FOUNDER OF HIS RACE 47 



Have your kinsmen, Carroll of Carrollton, or the Hon. 

 Edward Lloyd — or, for the matter of that, the dashing 

 Tom Dulaney — anything finer at their country-seats in 

 Maryland? Is there anything in Virginia, or South 

 Carolina, to compare with our Beautiful Bay?" 



Smiling, the maid stepped in front of Beautiful Bay 

 and held out a slender pink palm — like the petals of wild 

 roses True had seen on his way from Springfield — on it 

 lay a bit of maple sugar, and right proudly the old horse 

 arched his neck and ate from her hand, picking up the 

 crumbs with his firm but flexible lips, that his hard teeth 

 might not scar the tender flesh. 



With her dainty kerchief she flicked his side lightly, 

 replying evasively: 



"We've nothing better groomed." Turning to her 

 father she cried gaily, "Come hither, Daddy, dear, and 

 touch his satin coat !" 



Beautiful Bay pranced a little to show his apprecia- 

 tion. 



"Have a care, my child," warned her father. 



Her laughter rippled forth as she drew Beautiful 

 Bay's muzzle down for a caress. 



"It would not bite a maiden's cheek, would it?" she 

 cooed in his ready ear, and he trembled with joy at the 

 sound. Young Mistress Lloyd's "way with horses" was 

 known from Maryland to Boston. 



The Coxcomb flicked his riding boot impatiently with 

 his whip. This annoyed Beautiful Bay, who, thinking 

 to please the maid, turned abruptly to him and bared his 

 teeth, flattening his ears. 



The popinjay sprang to one side. 



"He can't abide smells I" explained the hostler, apolo- 

 getically, as he led the old horse back into his stable. 



And this was the first time that True saw Mistress 



