“One does not relish very much, sir, the idea of coming into property by the death of a person one loves very much, as I love my brother Laurence. And I would rather order my life as if there were no such thing in the world as inheriting Mount Vernon. As it is, I have every privilege there that any one could possibly have, and I hope my brother will live as long as I do to enjoy it.” “That is the natural way that a high-minded young man would regard it; and if your brother had not been sure of your disinterestedness you may be sure he would never have made you his heir. Grasping people seldom, with all their efforts, secure anything from others.” These two yearly visits of George’s to Greenway Court--one on his way to the mountains, and the other and longer one when he returned--were the bright times of the year to the earl. This autumn he determined to accompany George back to Mount Vernon, and also to visit the Fairfaxes at Belvoir. The great coach was furbished up for the journey, the outriders’ liveries were brought forth from camphor-chests, and the four roans were harnessed up. George followed the same plan as on his first journey with Lord Fairfax two years before--driving with him in the coach the first stage of the day, and riding the last stage. On reaching Mount Vernon, George was distressed to see his brother looking thinner and feebler than ever, and Mrs. Washington was plainly anxious about him. Both were delighted to have him back, as Laurence was quite unable to attend to the vast duties of such a place, and Mrs. Washington had no one but an overseer to rely on. The society of Lord Fairfax, who was peculiarly charming and comforting to persons of a grave temperament, did much for Laurence Washington’s spirits. Lord Fairfax had himself suffered, and he realized the futility of wealth and position to console the great sorrows of life. George spent only a day or two at Mount Vernon, and then made straight for Ferry Farm. His brothers, now three fine, tall lads, with their tutor, were full of admiration for the handsome, delightful brother, of whom they saw little, but whose coming was always the most joyful event at Ferry Farm. George was now nearing his nineteenth birthday, and the graceful, well-made youth had become one of the handsomest men of his day. As Betty stood by him on the hearth-rug the night of his arrival she looked at him gravely for a long time, and then said: “George, you are not at all ugly. Indeed, I think you are nearly as handsome as brother Laurence before he was ill.” “Betty,” replied George, looking at her critically, “let me return the compliment. You are not unhandsome, but never, never, if you live to be a hundred years old, will you be half so beautiful as our mother.”