It was at a meeting in their new barn that Mistress Wing first wore the wonderful silk. All the other ladies present had on homespun and linen--silk would have been called “flunk and flummux” on them. The Judge that day wore his Indian cotton shirt with the frills--hemmed and tucked. It made a brave show, for cotton was three shillings the yard at that time. I mention these historic facts merely to show that Morgan played his part with the Quality of the times, as well as at the plow, and to occupy a stall in the Judge’s grand new barn was no small privilege to a horse! But the greatest pleasure of all was when he heard that Colonel Lloyd of Maryland, and his daughter had come a’visiting the Judge and his lady. The Wings and the Lloyds had met in New York the winter before and the Judge had unwoven some legal tangles for the Colonel. A friendship had resulted and now the Southerners had come all the way from Maryland in their coach to enjoy the cool, summer breezes of Vermont under the hospitable roof of their New England friends. When the Judge brought them out to see his new barn Morgan recognized the swish of her petticoats at once, as Mistress Lloyd drew near the stable. Knowing how they loved good horses their host threw open Morgan’s door. There was an instant’s pause, then: “Why, I _know_ this horse!” cried Mistress Lloyd. “_I_ gave him his first blue ribband!” Oh, the melody of her voice, and the feel of her cheek against his! At last, after years of parting, they met--and she had not forgotten him. Oh, wondrous memory of such a woman as she! Morgan was glad the Judge’s hired man had groomed him so carefully that morning, and that not long before, the stable floor had been strewn with fresh, sweet sawdust. “What a noble animal you’ve grown to be!” she whispered in his waiting ear. “I predicted it full ten years agone!” So it had been ten years since he had seen her last, yet he had cherished her, and she him, in memory, all that long time of busy scenes apart. He pushed his small muzzle in and out among the laces and gauzes of her neck so gently they were not disarranged, and she pressed her cheek close to his. Something in the tones of her voice told him she was not happy, and as the delicious odor of her hair entered his nostrils he whinneyed a question, softly. As if understanding, she answered, murmuring near his ear, “Dear Little Horse,” there was a catch in her voice, “I cannot buy you, even now, for our money is all gone! Daddy is no manager; he has ever been what they call a ‘gentleman’ and our family mansion--‘where the Great Lloyd sets his Hall’--is to be sold to pay a most unjust ‘debt of honor’--I call it a debt of _dis_honor, for ’twas made at the gaming table; and though Judge Wing be ever so clever, he can do nothing now for my father and me!” She leaned against Morgan; he heard a sob in her throat as she clasped his arched neck.