One day Silas brought a black lamb to the pasture, who at once made friends with the colt. The two romped and played together, much as human children might. For the timid little creature True came to have a deep attachment; he liked the feel of the warm little body against his leg. No doubt they exchanged ideas about things of interest as they listened to the brook, singing happily of woods and meadows through which it had run on its way to the river. This sweet friendship lasted many days, but it was destined to end in a tragedy--one that must be related as it bore so directly upon the sudden awakening of some of the traits in the colt’s character. On the edge of a near-by forest there was a rude hut in which dwelt a family of outlaws who lived on their neighbors and left honest dealing to others. Round about the countryside it was whispered they were “Tories,” and Gipsey told True the evil odor borne on the breeze from that direction was sufficient assurance that this was so; the outlaws were, indeed, British, and the wildest crew that ever stole a horse or fired a haystack! One day, as True stood wrapt in thought beside the stream, admiring the courage that made it sing as happily in sunshine as in shadow, on dark days as on bright, Black Baby, as the lamb was called, came from the other side of the pasture and rubbed against his leg. Seeing in a moment that the colt was preoccupied, the lamb whisked away to wait for the usual whinney of invitation. The Tory hut showed clear in the morning sunlight and, absently, a moment later the colt glanced that way. To his astonishment he saw the youngest boy, a ne’er-do-well who had stolen pumpkins and apples from his neighbors all his life, unloose a lean, gaunt dog and start towards the pasture. This young fiend was, oddly enough, named William Howe, quite enough in itself to set an American by the ears! True recalled in a flash all his mother had told him of the British General of the same name.[2] “How, now,” he thought, “why comes the young robber this way?” Black Baby continued to frisk about, trying to divert True from his serious mood. He sprang into the air and tossed his little head, cutting all manner of capers, but the colt did not seem inclined to join him in play. William Howe climbed to the top of the stone fence and, balancing himself adroitly, gazed around as if to locate any possible mischief. The dog sprang nimbly over and, yelping, ran after an innocent rabbit that bounded across the pasture like an India rubber ball, his short pennant making an almost unbroken line of white over the green grass as he fled before his enemy. Luckily he reached the opposite fence in time and darted behind the protecting stones; baffled, the dog stood barking, furiously. Soon the boy put his fingers in his lips and whistled, shrilly.