So, in 1909 they were married at Short Beach, Connecticut, with a New Haven divine, Dr. T. T. Munger, and Miss Montgomery’s two brothers officiating. The Borglums went for a honeymoon to some trout stream in Canada and thence to a place on the Gunnison River in Colorado. By that time Mrs. Borglum was certain that her life was going to be vastly different. And so it was. In 1910 Gutzon announced that they would move to Stamford, Connecticut, where they would cultivate peace and associate with gentle, quiet people. Almost overnight he was making speeches for the common man and beating the drums for politics. In Stamford he was promptly introduced to the famous Connecticut Town Meeting and was intensely interested because he had never heard of anything like it. He went home with staring eyes to write that he had just learned the part an individual could play, first in his home town, next in his state and finally in his native land. He rewrote a pair of sentiments from his diary: “A man’s first love is his mother; his second, his sweetheart; his third, art; his fourth, _all_.” And he underlined this warning: “No individual’s life is worth the immortality he seeks unless he articulates the voice of his tribe.” You may take that as typical of Gutzon. He had been in Stamford one or two nights and he belonged to it as much as the oldest inhabitant. The moving from the old duplex apartment in New York to the country was a momentous undertaking. The two horses, Smoke and Halool, were taken to New Rochelle for the night by the faithful Banks. The next day Gutzon and a friend, like knights of old, rode on horseback to the new domain. The feat wasn’t so startling to beholders as it might have been in New York. Horses in Stamford in 1910 were regularly in view and continuously in use. Gutzon himself became a familiar figure in the countryside as he drove Smoke back and forth between the railroad station and home. Wife and furniture arrived in Stamford on that first day by train and van. Most of the stable equipment came from the old establishment of Colonel Whitman in Washington. Much of it accompanied the colonel, who arrived to spend the summer. The procession of visitors who came to luncheon, to dinner or to spend the week seems appalling from this distance of time, and emphasizes the contrast of that era when there was no difficulty about entertaining. Stamford grocery stores of the day were primitive. They made no delivery to the Borglum ménage six miles away; so hampers of foodstuffs were shipped by express twice a week from New York.