The boat shot rapidly through the water, rowed by the stalwart ferry-men, and George was soon on the opposite shore. He bade good-bye to Yellow Dick and Sambo, and, mounting his horse, with Billy still trotting ahead with the portmanteau, rode off through the quaint old town to the tavern. It was a long, low building at the corner of two straggling streets, and signs of the impending departure of a distinguished guest were not wanting. Captain Benson, a militia officer, kept the tavern, and in honor of the Earl of Fairfax had donned a rusty uniform, and was going back and forth between the stable and the kitchen, first looking after his lordship’s breakfast and then after his lordship’s horses’ breakfasts. He came bustling out when George rode up. “Good-morning, Mr. Washington. ’Light, sir, ’light. I understand you are going to Greenway Court with his lordship. He is now at his breakfast. Will you please to walk in?” “No, I thank you, sir,” responded George. “If you will kindly mention to Lord Fairfax that I am here, you will oblige me.” “Certainly, sir, certainly,” cried Captain Benson, disappearing in the house. The travelling-chariot was out and the horses were being put to it under the coachman’s superintendence, while old Lance was looking after the luggage. He came up to George, and, giving him the military salute, asked for Mr. Washington’s portmanteau. George could scarcely realize that he was going until he saw it safely stowed along with the earl’s under the box-seat. He then determined to send Billy off before the earl made his appearance, for fear of a terrible commotion, after all, when Billy had to face the final parting. “Now, Billy,” said George to him, very earnestly, “you will not give my mother so much trouble as you used to, but do as you are told, and it will be better for you.” “Yes, suh,” answered Billy, looking in George’s eyes without winking. “And here is a crown for you,” said George, slipping one into Billy’s hand--poor George had only a few crowns in a purse little Betty had knitted for him. “Now mount the horse and go home. Good-bye, Rattler, boy--all of Lord Fairfax’s dogs, of every kind, shall not make me forget you.” Billy, without the smallest evidence of grief, but with rather a twinkle in his beady eyes, shook his young master’s hand, jumped on the horse, and, whistling to Rattler, all three of George’s friends disappeared down the village street. George looked after them for some minutes and sighed at what was before Billy, but comforted himself by recalling the boy’s sensible behavior in the matter of the parting. In a few moments Lord Fairfax came out. George went up the steps to the porch, and, making his best bow, tried to say how much he felt the earl’s kindness. True gratitude is not always glib, and was not with George, but the earl saw from the boy’s face the intense pleasure he experienced.