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 of tallow down there
in the hottest part of the fire. Look out; don't tip it--there!
Now, you come here an' help me pour this soup into the bottle. I'm
goin' to git that ole hoss so het up he'll think he's havin' a
sunstroke! Seems sorter bad to keep on pestering him when he's so
near gone, but this here soup'll feel good when it once gits inside
him."

When the kettle was empty, the soup was impartially distributed over
Mrs. Wiggs and the patient, but a goodly amount had "got inside,"
and already the horse was losing his rigidity.

Only once did Billy pause in his work, and that was to ask:

"Ma, what do you think I'd better name him?"

Giving names was one of Mrs. Wiggs's chief accomplishments, and
usually required much thoughtful consideration; but in this case if
there was to be a christening it must be at once.

"I'd like a jography name," suggested Billy, feeling that nothing
was too good to bestow upon his treasure.

Mrs. Wiggs stood with the soup dripping from her hands, and
earnestly contemplated the horse. Babies, pigs, goats, and puppies