“’Tis a pity you had not tried to show it earlier in the evening,” returned Evans, gruffly, as he mounted his horse and rode away. Good Dame Evans would have no calico gown from Boston, that was sure, and ’twas money she’d saved for years from her cheese and butter sales, and kept in an old bee-hive in the attic, saying no word to anyone of it. Now her sacrifices had gone to purchase snuff and perfume for the Coxcomb. [Illustration: From a photograph. “‘WHERE THE GREAT LLOYD SETS HIS HALL’!”] Morgan had often seen Dame Evans give the traditional Vermont “beech seal” to her sons--and he would not deny they needed it; and he had seen her dash scalding water on a prowling Indian; he guessed Robert Evans’ greeting, when they reached home, would not be an affectionate one. On the way back to Randolph, Evans was in a temper and swore grievously. Morgan had caught a cold and coughed constantly. The journey was withal a trying one; ’twas not to be wondered at that the horse’s memories of Boston were neither beautiful nor gay, and that he never had a desire to repeat his trip. It was dark when they reached home, but Mistress Evans, who had been on the lookout, threw open the kitchen door as they entered the gate, and the barnyard was flooded with the warm glow of the firelight from within. Her head was tied up in a fustian square and a fur was thrown over her shoulders. She ran out to greet them, a lanthorn in her hand. “Welcome, home, Husband, dear!” she cried, cheerily. “Give me the purchases. I would see my calico frock without delay. Yes, and get to work on it, for ’tis no short task to stitch those long seams--with chores to do besides!” She held out her hand eagerly. “Go into the house directly, Wife, out of the cold!” evaded Evans, taking the lanthorn from her. “I will be in presently--when I have bedded down the Morgan,” he added. And she, being an obedient, womanly and faithful wife, suspecting nothing, went in to sing over the final preparations of supper. In spite of the cold and fatigue of his owner, Morgan never got a better rubbing-down nor a finer meal. “Well, Morgan,” Evans murmured, at last, “I guess I can’t put it off any longer.” He dragged his reluctant feet slowly toward the house, where Dame Evans was waiting for him with steaming hulled corn, fried pork and maybe something else--when she found out his secret! CHAPTER XV. FOR MISTRESS LLOYD, OF MARYLAND. In 1803 Morgan went to pass a week with his old friends, the Wings, and the visit was one long to be remembered. The talk of the village was Mistress Hannah’s new silken gown--the first ever brought to Montpelier, so the town history tells. David Wing was now Judge and Secretary of State, and his wife had to wear fine clothes, as befitted her station, for many were the calls on her to entertain distinguished guests.