My horse ran
away with me, right into the middle of the French, and there was not
another horse in the regiment that could catch him, except your
father's horse, Billy Pitt. But he came galloping after me as hard as
he could ride, and caught him; and Brimacott, who was his servant,
followed as fast as he could, and between them they brought me back
from the middle of the enemy, or perhaps I shouldn't be here now. So I
have good reason to remember Brimacott and Billy Pitt. Do you remember
Billy Pitt?"

"He's here in the stable," said both the children in a breath.

"Then let us go and see Billy Pitt, for he's a very old friend of
mine," said the Colonel, and away he walked to the stable with the
children following him. The old horse seemed to know him, for he
pricked his ears and kept nuzzling with his nose all over the Colonel's
coat, until he put his hand into his pocket and pulled out an apple for
him. "Look there," said the Colonel, passing his hand along the scar
on the horse's neck. "The time came for Billy to get wounded and for
me to look after him, as he had saved me. That was at Salamanca." He
stopped for a minute and laid his hands on the children's shoulders.
"Poor Billy had lost his master, you know, and came galloping up to me
with his saddle empty, for he knew my horse well. And then he remained
by my side, moving when I moved and stopping when I stopped, and
charging with us when we charged. He came out of the fight with this
cut on his neck. Poor Brimacott was badly wounded in the leg, and
there was no one to look after the old horse, so I sewed up Billy's
wound myself and kept him. He was well long before the Corporal--I
made him corporal, you know--and, indeed, poor Brimacott was never fit
for rough work again, so when he went home I sent Billy with him."

Then nothing would serve the children but that Colonel Fitzdenys must
ride Billy again; so a snaffle was put into his mouth and the Colonel
mounted him bare-backed, and took him for a little turn in the park and
leaped him over the bar, to their great delight. Then all three went
back to the garden again, and the children began plying him with
questions. His own poor horse was dead, the Colonel told them; he had
carried him all through the Peninsular War but had been killed at
Waterloo. The Colonel himself had been in the wars in India since
then, and the name of the battle was Maheidpore, but the Duke of
Wellington was not there.