“Henry has been bothering me about a trip to Winchester,” went on Joseph Morris, slowly. “I might let him take the trip with you, if he wasn’t away from the farm too long.”
“Just the thing! I’d like Henry along and he ought to have a vacation—he has worked so hard all spring and summer.”
“Well, come in the house, and you too, White Buffalo, and we’ll talk the matter over.”
They entered the cabin, and here White Buffalo was entertained with the best at hand, and also paid for his services. Soon Henry Morris came in and was told of what was proposed. He said nothing would please him better than a trip to Annapolis, and was willing to start the next day. Sam Barringford had gone off on a hunt, but both Dave and his uncle felt certain that the old hunter would willingly make the journey to the trading-post on the Kinotah.
“He spoke of going out there only yesterday,” said Joseph Morris. “He will jump at the chance of having Dave along.”
So it was arranged before nightfall that Dave should go west and should first make the trip eastward with his cousin Henry.
The day following was one full of bustle and excitement for the two cousins, and it must be confessed that Mrs. Morris was equally affected, for this was the first time Henry had left her, to be gone a week or more. The weather was all that could be wished for, and the boys wanted to make the most of it.
It is not my purpose here to go into the details of the trip. Each of the lads was provided with a good horse and consequently they made rapid progress. On the way they shot a deer and also aided a plantation owner to overcome a negro who had run amuck and was threatening to kill everybody in sight.
At Annapolis their trading took somewhat longer than expected, and while Dave did not strike any great bargains, yet he was shrewd enough not to get cheated and his purchases, on the whole, were as satisfactory as if his uncle had made them. The two boys went sight seeing and also spent one evening at the theater, where they witnessed a performance of Shakespeare’s “Merchant of Venice,” at a shilling an admission.
On the day they were leaving Annapolis Dave fell in with a man he had met there before and learned from him that Lawrence Washington was dead, having departed this life at Mount Vernon, shortly after coming back from Barbadoes, on July 26. He had left a wife and a little daughter, and these were consigned to the care of his brother George, who was now called Major Washington, on account of his attachment to the militia.