Just then the door opened, and Uncle Jasper, bearing a huge tray, entered. He placed it on a round mahogany table, and Madam Washington proceeded to make tea, and offered it to the earl with her own hands. The earl while drinking his tea glanced first at George and then at pretty little Betty, who, feeling embarrassed at the notice she received, produced her sampler from her pocket and began to work demurely in cross-stitch on it. Presently Lord Fairfax noticed the open harpsichord. “I remember, madam,” he said to Madam Washington, as they gravely sipped their tea together, “that you had a light hand on the harpsichord.” “I have never touched it since my husband’s death,” answered she, “but my daughter Betty can perform with some skill.” Mistress Betty, obeying a look from her mother, rose at once and went to the harpsichord, never thinking of the ungraceful and disobliging protest of more modern days. She seated herself, and struck boldly into the “The Marquis of Huntley’s Rigadoon.” She had, indeed, a skilful little hand, and as the touch of her small fingers filled the room with quaint music the earl sat, tapping with his foot to mark the time, and smiling at the little maid’s grave air while she played. When her performance was over she rose, and, making a reverence to her mother and her guest, returned to her sampler. The earl had now spent nearly two hours with his old friend, and the sun was near setting, but he could scarcely make up his mind to leave. The interest he felt in her seemed transferred to her children, especially the two eldest, and the resolve entered his mind that he would see more of that splendid boy. He turned to George and said to him: “Will you be so good, Mr. Washington, as to order my people to put to my horses, as I find that time has flown surprisingly fast?” “Will you not stay the night, my lord?” asked Madam Washington. “We can amply accommodate you and your servants.” “Nothing would please me more, madam, but it is my duty to reach Fredericksburg to-night, where I have business, and I am now seeking a ferry where I can be moved across.” “Then you have not to seek far, sir, for this place is called Ferry Farm; and we have several small boats, and a large one that will easily hold your coach; and, with the assistance of your servants, all of them, as well as your horses, can be ferried over at once.” The earl thanked her, and George left the room promptly to make the necessary arrangements. In a few moments the horses were put to the coach, as the ferry was half a mile from the house; and George, ordering his saddle clapped on his horse, that was just then being brought from the pasture, galloped down to the ferry to superintend the undertaking--not a light one--of getting a coach, eight horses, and eight persons across the river.