The night was bright and beautiful, a great vivid moon sailing majestically in the heavens. There was in the clearing one large cabin, with two beds in it and a large press, besides a table and some chairs. In a smaller cabin two or three men lived the year round, while built on to that was a substantial coach-house, where the great chariot was stored, except when the earl went upon his lowland journeys in state. When the cavalcade stopped in the clearing Lord Fairfax alighted and walked into the large cabin, followed by George. A fire roared upon the broad, rude hearth, and in ten minutes Lance had unlocked the press, had taken from it some bedlinen and blankets, and had made up the beds and laid the table. Supper had been prepared in advance, and, as Lance was an excellent cook, it was not to be despised--in particular a great saddle of venison, which had been hanging up for a week in anticipation of the earl’s arrival. George could hardly have told what part of the day’s journey he always enjoyed most, but these suppers, with the earl’s entertaining conversation, and his own healthy young appetite, and the delicious sense of well-being when he drew up to the fire afterwards, to listen and ask questions, were perfectly delightful to him. When they were seated at the table and about half through supper, Lord Fairfax asked, smiling: “How do you like the uncivilized wilderness, George?” “But this is not the uncivilized wilderness yet,” answered George, smiling too. “We have a table and chairs, and knives and forks and plates, and beds and blankets, and silver candlesticks.” “Still, it is the wilderness, and from now on we must depend upon ourselves for company. The true meaning of the wilderness is, absence from the haunts of men. We shall be entirely alone at Greenway, except for a few negroes and Indians. You will probably not see a white face, except mine and Lance’s, until you leave me.” “It will be quite enough, sir,” replied George. “I would rather be with a few people that I like than with a great crowd that I don’t like.” “I felt the same in my youth. Afterwards there were circumstances in my life which inclined me to solitude. I came to Virginia in search of it, and I found it; and I also found peace. Once a year I go to the low country--to Belvoir, my cousin William Fairfax’s; to your brother’s at Mount Vernon; sometimes to see Colonel Byrd at Westover: but I always return to my own fastness gladly. I feel more cheerful now than at any time since we started. My old friends--my books--are waiting for me in my library; I can only take a dozen with me when I go away. My doves and pigeons, my dogs and horses, will all be the happier for my return home. My servants will be glad to have me back--poor souls, they have but a dull time of it all the year round; and I myself, having lived this life so long, find that it suits me. I shall have your company for several weeks; then I shall want you again next year.”