Up Israel, to the Temple haste,
And keep your festal day!’”
It was Justin Morgan, singing his favorite hymn, in his light tenor voice, and True pointed his ears to better hear the agreeable sound.
Master Morgan was not a strong man physically, and his ways were those of a scholar and student, but he was lovable and staunch and true, and, lilting the stave of “Mear” he set out on the road to the southward.
Along the bank of the tranquil river stretched the highway to Hartford, and it was Master Morgan’s plan to exhibit his new horse at the great fair so soon to be held in that fine city.
It was near sunset when they arrived, and True stepped out so smartly, and Justin Morgan, being a great rider, the people paused in the streets to admire them, as they cantered easily on to the public stable to rest and refresh themselves.
True’s name was now changed to “Figure,” the name once borne by a famous horse, dead some years since; and under this name he came to be known through the columns of that very respected paper, The Hartford Courant.
“Next to his own father, sir,” True heard the hostler say, as he led him into a stall and snapped the catch of the halter into the ring. “Now what do you think of that? The horse in the next box, sir, is Mr. Selah Norton’s Beautiful Bay, him that was True Briton.”
Master Morgan looked in at the splendid animal and said, “Oh, the De Lancey horse, eh? A fine fellow he is still, I see, in spite of his age. Well, all I can say is, mine is the ‘worthy son of a worthy sire’!”
True quivered. Already the great world was offering adventure and reward. Crowding through his veins the fire of his father’s race throbbed and surged, his mane shook and he flicked his waving tail with eager anticipation. His alert ears pointed back and forth with attention, his eyes glowed and his wide nostrils trembled as he inhaled the scent of his father for the first time. Proud and vigorous, he pawed the floor to attract Beautiful Bay; now and then he glanced with feigned carelessness through a wide crack.