Gossip concerning so important a man soon flew about, and the box became town-talk before the day was over. Women folks came, on one pretext or another, to call on Mistress Wing. Some asked her rule for wheaten cake, others how she made her cheeses, and so on. But it did not take their clever hostess long to find out the true aim of their calls, and being right proud of the hat herself, she took it out of the box and showed it to them all. ’Twas very tall and glossy, and shaped liked the rain barrel; the brim was so low in front it would hide its wearer’s nose completely; suddenly it curved sharply at the sides in the manner of a drawn bow; and, all told, it was an elegant bit of the latest Boston fashion. ’Twas to be worn, Mistress Wing informed her callers, for the first time at meeting the next Sabbath. Many were the exclamations of “Land sakes!” and “Do tells!” that the sight of the hat provoked, and much pleased was Mistress Hannah to be able to awaken so much admiration for her husband’s taste. Unfortunately David did not wait until the Sabbath to wear his new hat; had he done so history, in all likelihood, would never have recorded the fact that he had owned a beaver. The very next morning he came swinging out of the house looking most gentlemanly in his high stock, ruffled shirt and shining boots. On his head sat, most jauntily, the new hat. David was off for a town meeting. Down the road cantered Morgan, meeting many acquaintances who paused in speechless admiration until they passed out of sight. Some with envy, alack; some with criticism of the extravagance, but others with friendly nod of greeting and approval. The sun shone, the crisp air was fragrant with pine needles, and birds chirped in the trees that fringed the highway. Morgan champed his bit and curvetted from one side of the road to the other, his heart full of the morning freshness. Suddenly a yellow dog came in sight, and the horse, full of fun and spirit, lowered his head and made a dash at him, remembering his colt-days and the game of “Red-Coats.” The dog tucked his tail between his hind legs and made off down the road at lightning speed. This was enough to rouse Morgan; even though he did not like dogs, he thought it might be a race. Helter, skelter, he started; ever fleet in running, he was soon gaining slowly, but surely, on the dog, who was little more than a yellowish brown streak on the landscape. Morgan heard David say, good-naturedly: “Go it, my boy, stop when you get good and ready; I am having as much fun as you.” Once, as the dog glanced hurriedly back over his shoulder, the horse saw his tongue hanging out--he looked almost winded, but his pace was long and even, like Morgan’s, and his flapping ears responded rhythmically to his gait. Morgan tossed his head and made a movement with his tail as much as to indicate he had just begun to race. The rapid clatter of his own hoofs on the hard road was music to him.