"De Lawd on'y knows, but HE gwine show me how," was Mammy Lucy's pious
answer. The next second she cried "Praise Him! _I_ got it," and ran into
her cabin to return with a piece of snowy white flannel. Meanwhile
Cynthia had warmed the bowlful of milk. Hastily catching up a huge
oilcloth apron, Mammy enveloped herself in it and then hurried back to
Peggy and her charge.

From that moment Roy's artificial feeding began. Peggy raised his head
while Mammy opened his mouth by inserting a skilful finger where later
the bit would rest, then slipped in the milk-sopped woolen rag. After a
few minutes the small beastie which had never known fear, understood and
sucked away vigorously, for he had not fed for hours and the poor inner-
colt was grumbling sorely at the long fast. The bowlful of milk soon
disappeared, and he stood nozzling at Peggy ready for a frolic, his woes
forgotten.

"Now what yo' gwine do wid him, honey?" asked Mammy.

"I'd like to put him to sleep on the piazza, but I'm afraid I can't,"
answered Peggy, smiling sadly, for the loss of the Empress had struck
deeply.

"No, yo' suah cyant do dat," was Mammy's reply. "You'll be bleeged fer
ter put him yonder in de paddock."

"He will be so lonesome," said Peggy doubtfully. Just then the great
wolfhound came bounding up. She thrust her nose into her mistress' hand
and gave a low bark of delight. She was almost as tall as the colt, and
seemed to understand his needs. She then turned to give a greeting lick