For a week gayety and jollity prevailed at Mount Vernon. There were fox-hunts, when the huntsmen assembled by daybreak, and the winding of the horns, and the hounds with tongues tuned like bells, echoed across the river and among the hills; and after a day’s hard riding there would be a jolly dinner and dancing afterwards. Then there was a great party aboard of the _Bellona_, where the decorations were all of flags and warlike emblems. George’s enthusiasm for the navy did not decrease in the least, but rather gained by being in company with so many officers, and feeling obliged to keep his delightful secret of a promised commission to himself. He became friends with the midshipmen, and in his heart he enjoyed more his visits to the cockpit, with all its discomforts, than the luxury of the admiral’s cabin and the comfort of the wardroom. He was never weary of listening to the officers telling of their adventures; and his expressive young face, with the blood coming and going like a girl’s, showed his overpowering interest in what he heard. No real doubt of his mother’s consent entered his mind; and if the thought occasionally crossed him that her consent must be asked and might not be given, he dismissed it, as all young and ardent natures dismiss unpleasant possibilities. Among the quieter pleasures which he had at this time was that of making friends with little Mildred, the two-year-old daughter to which his brother and sister were so devoted. They had lost three other children; and in a time of the utmost sadness after their deaths, when Laurence Washington realized his own delicate constitution, and the chances that none of his children might live, he had made his will, giving Mount Vernon and all he had, if he should leave no children, to George. But this little one bade fair to grow up into a healthy and happy child. Betty, who was by nature a little mother, was never more at home than when she had charge of the child, and could take as good care of her as any grown person. George, on the contrary, although his heart went out to the little girl, regarded her as a piece of china that might be broken by touching her. But Mildred took a violent fancy to him, and was never so happy as when carried about in his strong young arms, or sitting on his knee while he made rabbits out of his handkerchief and pictures out of the shadows on the wall, and was ready to do anything and to give her anything that would amuse her. He had never been thrown with a child of that age before, and regarded every instance of her baby cleverness as the most extraordinary thing in the world, to the amusement of his brother and sister.