CHAPTER VI.
he two days' journey that followed was very much like that of the first day—an early start, two hours' rest in the middle of the day, and the night spent at a road-side tavern. On the third day they left civilization behind them, and their mid-day rest was spent in the woods. They were then upon a lower spur of the Blue Ridge Mountains. The road for the first two days had been fairly good, but on the third day the four roans had all they could do to haul the heavy coach up and down the rough highway. They stood to their work gallantly, though, and Lord Fairfax remarked that the coach could go twenty miles farther up the mountain, where he had a hunting-lodge—a sort of outpost for Greenway Court, and where the coach was stored. Glorious weather had followed them. The air was keener and colder than in the low country, and Lance produced a huge furred mantle, in which he wrapped Lord Fairfax, who sat and read unconcernedly while the coach rolled and jerked and bumped along. George was glad to make half his day's travel on horseback, and the exercise, as a warmer-up, was so much better than the Earl's fur mantle that he felt sometimes like suggesting a gallop to Lord Fairfax. But he had the wit to keep his suggestions to himself, knowing that older men can do their own thinking much better than it can be done for them by fifteen-year-old boys. George had enjoyed every moment of the trip so far. His attacks of homesickness were few, and he got over them by the philosophical reflection that he would have been cruelly disappointed if his mother had not allowed him to come. He began a letter to his mother, writing a little every day, so that if he had a chance to visit the low country it would be all ready to send at a moment's notice. He was very happy. He had in prospect a new and delightful experience in travel and association. When that was over he had the cheerful hospitality and honest gayety of his Christmas at Mount Vernon to look forward to with his brother and his sister-in-law, whom he dearly loved, and dear little Betty; and after that a return home, where he fitted naturally and easily into the position of his mother's best helper and counsellor.
The singular attraction between the man of the world and the unsophisticated young provincial gentleman grew each day. George had never before met any one who had Lord Fairfax's store of experience, as a soldier, a courtier, a man of affairs, and a member of a great literary circle. Nothing was lost on the boy, and the Earl was charmed and interested to find that a chance word dropped here and there would remain in George's memory, who would recall it at a suitable time to ask some intelligent question about it. Lord Fairfax sometimes smiled at himself when he realized how much of his time and thought and conversation was spent upon this boy, but he also realized that an intelligent and receptive young mind is in itself one of the most interesting things in the world, and when combined with the noble personality and high breeding of Madam Washington's son it was irresistible. For the first day or two he always spoke to George as "Mr. Washington," and neither one could tell the exact occasion when he dropped it for the more familiar "George." But it was done, and it put them upon a footing of affection at once. George continued to say "my lord," as that was the proper mode of address, but little by little he revealed his heart to his new friend, and Lord Fairfax read him as an open book. This was not at first, however, for George modestly conceived himself to be a person of no consequence whatever, and was much more eager to hear the Earl speak of his adventures than to tell all the ideas and protests and ambitions he cherished himself.
On the evening of the fourth day they came to a log structure at the foot of the mountains, where the coach was to be left. It was in a cleared space on an open plateau, and above them towered the great peaks of the Blue Ridge, which they must cross on horseback.
The night was bright and beautiful, a great vivid moon sailing majestically in the heavens. There was in the clearing one large cabin, with two beds in it and a large press, besides a table and some chairs. In a smaller cabin two or three men lived the year round, while built on to that was a substantial coach-house, where the great chariot was stored, except when the Earl went upon his lowland journeys in state. When the cavalcade stopped in the clearing Lord Fairfax alighted and walked into the large cabin, followed by George. A fire roared upon the broad, rude hearth, and in ten minutes Lance had unlocked the press, had taken from it some bedlinen and blankets, and had made up the beds and laid the table. Supper had been prepared in advance, and, as Lance was an excellent cook, it was not to be despised—in particular, a great saddle of venison, which had been hanging up for a week in anticipation of the Earl's arrival. George could hardly have told what part of the day's journey he always enjoyed most, but those suppers, with the Earl's entertaining conversation, and his own healthy young appetite, and the delicious sense of well-being when he drew up to the fire afterwards to listen and ask questions, were perfectly delightful to him.
When they were seated at the table and about half through supper, Lord Fairfax asked, smiling,
"How do you like the uncivilized wilderness, George?"
"But this is not the uncivilized wilderness yet," answered George, smiling too. "We have a table and chairs, and knives and forks and plates, and beds and blankets, and silver candlesticks."
"Still, it is the wilderness, and from now on we must depend upon ourselves for company. The true meaning of the wilderness is absence from the haunts of men. We shall be entirely alone at Greenway, except for a few negroes and Indians. You will probably not see a white face, except mine and Lance's, until you leave me."