George’s heart was too full for many words, but his flushed and beaming face showed how pleased he was at the prospect. Laurence, however, could read George’s boyish heart very well, and smiled at the boy’s delight. Both Betty and himself kissed and thanked their sister for her kindness, and, after they had said good-bye to William, and shook hands with all the house-servants, the chaise rattled off. Betty had by nature one of the sunniest tempers in the world, and, instead of going back glumly and unwillingly to her modest home after the gayeties and splendors of Mount Vernon, congratulated herself on having had so merry a time, and was full of gratitude to her mother for allowing her to come. And then she was alone with George, and had a chance to ask him dozens of things that she had not thought of in the bustle at Mount Vernon; so the two drove along merrily, Betty chattering a good deal, and George talking much more than he usually did. They reached Barn Elms before sunset, and met with a cordial welcome from Colonel Lewis and the large family of children and guests that could always be found in the Virginia country-houses of those days. At supper a long table was filled, mostly with merry young people. Among them was young Fielding Lewis, a handsome fellow a little older than George, and there was also Miss Martha Dandridge, the handsome young lady with whom George had danced Sir Roger de Coverley on Christmas night at Mount Vernon. In the evening the drawing-room floor was cleared, and everybody danced, Colonel Lewis himself, a portly gentleman of sixty, leading off the rigadoon with Betty, which George again danced with Martha Dandridge. They had so merry a time that they were sorry to leave next morning. Colonel Lewis urged them to stay, but George felt they must return home, more particularly as it was the first time that he and Betty had been trusted to make a journey alone. All that day they travelled, and about sunset, when within five miles of home, a tire came off one of the wheels of the new chaise, and they had to stop at a blacksmith’s shop on the road-side to have it mended. Billy, however, was sent ahead to tell their mother that they were coming, and George was in hopes that Billy’s sins would be overlooked, considering the news he brought, and the delightful excitement of the meeting. The blacksmith was slow, and the wheel was in a bad condition, so it was nearly eight o’clock of a January night before they were in the gate at Ferry Farm. It was wide open, the house was lighted up, and in the doorway stood Madam Washington and the three little boys. Every negro, big and little, on the place was assembled, and shouts of “Howdy, Marse George! Howdy, Miss Betty!” resounded. The dogs barked with pleasure at recognizing George and Betty, and the commotion was great.