When she called upon her old white mare she was met by a flat refusal; the poor old nag was crippled with rheumatism and could not rise from her stable floor where she lay on her bedding of dried leaves.
Dame Margery therefore consulted Uncle Peter Edson, to whom all turned for advice, he being the oldest man in the town and a Deacon in the church.
Not long after this Master Morgan was awakened by a smart rapping on his door.
“Who’s there?” he called, sleepily.
“Wake, Friend Justin,” cried Uncle Peter, for ’twas he. “Dame Margery would borrow your horse Figure for the night. She is sent for to doctor a sick child.”
“’Tis a raw night for the dame, no less my horse,” answered Morgan, lifting the latch and inviting the old man in out of the cold. The ever-smouldering back-log kept the fire ready to blow into a blaze any time and Justin Morgan, not disturbing his family, set about fanning it with a large, turkey-tail fan. “I do not wish to send my horse out on such a night. We’ve but just got in ourselves and are fagged,” he added.
The fire blazed and was soon roaring up the chimney as the lightwood caught and the pine-knots flamed; then Master Morgan straightened himself.
“By the Constitution of these United States,” cried the old man, “’tis not a time to think of brute-beasts. I tell you a human lies ill and needs the Dame. Come, come, have done, and let me fetch the horse from the stable!”
But Master Morgan still hesitated, as he hung the turkey-tail back in place beside the high mantel.
“Come, I say,” thundered the old man, whom everyone obeyed, “get the horse out, sir, or ’twill be the worse for you when the neighbors find you consider your animal before a human being.”