While he owned her, Gunner Sobey--who in extra-military hours traded as a carrier and haulier between Troy and the market-towns to the westward--had worked her late and fed her lean; but the most of us behold our receding youth through a mist of romance, and it may be that old worn-out Pleasant conceived herself to be cantering back to fields where the grass grew perennially sweet and old age was unknown.

At any rate, she earned her place this night among the great steeds of romance--Xanthus, Bucephalus, Harpagus, Black Auster, Sleipnir and Ilderim, Bayardo and Brigliadoro, the Cid's Babieca, Dick Turpin's Black Bess; not to mention the two chargers, Copenhagen and Marengo, whom Waterloo was yet to make famous.

As she mounted the last rise by Whiddycross Green her ribs were heaving sorely, her breath came in short quick coughs, her head lagged almost between her bony knees; but none the less she held on down the steep hill, all strewn with loose stones, to the ferry slip; and there, dropping her haunches, slid, checked herself almost at the water's edge, and stood quivering.
Billy Bates, the ferryman at Little Ferry, had heard the clatter of hoofs, and tumbled out to unchain his boat; a trifling matter for him, since he habitually slept in his clothes.
"Hallo!" said he, holding his lantern high and taking stock of the gunner's regimentals.

"I allowed you'd be a messenger from Sir Felix.

They tell me her leddyship is expectin'." "I pity her then," gasped Gunner Sobey, and waved an arm.