Little Betty wept torrents of tears, protesting all the time--“Dear George, I am glad for you to go--I don’t want you to stay--I can’t help crying a little, though.” George held her in his arms with a full heart, and wished that he had words to tell her how much she was to him; but Betty understood well enough. When the last farewells were said, and George was out of sight of his mother’s brave smile and Betty’s tears, a sudden revulsion of feeling came to him, as it does to all healthy young natures. He had got to the very extremity of his despair, and there was a strong reaction. He was essentially a boy of action, and action was now before him. Indeed, he was no longer a boy, but a man, with responsibilities upon him that seldom fall to young people of his years. He had his surveyor’s license in his pocket, and upon the use he made of it might depend not only issues of property, but of peace and war; because he knew that the unsettled state of the frontier was the real reason why Lord Fairfax meant to have the wild lands in his grant surveyed. The day was bright, it was in the spring-time, and he was well mounted on a good horse. Billy, riding a stout cart-horse and carrying the saddle-bags, was behind him, and Rattler was trotting by his side. Things might be worse, thought George, as he struck into a canter and wondered that his heart was so blithe. He would see his brother and sister that night, and little Mildred, and in a few days more he would be again at Greenway with the earl and old Lance; and he would have all the books he wanted to read, and fencing whenever he liked. He wondered how much he had forgotten of it; he had not fenced since leaving Mount Vernon at Christmas. But neither had he read or done anything else, it seemed to George, so blank was the time from the day he came home until then. Billy hankered after the flesh-pots of Mount Vernon, where things were conducted on a much grander scale than at the simple Ferry Farm homestead. George heard him chuckling to himself, and, turning in the saddle, asked: “What pleases you so, Billy?” “Tuckey, suh,” answered Billy, promptly, “wid sassages roun’ dee necks--an’ oshters an’ sp’yar-ribs an’ chines an’ goose, an’ all dem things dee black folks gits in de kitchen at Mount Vernon.” It was a good forty-five miles to Mount Vernon, but George made it by eight o’clock that night. His brother and sister were delighted to see him, and little Mildred had not forgotten him. After a traveller’s supper George told them all his plans. He passed quickly over the giving up of his midshipman’s warrant, merely saying, “My mother begged me not to leave her for the sea, and I consented. But,” he added, after a pause, “it nearly broke my heart.”