before a little gate opening into
a pasture and gave three shrill whistles. Over the top of a ridge two
pointed ears appeared, poised for an instant, and then their owner
galloped into view.

"What a beauty you are, Nat," said the boy, as if talking to himself,
stretching out his hand to stroke the silky nose that was thrust over
the fence.

The two standing together formed a picture to afford delight so long
as the eye shall admire grace, breeding and power. The boy's figure
was erect, his wavy hair hanging gracefully to his broad shoulders.
His face, while not handsome, was clear cut, resolute and showed lines
of character not usually graven in the face of one as young. His dark
gray eyes always looked at one steadily. Now they were darker than
usual and had in them the shadow of trouble.

"Nat, how would you like to change masters?"

The colt nuzzled the boy's face and then his pockets, in one of which
he found the nubbin of corn he sought.

"You rascal, all you care about having is a good commissary. You won't
miss me, will you? Oh, no! I'd thought we'd go to the war together. We
would have something worth fighting for, a free country, where a man
wouldn't need to have dukes for uncles in order to be of some
consequence in the world. We would show 'em, you and I, that horses
and boys raised in this country are as good as the best; but that
can't be. You are too good a horse to drag the plow on this poor
little farm. You shall have one of the greatest men in this great land
for a master, while I will stay away from the war and both of us may
save our precious skins and perhaps be British subjects in the end."

Nat's purplish eyes seemed full of comprehension, as he mumbled the
lad's hand with his lips.

"Horses seem to know more of some things than they really do, and know
more of some other things than they seem to; how's that for horse
sense, Nathaniel Bacon Allison?"

Nat blinked, but shed no tears. Rodney blinked and his eyes were wet.
The boy opened the gate and the colt followed him to the stable, where
he was saddled and ridden to Monticello.

As Rodney left the manager of Mr. Jefferson's estate he said: "I only
ask that you say to Mr. Jefferson, I sell the colt with the
understanding that I may buy him back if I ever get the money."

"I'll do it, an' you won't need it in writin' so long as Mr. Jefferson
lives."

What a long, dusty, gloomy road was that over which the boy walked
back to his home