It was a good forty-five miles to Mount Vernon, but George made it by eight o’clock that night.
His brother and sister were delighted to see him, and little Mildred had not forgotten him. After a traveller’s supper George told them all his plans. He passed quickly over the giving up of his midshipman’s warrant, merely saying, “My mother begged me not to leave her for the sea, and I consented. But,” he added, after a pause, “it nearly broke my heart.”
He was distressed to see his brother looking pale and thin, and still more so at the despondent tone Laurence took about himself. He would have had George go into the study, and there with him discuss the present state of the place and its future management, as if he were certain that one day it would be George’s; but this the boy flatly refused.
“No, brother,” he said, “I can only inherit Mount Vernon through misfortune to you and yours; and do you suppose I like to think about that? Indeed I do not; and I neither think nor care about what you do on the place, except that it shall be for your own satisfaction.”
The next morning George was off, much to the regret of his brother and sister, and also to Billy, who had promised himself a regular carnival in the Mount Vernon kitchen.
The road was the same that George had taken nearly five months before, on his first expedition to Greenway Court. Then it had been at the fall of the leaf, and now it was at the bursting of the spring. Already the live-oaks and poplars were showing a faint and silvery green, and in sheltered, sunny spots grass was sprouting. The watercourses were high from the melting of the snow, and fording them was not always without difficulty and even danger. At every mile that George travelled his mind and heart gained a better balance by quick degrees. He was sorry to be parted from his mother and Betty, but he was at a time of life when he must try his own strength, and he was the better for it. He stopped at the same taverns that he had halted at when with Lord Fairfax. Billy proved himself to be an excellent hostler as well as valet, and George did not mean to forget mentioning to his mother, when he should have an opportunity of sending a letter, how extremely useful Billy was. On the fourth day, being well up in the mountains, they came to Lord Fairfax’s coach-house, as it was called, but instead of stopping George pushed on to Greenway Court, much to Billy’s disgust, who had no taste for long journeys on traveller’s fare. On a March night, that, although cool, had a touch of spring in the air, and under a glorious moon George rode up to the door at Greenway Court, and joyfully dismounted. Lord Fairfax did not know the exact day to expect him, but knew he would arrive about that time. When George’s loud rat-tat resounded upon the great oak doors, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to have them opened by old Lance, who said, as if he had seen George half an hour before:
“Good-evening, Mr. Washington; my lord is expecting you. Billy, take the horses around to the stable.”
George walked in, and almost ran into the earl’s arms. Lord Fairfax was overjoyed to see him, and, although he did not say much, his pleasure shone in his eyes. George’s room was ready for him; there was a fine young half-thoroughbred in the stables that was waiting for George’s saddle and bridle to be put on him; Lance had some bears’ paws for his supper whenever he should arrive; there were some books on surveying imported from England for him. Had he been Lord Fairfax’s son and heir he could not have been received with greater consideration. The earl could not do enough for him. It was:
“Lance, is Mr. Washington’s room prepared for him?”
“Yes, sir. It has been ready for a week.”