When we heaved together, out came Bill Yarnley’s wagon from the mud, and the laughter ended.  It was like him—­he would not stop when once he started.  Why, it was so he married my mother, that very sweet Quakeress from the foot of old Catoctin.  He told me she said him no many times, not liking his wild ways, so contrary to the manner of the Society of Friends; and she only consented after binding him to go with her once each week to the little stone church at Wallingford village, near our farm, provided he should be at home and able to attend.  My mother I think during her life had not missed a half dozen meetings at the little stone church.  Twice a week, and once each Sunday, and once each month, and four times each year, and also annually, the Society of Friends met there at Wallingford, and have done so for over one hundred and thirty-five years.  Thither went my mother, quiet, brown-haired, gentle, as good a soul as ever lived, and with her my father, tall, strong as a tree, keeping his promise until at length by sheer force of this kept promise, he himself became half Quaker and all gentle, since he saw what it meant to her.

As I have paused in my horsemanship to speak thus of my father, I ought also to speak of my mother.  It was she who in those troublous times just before the Civil War was the first to raise the voice in the Quaker Meeting which said that the Friends ought to free their slaves, law or no law; and so started what was called later the Unionist sentiment in that part of old Virginia.  It was my mother did that.  Then she asked my father to manumit all his slaves; and he thought for an hour, and then raised his head and said it should be done; after which the servants lived on as before, and gave less in return, at which my father made wry faces, but said nothing in regret.  After us others also set free their people, and presently this part of Virginia was a sort of Mecca for escaped blacks.  It was my mother did that; and I believe that it was her influence which had much to do with the position of East Virginia on the question of the war.  And this also in time had much to do with this strange story of mine, and much to do with the presence thereabout of the man whom I was to meet that very morning; although when I started to mount my horse Satan I did not know that such a man as Gordon Orme existed in the world.

When I approached Satan he lunged at me, but I caught him by the cheek strap of the bridle and swung his head close up, feeling for the saddle front as he reached for me with open mouth.  Then as he reared I swung up with him into place, and so felt safe, for once I clamped a horse fair there was an end of his throwing me.  I laughed when Miss Grace Sheraton called out in alarm, and so wheeled Satan around a few times and rode on down the road, past the fields where the blacks were busy as blacks ever are, and so on to our own red pillared-gates.

Then, since the morning was still young, and since the air seemed to me like wine, and since I wanted something to subdue and Satan offered, I spurred him back from the gate and rode him hard down toward Wallingford.  Of course he picked up a stone en route.  Two of us held his head while Billings the blacksmith fished out the stone and tapped the shoe nails tight.  After that I had time to look around.