Well--about three o'clock it was, maybe a little earlier, maybe a little
later, my wife woke me up. 'Do you hear that?' she says. I listened and
heard a horse in the lane before the door, neighing,--I can't tell you
exactly how it was,--like as if he'd call up the house. 'T was rather
queer, I thought, so I got up and looked out of window, and it seemed to
me he had a saddle on. He stamped, and pawed, and then he gave another
yell, and stamped again. Says I to my wife, 'There's something wrong
here,' and I dressed and went out. When he saw me, he acted the
strangest you ever saw; thinks I, if ever an animal wanted to speak,
that animal does. When I tried to catch him, he shot off, run down the
lane a bit, and then came back as strangely acting as ever. I went into
the house and woke up my brother, here, and we saddled our horses and
started. Away went yours ahead, stopping every minute to look round and
see if we followed. When we came to the water, I kind o' hesitated, but
't was no use; the horse would have us go on, and on, till we found you.
I never heard tell of the like of it, in my born days!"

Gilbert did not speak, but two large tears slowly gathered in his eyes,
and rolled down his cheeks. The men saw his emotion, and respected it.

In the light of the cold, keen dawn, they reached a snug farm-house, a
mile from the Brandywine. The men lifted Gilbert from the saddle, and
would have carried him immediately into the house, but he first leaned
upon Roger's neck, took the faithful creature's head in his arms, and
kissed it.

The good housewife was already up, and anxiously awaiting the return of
her husband and his brother. A cheery fire crackled on the hearth, and
the coffee-pot was simmering beside it. When Gilbert had been partially
revived by the warmth, the men conducted him into an adjoining bed-room,