"Madam, your little one is asleep, and I think the worst is past."
For some days the child continued ill, and George's anxiety about her, his wish to do something for her in spite of his boyish incapacity to do so, showed how fond he was of her. She began to mend, however, and George was delighted to find that she was never better satisfied than when carried about in his strong young arms. William Fairfax, who was far from being a foolish fellow, in spite of his silly speech, grew to be heartily ashamed of the suspicion that George would be glad to profit by the little girl's death when he saw how patiently George would amuse her hour after hour, and how willingly he would give up his beloved hunting and shooting to stay with her.
In the early part of January the time came when George and Betty must return to Ferry Farm. George went the more cheerfully, as he imagined it would be his last visit to his mother before joining his ship. Laurence was also of this opinion, and George's warrant as midshipman had been duly received. He had written to Madam Washington of Admiral Vernon's offer, but he had received no letter from her in reply. This, however, he supposed was due to Madam Washington's expectation of soon seeing George, and he thought her consent absolutely certain.
On a mild January morning George and Betty left Mount Vernon for home in a two-wheeled chaise, which Laurence Washington sent as a present to his step-mother. In the box under the seat were packed Betty's white sarcenet silk and George's clothes, including three smart uniforms. The possession of these made George feel several years older than William Fairfax, who started for school the same day. The rapier which Lord Fairfax had given him, and his midshipman's dirk, which he considered his most valuable belongings, were rather conspicuously displayed against the side of the chaise; for George was but a boy, after all, and delighted in these evidences of his approaching manhood. His precious commission was in his breast pocket. Billy was to travel on the trunk-rack behind the chaise, and was quite content to dangle his legs from Mount Vernon to Ferry Farm, while Rattler trotted along beside them. Usually it was a good day's journey, but in winter, when the roads were bad, it was necessary to stop over a night on the way. It had been determined to make this stop at the home of Colonel Fielding Lewis, an old friend of both Madam Washington and Laurence Washington.
All of the Mount Vernon family, white and black, were assembled on the porch, directly after breakfast, to say good-by to the young travellers. William Fairfax, on horseback, was to start in another direction. Little Mildred, in her black mammy's arms, was kept in the hall, away from the raw winter air. Betty kissed her a dozen times, and cried a little; but when George took her in his arms, and, after holding her silently to his breast, handed her back to her mammy, the little girl clung to him and cried so piteously, that George had to unlock her baby arms from around his neck and run away.
On the porch his brother and sister waited for him, and Laurence said:
"I desire you, George, to deliver the chaise to your mother, from me, with my respectful compliments, and to hope that she will soon make use of it to visit us at Mount Vernon. For yourself, let me hear from you by the first hand. The Bellona will be in the Chesapeake within a month, and probably up this river, and you are now prepared to join at a moment's notice."
George's heart was too full for many words, but his flushed and beaming face showed how pleased he was at the prospect. Laurence, however, could read George's boyish heart very well, and smiled at the boy's delight. Both Betty and himself kissed and thanked their sister for her kindness, and, after they had said good-by to William, and shook hands with all the house-servants, the chaise rattled off.
Betty had by nature one of the sunniest tempers in the world, and, instead of going back glumly and unwillingly to her modest home after the gayeties and splendors of Mount Vernon, congratulated herself on having had so merry a time, and was full of gratitude to her mother for allowing her to come. And then she was alone with George, and had a chance to ask him dozens of things that she had not thought of in the bustle at Mount Vernon; so the two drove along merrily. Betty chattering a good deal, and George talking much more than he usually did.
They reached Barn Elms before sunset, and met with a cordial welcome from Colonel Lewis and the large family of children and guests that could always be found in the Virginia country-houses of those days. At supper a long table was filled, mostly with merry young people. Among them was young Fielding Lewis, a handsome fellow a little older than George, and there was also Miss Martha Dandridge, the handsome young lady with whom George had danced Sir Roger de Coverley on Christmas night at Mount Vernon. In the evening the drawing-room floor was cleared, and everybody danced, Colonel Lewis himself, a portly gentleman of sixty, leading off the rigadoon with Betty, which George again danced with Martha Dandridge. They had so merry a time that they were sorry to leave next morning. Colonel Lewis urged them to stay, but George felt they must return home, more particularly as it was the first time that he and Betty had been trusted to make a journey alone.