He heard it and faced it and let it talk. The tired horses dropped to a walk. And then Black Whistle lunged at the bit And whinnied because he was alive, And he saw the porch where the evenings sit And the tall magnolias shading the drive, He heard the bell of his father’s mirth, “Tallyho, Yanks⁠—we’ve gone to earth! Home, boy, home to Wingate Hall, Home in spite of them, damn them all!” He was stabbed by the rays of the setting sun, He felt Black Whistle break to a run, And then he was really there again, Before he had time to think or check, And a boy was holding his bridle-rein, And Mary Lou’s arms were around his neck.

Sally Dupré and Wingate talk with the music.⁠ ⁠…