He watched the stallion out of sight through the lilacs, seeing visions of fair Shire colts mighty of bone and frame and free from blemish, then turned, as ever he turned to the immediate thing, and spoke to his body servant.

“How’s that last boy, Oh My? Showing up?”

“Him pretty good boy, I think,” was the answer. “Him young boy. Everything new. Pretty slow. All the same bime by him show up good.”

“Why? What makes you think so?”

“I call him three, four morning now. Him sleep like baby. Him wake up smiling just like you. That very good.”

“Do I wake up smiling?” Forrest queried.