“Ah, dear husband, but for this horse I should be the most unhappy of women instead of the happiest! ’Twas he who won that race so many years ago and gave you to me. I have ever wanted to call him my own!” “Then you may call him so now, sweet Wife. From to-day Morgan is yours.” At last, at last! Oh, the years of waiting and longing. Oh, the weary hopelessness of some of them at the plow-among men who could not understand and did not try. At last! He arched his crest and pawed the earth with joy. “I shall lend him to you sometimes.” She looked at her lord, archly lifting her sweet face to his as they stood very close together. At a soft, sweet sound Morgan showed more spirit. “‘He paweth in the valley and rejoiceth in his strength; he goeth forth to meet the armed men,’” Mistress Dulaney quoted, mockingly, her hand resting on the horse’s face, her cheek against his. Presently the Captain mounted, lighter by several pounds than was his wont, and Morgan glided off. “Take good care of him, Little Horse,” were her parting words. * * * * * Early that summer, when the feeling of victory was running high, the American Sloop of War, “Growler,” was captured by the British gun-boats on the Upper Lake. The Americans equipped a small fleet and drove the enemy back into Canada. The State Militia, stationed at Plattsburg, was ordered home in November, by Governor Chittenden, but most of the officers remained. The privates--from the first, unwilling to enlist--were glad enough to return to their families who needed them sorely. They would much rather chop and dig at home, they said, having found nothing to do in Plattsburg but repair the barracks. Every day Captain or Mistress Dulaney rode Morgan out for exercise, and he enjoyed the easy, pleasant life with its military atmosphere. His lady visited him every morning early and gave him many delicious morsels of food, and the old horse seemed to grow younger day by day. She talked to him of all sorts of interesting things in tones, so wonderfully sweet, the birds in the Green Mountains would have died of envy, could they have heard them. Sometimes errands with Captain Dulaney were of great secrecy and importance. One night quite late they went away toward the North and passed the night at a barn, watching a suspicious locality. As they were about to start homeward, the Captain searched carefully and found a furled flag, lying on a beam. He took it down and unrolled it, looking for secret signs, but the flag was right enough. It was made of the finest linen, home-spun, and was fifteen feet long by four wide. In its centre was an eagle perched on a rock, bearing in its talons a shield with thirteen stripes and some arrows. In his beak was a pine sprig, and over the eagle was painted “Independence Forever.” The word “Swanton” was painted on it in another hand. As Captain Dulaney noticed the last word he said to himself, with relief: