During their feast the uproar outside had subsided, and in a little while Silas and his wife came in, saying it was all over with poor old Ceph. The noses of the two rescued horses were gray and greasy with the rich mash, but in the thankfulness of their escape the Whitmans cared nothing for that. Mistress Whitman put her cheek against True’s soupy face and sobbed in a very womanish way for joy at his being spared to them. The young horse submitted patiently to her caresses, though her hair, looking like dry, crisp hay, smelled mortally of smoke; he saw it was a comfort to her woman-heart to hang about his neck and murmur softly in his ear: “True, dear little horse,” she whispered. “It doesn’t matter about Ceph.” “There it is again,” thought True. “Nobody cares whether poor old Ceph is burnt up or not.” And nobody did, as long as Gipsey and he were saved. FOOTNOTES: [5] Once a common practice among the negroes of the South. CHAPTER IV. JUSTIN MORGAN. In True’s third year, Master Whitman came one morning, betimes, to brush him down before taking him out for his usual exercise--so the “pony” thought. But after a while he was convinced that his master called him names more loving and tender than usual and that his voice had a sorrowful ring. Gipsey and True knew that hard times had come knocking at the farm-gate and that their kind master was in debt because his crops had failed the year before. They knew, too, if the worst came to the worst they might have to be sold to pay these debts. On this particular morning Master Whitman murmured sadly to his pet as he continued to polish the sides of his symmetrical body until they shone like the bosom of the river when the afternoon sunlight played upon it; and his heavy mane and tail were brushed until they waved lightly under every passing breeze. With unfailing intuition the colt saw the future: their happy home, alas, was about to be broken up. Even Caesar felt the prevailing gloom; dejectedly, he sat on a beam and washed his face for the fifth time that morning, though it was but just sunrise. Gipsey peered over the partition of their stall and whinneyed softly, but with resignation, for, wise old horse that she was, she knew it was the lot of horses to be parted, sooner or later--here to-day, there to-morrow. Presently the cat sprang nimbly down, and arching his back, rubbed himself against his master’s leg and purred with sympathy. In spite of a certain sadness, True himself felt no little excitement--anticipating adventure, as is the manner of youth first starting out into the great world. He did not then know the horrors of homesickness from which affectionate horses suffer so keenly--suffering that neither sugar nor salt can assuage.