Lord Fairfax’s pale and worn face lighted up with pleasure, and he dismounted on seeing George. Arm in arm the two walked up to the great, quaint house--the man, old before his time, and never losing the sad and wearied look that showed he had not found life all roses, and the splendid youth glowing with health and hope and brightness. Lord Fairfax asked many questions about the work, and George was equally full of questions about lowland affairs. Of these Lord Fairfax knew little, but he told George there were a number of letters for him in a desk in the library. George was all eagerness to get them, as he knew he should find letters from his mother and Betty and his brother Laurence. As they neared the house they passed within view of the kitchen. Billy had not been off his horse’s back half an hour, but he was already seated in the kitchen door, and between his knees was a huge kettle, in which were some bacon and beans. In one hand he held a tremendous hoe-cake, which he shared with Rattler, who was sitting on his haunches, with an expression of profound satisfaction very like that which irradiated Billy’s dusky features. Neither George nor Lord Fairfax could forbear laughing, and Billy grinned appreciatively at them. But on reading his letters a little later in the library George’s face lost its merry smile. His mother and Betty were quite well only ten days before--which was late news for that day--but his little playmate Mildred, at Mount Vernon, was fading fast. One of Madam Washington’s letters, dated about three weeks before, said: “I have just come from a visit of eight days to Mount Vernon; your brother and sister are fairly well, although Laurence will never be of a robust constitution. But the little girl, I see, is not to be spared us long. She is now nearly three years old--older than any of Laurence’s other children have lived to be--but there is a blight upon this dear little innocent, and I doubt whether she will not be a flower in God’s garden by Christmas-time--greatly to her profit, but to the everlasting grief of her sorrowing parents.” This letter made George feel as if he would like that very moment to have his horse saddled and to start for Mount Vernon. But he felt that with the great interests with which he had been trusted by Lord Fairfax it would not be right to go without giving an account of his work. He was sitting sadly enough at the library table, reading his mother’s letter, when Lord Fairfax entered. “You have bad news, George,” said he, after one glance at the boy’s troubled face. “Very bad, sir,” replied George, sadly. “My brother’s only living child, a dear little girl, is very ill, I am afraid. My mother writes me she is fading fast. My poor brother and sister love her so much--she is the only child that has been spared them. Three others have all died before they were a year old.”