True stepped carefully, lest his small well-shaped hoofs might tread upon the marvellously tiny feet half hidden beneath the flowered petticoat. All the while her voice was saying soft, delightful things in his listening ear. When she finally gave up his rein and turned away, the young horse followed, drawn as by a magnet and dragged the groom with him, scarce seeming to feel the boy pulling at the halter. A murmur of polite laughter made Mistress Lloyd look back. Smiling sweetly, she turned and stroked True’s broad forehead with her magic hand, and, telling him softly, to “go back and be judged,” she reminded him he was at a Fair. Indeed he needed reminding, for so absorbed had he been in her loveliness that he had forgotten all else! The groom then gave a gentler tug at the halter and True consented to be led before the Judges, who had not yet told the people he was the finest Three-year-old in New England. “The Hartford Wits” and their friends, the Maryland Lloyds, watched the consultation of Judges, hoping the ribband would be given to “Figure.” In a few moments one of the committee came and spoke a few words to Mistress Lloyd; she smiled with pleasure, and nodded her pretty head in assent. In another moment True heard the sound as of leaves in an autumn forest, and there she was, beside him once more, a fillet of blue in her hand. Daintily she reached the headstall of his halter and firmly she tied it on--all the while talking to him, oh, so sweetly: “And so ’tis yours! I knew ’twould be, you beauty! You’re far lovelier than your father, even, and you must always be a good colt and make everybody love you as you’ve made me!” Somehow, True did not mind being called a “colt” by her, it seemed more like a caress than patronage; but had the _Coxcomb_, standing by, done it he would have been tempted to take a whirl at him. “Some day,” went on Mistress Lloyd, “my father will buy you for me and I shall take you down to Maryland--I want Tom Dulaney to see you!” True could hear by the tones of her voice as she mentioned his name that this _Tom Dulaney_ must be a personage of consequence. “You are small, and some might say not lean enough to hunt, but you are the dearest animal I ever won the love of!” For ’twas ever the habit of this fair maid to weave her spell over animals, and well aware was she of their response! Then, oh, miracle of delights! as she finished tying the strand she kissed his straight face with lips that looked and smelled like crimson clover blossoms wet with dew. This perfumed dream was broken by a disagreeable laugh, and a well-bred but none the less offensive voice said: “The brute will bite you, Mistress.” It was the Coxcomb speaking. “I am afraid of no horse living, Master Knickerbocker,” she gave reply, quietly; then looking straight at him, she finished, “horses are often truer than men.” She turned quickly and joined her father. CHAPTER VIII.