George was so stunned with admiration at the splendor of the equipage that he scarcely glanced at the interior of the coach until the sunlight flashed upon something that fairly dazzled him. It was a diamond-hilted dress-sword, worn by a gentleman of about fifty, who sat alone upon the back seat. The gorgeous sword-hilt was the only thing about him that shone or glinted, for his brown travelling suit was as studiously simple as his equipage was splendid. He wore plain silver buckles at his knees and upon his handsome high-arched feet, and his hair, streaked with gray, was without powder, and tied into a club with a black ribbon.
One glance at his face fixed George's attention. It was pale and somewhat angular, unlike the type of florid, high-colored Virginia squires with which George was familiar. He had been handsome in his youth, and was still handsome, with a stately, grave beauty; but even a boy could see that this man had had but little joy in life.
From the moment that George's eyes fell upon this gentleman he looked upon nothing else. Neither the great coach nor the superb horses had any power to attract his gaze, although never in all his short life had he seen anything so splendid. His mother had a coach, and so had most of the people roundabout, but all had a common air of having once been handsome, and of having reached the comfortable, shabby-genteel stage. And many persons drove four horses to these great lumbering vehicles, but all four would not be worth one of the gallant roans that trotted along the road so gayly.
It was out of sight in a few minutes, and in a few minutes more it was out of hearing; but in that short time George, who was quick-witted, had shrewdly guessed the name and rank of the gentleman with the plain clothes and the diamond-hilted sword. It was the great Earl of Fairfax—the soldier, the wit, the rich nobleman—who for some mysterious reason had chosen to come to this new land and to build a lodge in the wilderness. The boy had often heard his mother, Madam Washington, speak of Earl Fairfax. Meeting with him was one of the events of that great journey she had made in her girlhood to England, where for a time she lived in the house of her brother, Joseph Ball, at Cookham, in Berkshire, who had left his Virginia home and had taken up his residence in England. Here Mary Ball had met Angustine Washington, then in England upon affairs connected with his property. Augustine Washington was one of the handsomest men of his day, and from him his eldest son George inherited the noble air and figure that marked him. Mary Ball was a Virginia beauty, and although admired by many Englishmen of distinction, she chose rather to marry Augustine Washington, albeit he had been married before, and had two motherless boys. In England, therefore, were they married, sailing soon after for Virginia, and within twelve years Mrs. Washington was a widow with five children. She loved to talk to her children of those happy English days, when she had first pledged herself to Augustine Washington. It had also been the only time of excitement in her quiet life, and she had met many of the wits and cavaliers and belles of the reign of George the Second. She sometimes spoke of Lord Fairfax, but always guardedly; and George had conceived the idea that his mother perhaps knew Lord Fairfax better, and the reasons for his abandonment of his own country, than she cared to tell.
He began to wonder, quite naturally, where the Earl was bound; and suddenly it came to him in a flash—"He is going to pay his respects to my mother." In another instant he was on his feet and speeding like a deer through the woods towards home.
The house at Ferry Farm which was home to him was a good four miles by the road; but by paths through the woods and fields, and a foot-bridge across a creek, it was barely a mile. It took him only a short time to make it, but before he could reach the house he saw the coach and outriders dash into sight and draw up before the porch. The old soldier jumped from the box, and opened the door and let down the steps, and the Earl descended in state. On the porch stood Uncle Jasper, the venerable black butler, in a suit of homespun, with a long white apron that reached from his chin to his knees. George saw him bowing and ushering the Earl in. The outriders loosened their horses' girths, and after breathing them, led them to the watering-trough in the stable lot back of the house. They then watered the coach horses, the coachman sitting in solitary magnificence on his box, while the old soldier stretched his legs by walking about the lot. George saw this as he came through the stableway, his dog still at his heels. Uncle Jasper was waiting for him on the back porch.
"De madam," he began, in a mysterious whisper, "will want you ter put on yo' Sunday clo'es 'fo' you come in ter see de Earl o' Fairfax. He's in de settin'-room now."
George understood very well, and immediately went to his room to change his hunting-clothes, which were the worse for both dirt and wear. It was a ceremonious age, and the formalities of dress and manners were very strictly observed.
Meanwhile, in the sitting-room, on opposite sides of the fireplace, sat Madam Washington and the Earl. Truly, the beauty that had distinguished Mary Ball remained with Madam Washington. Her figure was slight and delicate (not from her had her eldest son inherited his brawn and muscle), and in her severely simple black gown she looked even slighter than usual. Her complexion was dazzlingly fair, and little rings of chestnut hair escaped from her widow's cap; but her fine blue eyes were the counterpart of her eldest son's. The room was plainly furnished, even for the times, but scrupulously neat. A rag-carpet covered the middle of the floor, while around the edges the polished planks were bare. In one corner a small harpsichord was open, with music on the rack. Dimity curtains shaded the small-paned windows, and a great fire sparkled in the large fireplace. Over the mantel hung the portrait of a handsome young man in a satin coat with lace ruffles. This was a portrait of Augustine Washington in his youth. Opposite it was a portrait of Madam Washington as a girl—a lovely young face and figure. There were one or two other portraits, and a few pieces of silver upon a mahogany bullet opposite the harpsichord—relics of Wakefield, the Westmoreland plantation where George was born, and of which the house had burned to the ground in the absence of the master, and much of the household belongings had been destroyed.
The Earl's eyes lingered upon the girlish portrait of Madam Washington as the two sat gravely conversing.