William was of too gentle a nature to resist this, and the two boys in five minutes were as good friends as ever. George recalled how silently William had borne neglect, how ready he had been to be friends again, and he wondered if he himself had so much generosity. The house seemed strangely quiet after all the company had left, and there were no more routs and balls and romping and hunting. Snow had fallen, and George and Betty were waiting for good weather before attempting the journey back to Ferry Farm. George spoke to Betty about William, acknowledging that he had been as much to blame as she; and Betty, being of a generous nature, felt ashamed of herself, with the result that William enjoyed the latter part of the time much more than the first. But he was destined to have one more clash with George before their friendship became so firmly cemented that it lasted during the whole of their lives. CHAPTER XI One night, some days after this, George was awakened in the middle of the night by hearing persons stirring in the house. He rose, and, slipping on his clothes, softly opened his door. Laurence Washington, fully dressed, was standing in the hall. “What is the matter, brother?” asked George. “The child Mildred is ill,” answered Laurence, in much agitation. “It seems to be written that no child of mine shall live. Dr. Craik has been sent for, but he is so long in coming that I am afraid she will die before he reaches here.” “I will fetch him, brother,” said George, in a resolute manner. “I will go for Dr. Craik, and if I cannot get him I will go to Alexandria for another doctor.” He ran down-stairs and to the stable, and in five minutes he had saddled the best horse in the stable and was off for Dr. Craik’s, five miles away. As he galloped on through the darkness, plunging through the snow, and taking all the short cuts he could find, his heart stood still for fear the little girl might die. He loved her dearly--all her baby ways and childish fondness for himself coming back to him with the sharpest pain--and his brother and sister, whose hopes were bound up in her. George thought, if the child’s life could be spared, he would give more than he could tell. He reached Dr. Craik’s after a hard ride. The barking of the dogs, as he rode into the yard, wakened the doctor, and he came to the door with a candle in his hand, and in his dressing-gown. In a few words George told his business, and begged the doctor to start at once for Mount Vernon. No message had been received, and at that very time the negro messenger, who had mistaken the road, was at least five miles off, going in the opposite direction. “How am I to get to Mount Vernon?” asked the doctor. “As you know, I only keep two horses. One I lent to a neighbor yesterday, and to-night, when I got home from my round, my other horse was dead lame.”