"I saw him too, Uncle Tad."
"On my word! Where?"
"On the roof. He was acting that way you said."
"Well, bless my soul!"
Thaddeus walked down-town thoughtfully. "She'll run off after one of Gard Windham's ghosts the next thing. No more than likely. She has an imagination that's as honest as the bank and the finest pair of eyes, my word, in Hamilton."
In the afternoon Morgan came with his trotting stallion, Consul, and drove her by Philip's Road to the fair grounds to show his paces on the track. The day was cold, dry, blue, and still, but on the track the speed made a rush of air against her face. The fair grounds were empty, the track with a patch of snow here and there, the stands staring from thousands of empty seats.
The great horse lengthened his stride. He was all power and ease. Such controlled crescendo of speed seemed to mean deep reserves. There was a thrill in the sense of those reserves.
"Do you like it, Nellie?"
"It's glorious!"
"Of course you like it. Hold hard."