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 apron 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!

“Pore Jim, he dragged out to the road agin, an’ set there beside the hoss, not knowin’ what to do nex’.  Night was a-comin’ on, he hadn’t had no supper, an’ he was dead beat.  By an’ by he went to sleep, an’ didn’t know nothin’ till somebody shuck his shoulder an’ sez, ’Git up from here!  What you doin’ sleepin’ here in the road?’ Then he went stumblin’ ‘long, with somebody holdin’ his arm, an’ he was took into a big, bright room, an’ the doctor was lookin’ at him an’ astin’ him questions.  An’ Jim said he never did know what he answered, but it must ‘a’ been right, fer the doctor grabbed holt of his hand, an’ sez:  ’Bless my soul!  It’s little Jimmy Wiggs, all the way from Curryville!’

“Then they give him his supper, an’ Mrs. White sez:  ’Where’ll he sleep at, Doctor?  There ain’t no spare bed.’  Then Jim sez the doctor frowned like ever’thin’, an’ sez:  ’Sleep?  Why, he’ll sleep in the bed with my boys, an’ they orter be proud to have sech a plucky bedfeller!’

“Jim never did fergit them words; they meant a good deal more to him than his supper.

“Early the nex’ mornin’ he started out agin, the doctor pointin’ him on the way.  He didn’t git into the city till ’long ’bout four o’clock, an’ he sez he never was so mixed in all his life.  All my childern was green about town; it made ever’ one of ’em sick when they first rode on the street-cars, an’ Europena was skeered to death of the newsboys, ’cause she thought they called ‘Babies,’ ’stid of ‘Papers.’  Jim kep’ right on the main road, like he was tole to, but things kep’ a-happenin’ ’round him so fast, he said he couldn’t do no more ‘n jes’ keep out the way.  All of a suddint a ice-wagon come rattlin’ up behin’ him.  It was runnin’ off, an’ ’fore he knowed it a man hit it in the head an’ veered it ’round towards him; Jim said his hoss turned a clean somerset, an’ he was th’owed up in the air, an’—­”

“Ma!” called a shrill voice from the Wiggses’ porch, “Australia’s in the rain-barrel!”