It was his hardihood that saved the little horse, but good Dame Margery Griswold caught her death that night while the child she braved the storm to save lived on to bless her name.
CHAPTER IX.
TRUE’S FIRST HARD WORK, AND HOW HE ACCOMPLISHED IT.
Upon a hill at Randolph Centre perched a little store where the farmers gathered in cold weather to warm themselves with Medford rum, a common enough drink in those days, to express lavish opinions as to political affairs of the young nation, so lately separated from her Mother Country, or to discuss more intimate local business.
Master Morgan drank little, being more inclined to quiet study than sociability, but his way led past the store and he often stopped to hear the news. There were no newspapers in those days, and all news came by letter or word-of-mouth of the stage-drivers.
Whilst waiting outside for his owner True made pleasant acquaintances among the horses who also stood awaiting their riders.
A grey mare, very old, very wise and very strong in her convictions, whom he often met, told him many mane-raising stories of Indian days—so recently passed through—and the more his wide-set ears pointed and the more his dark prominent eyes grew eager the better the old pioneer liked it.
One of her strange tales was how she discovered her master, Experience Davis, after he returned from his two years’ captivity with the Indians.
One day, she told True, as she stood quietly near Davis’ hut, nibbling lazily among the stumps and stones of the new-cleared field to get the last blades of grass and weeds, she heard a frightful sound approaching.
She thrilled with horror!