“There is naught to thank me for,” he said, with truth. “Thank that Canadian scrub of yours. Since the race is over methinks I have tried conclusions with him before, many years back when we were both younger; I shall look to it that I am not deceived into competing with him again! That horse ought to be on The Plains of Abraham; he is wasted here!” Mistress Lloyd extended her hand across the Morgan’s neck, and Master Knickerbocker raised it to his lips with his usual grace; then he swung himself into his saddle and galloped out of sight. FOOTNOTES: [10] Morgan Horses, Linsley, page 134. CHAPTER XVI. IN WHICH MORGAN IS KNOWN AS THE GOSS HORSE. Soon after his race with Silvertail, Morgan’s reputation, having spread so far, he was bought by Colonel John Goss, who, not caring to have the trouble of a horse himself, rode him over to St. Johnsbury, and loaned him to David Goss. When they arrived it was the eve of Training Day, the second of June, and many farmers were gathered and making merry at the tavern. Having all heard of the Morgan, a great sensation was created as Colonel Goss rode him up to the porch of the Inn to show him off after Abel Shorey had trimmed and rubbed him down. He had cantered gaily up--mane and tail waving, wide nostrils tremulous at new scents, alert ears pricking for new sounds. Later he was ridden to his stable in David Goss’s barn. The Goss place was a fine one, with large farmhouse, barn and outbuildings, the whole being surrounded by tall and stately trees. It was a beautiful home for a horse to claim, and it was to be Morgan’s for a long time. Here his name was changed again, and he became known as the Goss Horse, and was valued at one hundred dollars. Under David’s saddle he travelled more than ever to near-by towns and farms; he went to East Bethel, Williamstown, Greensboro and Claremont. In all of these places he was made welcome and, for a hundred years and more, men have been telling of these visits. Sometimes David rode him to “raising parties,” where he stood one side and watched strong young men lift the ponderous bents for the barn or house about to be built. They used pike-poles, and shouted loudly, lifting the bents one by one till the tenons sank into place in the sill-mortises; then, some dare-devil afraid-of-nothing, went up the new-hoisted bents like a squirrel and drove the pins into place. While men worked this way, or at the plow, women sat at home and dipped candles or spun and wove flax and wool, and made them into clothes. Those were grand days in Vermont--when neighbors were neighbors, and the world was full of hope and kindliness.