The earl narrowly watched George as they supped together, talking meanwhile. He rightly judged that table manners and deportment are a very fair test of one’s training in the niceties of life, and was more than ever pleased the closer he observed the boy. First, George proved himself a skilful carver, and carved the turkey with the utmost dexterity. This was an accomplishment carefully taught him by his mother. Then, although he had the ravenous appetite of a fifteen-year-old boy after a long day’s travel, he did not forget to be polite and attentive to the earl, who trifled with his supper rather than ate it. The boy took one glass of wine, and declined having his glass refilled. His conversation was chiefly replies to questions, and were so apt that the earl every moment liked his young guest better and better. George was quite unconscious of the deep attention with which Lord Fairfax observed him. He thought he had been asked to Greenway out of pure good-nature, and rather wished to keep in the background so he should not make his host repent his hospitality. But a feeling, far deeper than mere good-nature, inspired the earl. He felt a profound interest in the boy, and was enough a judge of human nature to see that something remarkable might be expected of him. Soon after supper occurred the first inelegance on George’s part. In the midst of a sentence of the earl’s the boy suddenly and involuntarily gave a wide yawn. He colored furiously, but Lord Fairfax burst into one of his rare laughs, and calling Lance, directed him to show Mr. Washington to his room. George was perfectly willing to go; but when Lance, taking one of the tall candlesticks, showed him his room, his eyes suddenly came wide open, and the idea that Lance could tell him all about the siege of Bouchain, and marching and starving and fighting with Marlborough, drove the sleep from his eyes like the beating of a drum. Reaching the room Lance put the candle on the dressing-table, and, standing at “attention,” asked: “Anything else, sir?” “Yes,” said George, seating himself on the edge of the bed. “How long will it be before my Lord Fairfax needs you?” “About two hours, sir. His lordship sits late.” “Then--then--” continued George, with a little diffidence, “I wish you would tell me something about campaigning with the Duke of Marlborough and Prince Eugene, and all about the siege of Bouchain.” Lance’s strong, weather-beaten face was suddenly illuminated with a light that George had not seen on it before, and his soldierly figure unconsciously took a more military pose. “’Tis a long story, sir,” he said, “and I was only a youngster and a private soldier; it is thirty-five years gone now.”