"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 had drawn largely on her supply of late, and geography names especially were scarce. Suddenly a thought struck her.
"I"ll tell you what, Billy! We"ll call him Cuby! It"s a town I heared "em talkin" "bout at the grocery."
By this time the tallow was melted, and Mrs. Wiggs carried it over by the horse, and put each of his hoofs into the hot liquid, while Billy rubbed the legs with all the strength of his young arms.
"That"s right," she said; "now you run home an" git that piece of carpet by my bed, an" we"ll kiver him up. I am goin" to git them fence rails over yonder to keep the fire goin"."
Through the long night they worked with their patient, and when the first glow of morning appeared in the east, a triumphant procession wended its way across the Cabbage Patch. First came an old woman, bearing sundry pails, kettles, and bottles; next came a very sleepy little boy, leading a trembling old horse, with soup all over its head, tallow on its feet, and a strip of rag-carpet tied about its middle.
And thus Cuba, like his geographical namesake, emerged from the violent ordeal of reconstruction with a mangled const.i.tution, internal dissension, a decided preponderance of foreign element, but a firm and abiding trust in the new power with which his fortunes had been irrevocably cast.
CHAPTER V
A REMINISCENCE
"It is easy enough to be pleasant When life flows along like a song, But the man worth while is the one who will smile When everything goes dead wrong."
WHEN Miss Hazy was awakened early that morning by a resonant neigh at the head of her bed, she mistook it for the trump of doom. Miss Hazy"s cottage, as has been said, was built on the bias in the Wiggses" side yard, and the little lean-to, immediately behind Miss Hazy"s bedroom, had been pressed into service as Cuba"s temporary abiding-place.
After her first agonized fright, the old woman ventured to push the door open a crack and peep out.
"Chris," she said, in a tense whisper, to her sleeping nephew--"Chris, what on airth is this here hitched to our shutter?"
Chris, usually deaf to all calls less emphatic than cold water and a broomstick, raised a rumpled head from the bed-clothes.
"Where at?" he asked.
"Right here!" said Miss Hazy, still in a terrified whisper, and holding fast the door, as if the specter might attempt an entrance.
Chris did not stop to adjust his wooden leg, but hopped over to the door, and cautiously put an eye to the opening.
"Why, shucks, "t ain"t nothin" but a hoss!" he said, in disgust, having nerved himself for nothing less than a rhinoceros, such as he had seen in the circus.
"How"d he git there?" demanded Miss Hazy.
Chris was not prepared to say.
All through breakfast Miss Hazy was in a flutter of excitement. She had once heard of a baby being left on a doorstep, but never a horse. When the limit of her curiosity was about reached, she saw Mrs. Wiggs coming across the yard carrying a bucket. She hastened to meet her.
"Mornin"," called Mrs. Wiggs, brightly, in spite of her night"s vigil; "ain"t we got a fine hoss?"
Miss Hazy put the ash-barrel between herself and the animal, and hazarded a timid inspection, while Mrs. Wiggs made explanations, and called attention to Cuba"s fine points.
"Can"t you come in an" take a warm?" asked Miss Hazy, as she concluded.
"Well, I b"lieve I will," said Mrs. Wiggs. "I ain"t been over fer quite a spell. The childern kin clean up, bein" it"s Sat.u.r.day."
From seven to nine in the morning were the favorite calling-hours in the Cabbage Patch.
Mrs. Wiggs chose the chair which had the least on it, and leaned back, smiling affably as she remarked: "We "re used to hosses; this here"s the second one we "ve had."
"My!" said Miss Hazy, "you muster been well to do!"
"Yes," continued Mrs. Wiggs, "we was--up to the time of the fire.
Did I ever tell you "bout how Jim brought our other hoss to town?"
Miss Hazy had heard the story a number of times, but she knew the duties of a hostess.
"It was this a-way," went on Mrs. Wiggs, drawing her chair closer to the fire, and preparing for a good, long talk. "You see, me an" the childern was comin" on the steam-car train, but ther" wasn"t no way to git the hoss here, "ceptin" fer somebody to ride him. Course Jim said he"d do it. Poor Jim, always ready to do the hard part!" She paused to wipe her eyes on her ap.r.o.n, and Miss Hazy wept in sympathy.
"Never min", Miss Wiggs; don"t cry. Go on an" tell me what you done next."
"Well," said Mrs. Wiggs, swallowing the lump in her throat, "Jim said he"d go. He never had been to the city, an" he was jes" a little shaver, but I knowed I could trust him."
"I don"t see how you could stand to risk it!" exclaimed Miss Hazy.
"Oh, I reckon whatever you got to do, you kin do. I didn"t see no other way; so one mornin" I put a old fo-patch quilt over the hoss, tied a bucket of oats on behin" it an" fixed some vittles fer Jim, an" started "em off. It was a forty-mile ride to the city, so I calkerlated to start Jim so"s he"d git to Dr. White"s "bout nightfall."
"Dr. White was your old doctor, wasn"t he?" prompted Miss Hazy.
"Yes"m. He used to tend Mr. Wiggs before we moved over into Bullitt County. You know Mr. Wiggs was a widow man when I married him. He had head trouble. Looked like all his inflictions gethered together in that head of hisn. He uster go into reg"lar transoms!"
Miss Hazy was awe-struck, but more dreadful revelations were to follow.
"I guess you knew I killed him," continued Mrs. Wiggs, calmly. "The doctor an" ever"body said so. He was jes" gitten over typhoid, an" I give him pork an" beans. He was a wonderful man! Kept his senses plumb to the end. I remember his very las" words. I was settin" by him, waitin" fer the doctor to git there, an" I kep" saying "Oh, Mr.
Wiggs! You don"t think you are dying do you?" an" he answered up jes" as natural an" fretful-like, "Good lan", Nancy! How do I know?
I ain"t never died before." An" them was the very las" words he ever spoke."
"Was he a church member, Miss Wiggs?" inquired Miss Hazy.
"Well, no, not exactly," admitted Mrs. Wiggs, reluctantly. "But he was what you might say a well-wisher. But, as I was tellin" you, Dr.
White was a old friend, an" I pinned a note on Jim"s coat tellin"
who he was an" where he was going an" knowed the doctor would have a eye on him when he got as fur as Smithville. As fer the rest of the trip, I wasn"t so certain. The only person I knowed in the city was Pete Jenkins, an" if there was one man in the world I didn"t have no use fer, it was Pete. But when I don"t like folks I try to do somethin" nice fer "em. Seems like that"s the only way I kin weed out my meanness. So I jes" sez to Jim, "You keep on astin" till you git to No. 6 Injun House, an" then you ast fer Pete Jenkins. You tell him," sez I, "you are Hiram Wiggs"s boy, an" as long as he done so much harm to yer pa, mebbe he"d be glad to do a good turn by you, an" keep you an" the hoss fer the night, till yer ma comes fer you." Well, Jim started off, lookin" mighty little settin" up on that big hoss, an" I waved my ap.r.o.n long as I could; then I hid behin" a tree to keep him from seein" me cry. He rode all that day, an" "bout sundown he come to Dr. White"s. Pore little feller, he was so tired an" stiff he couldn"t hardly walk, but he tied the hoss to the post an" went "round to the back door an" knocked real easy.
Mrs. White come to the door an" sez, real cross, "No, doctor ain"t here," an" slammed it shut agin. I ain"t meanin" to blame her; mebbe her bread was in the oven, or her baby crying or somethin", but seems to me I couldn"t have treated a dog that a-way!