FOUNDER OF HIS RACE 59 



shod hoofs made an unseemly stamping, and a feeble 

 voice from beyond called : 



''Nay, wife, there must be something wrong !" 



Mistress Whitman opened the door wide and let light 

 into the darkened room. 



"Instead, dear husband, 'tis very right," she cried, 

 cheerily, "for here is our precious colt come to visit 

 with you/' 



True found himself in a small, bare room, standing 

 beside a cot, and, as his eyes grew accustomed to the 

 dimness, he recognized his old master, wasted with ill- 

 ness, lying helpless before him, his cheeks flushed, his 

 eyes bright with fever. The affectionate little horse 

 nosed among the quilts, trying to express his joy at 

 seeing his old friend and at the same time his grief at 

 finding him so weak and ill. 



"Wife," called the sick man, presently, "wife, fetch 

 me some maple sugar and do go into the barn and give 

 the colt all there is left of food there." 



"I will pay you well, Alistress," said blaster Morgan, 

 from the doorway. 



"Pay us, sir?" said the feeble voice from the cot, "pay 

 us sir? For feeding True? Why, bless you, he is one 

 of my own family. I should as soon think of taking pay 

 for food I might give my good wife, there. 'Twas only 

 misfortune that led me to part with our pet. But you 

 mean well, sir, and I bear you no ill-will." 



It was thus that True was loved by those who under- 

 stood his nature. 



When at last he was led to the stable he whinneyed 

 twice for Caesar, with leaping heart. 



"Was the one from the South who purchased my 

 mother," he asked, "a peerless lily of a maid, with crow- 

 black hair and stars for eyes? Had she palms like the 



