asia helped about the house, and Billy did
odd jobs wherever he could find them.
The direct road to fortune, however, according to Billy's ideas,
could best be traveled in a kindling-wagon, and, while he was the
proud possessor of a dilapidated wagon, sole relic of the late Mr.
Wiggs, he had nothing to hitch to it. Scarcely a week passed that he
did not agitate the question, and, as Mrs. Wiggs often said, "When
Billy Wiggs done set his head to a thing, he's as good as got it!"
So she was not surprised when he rushed breathlessly into the
kitchen one evening, about supper-time, and exclaimed in excited
tones: "Ma, I 've got a horse! He was havin' a fit on the commons
an' they was goin' to shoot him, an' I ast the man to give him to
me!"
"My land, Billy! What do you want with a fit-horse?" asked his
mother.
"'Cause I knowed you could cure him. The man said if I took him I'd
have to pay fer cartin' away his carcass, but I said, 'All right, I
'll take him, anyway.' Come on, ma, an' see him!" 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