FOUNDER OF HIS RACE 139 



"Why, my dear ! 'Tis the very horse that won you 

 for me !" she cried, joyfully; she might forget a person — 

 his lady — but never a horse. "Why did you not tell me 

 so before? I have asked so often about him, and 

 'twould have brought me to Vermont before this !'^ 



The Captain smiled. 



'T shall be jealous of my charger/' he said, tenderly. 



Morgan rubbed his muzzle on Mistress Dulaney's 

 sleeve and in the laces at her neck, thinking her soft 

 Southern voice the sweetest he had ever heard, even 

 more sweet than when she was a maid. 



'*Ah, dear husband, but for this horse I should be the 

 most unhappy of women instead of the happiest ! 'Twas 

 he who won that race so many years ago and gave you 

 to me. I have ever wanted to call him my own !" 



'Then you may call him so now, sweet Wife. From 

 to-day Morgan is yours." 



At last, at last ! Oh, the years of waiting and long- 

 ing. Oh, the weary hopelessness of some of them at the 

 plow — among men who could not understand and did 

 not try. At last ! He arched his crest and pawed the 

 earth with joy. 



'T shall lend him to you sometimes." She looked at 

 her lord, archly lifting her sweet face to his as they 

 stood very close together. At a soft, sweet sound Mor- 

 gan showed more spirit. 



" 'He paweth in the valley and rejoiceth in his 

 strength ; he goeth forth to meet the armed men,' " 

 Mistress Dulaney quoted, mockingly, her hand resting 

 on the horse's face, her cheek against his. 



Presently the Captain mounted, lighter by several 

 pounds than was his wont, and Morgan glided off. 



''Take good care of him, Little Horse," were her part- 

 ing words. 



