The villa, as General Washington called it, was at this time not so large as it is now, the general having enlarged and added to the mansion after the Revolution. It was, however, a house of the first class then occupied by thrifty Virginia planters; of the old gable-roofed style, two stories in height, with a porch in front, and a chimney built inside, at each end, contrary to the prevailing custom. It stood upon a most lovely spot, on the brow of a gentle slope which ended at a thickly wooded precipitous river bank, its summit nearly one hundred feet above the water. Before it swept the Potomac with a magnificent curve, and beyond the broad river lay the green fields and shadowy forests of Maryland. The door opened as the carriage reached the porch, and a man came hastily to their assistance. He said not a word until they were safely within the entrance hall, and then he turned to Nurse Johnson with a smile. “Well, well, Hannah Johnson,” he said. “Who would ever have thought of seeing you here? Quite a little sprinkle we’re having.” “I should say it was a sprinkle, Lund Washington,” retorted Nurse Johnson, gazing ruefully at her wet clothing. “It strikes me more like a baptism; and you know I don’t hold with immersion.” “I know,” he said laughing. “Never mind. We’ll soon get you fixed up.” Mr. Lund Washington was General Washington’s relative, who had charge of the estate while the owner was away to the war. At this moment a pleasant-faced, plump little woman came bustling into the hall, and hastened to greet them. “I could not come sooner, Hannah,” she said. “I was making a lettuce tart which we are to have for supper. Come right up-stairs, both of you, and change that wet clothing. Nay, my child,” as Peggy mindful of her dripping garments hesitated. “It doth not matter about the dripping. All that concerns us is to get you both into dry garments.” With such a welcome Peggy felt at home at once, and followed the overseer’s wife obediently up the broad stairway to one of the chambers above. Mrs. Washington went to a chest of drawers and drew forth some folded garments. “These are just the things for you, my dear,” she said. “They were Martha’s, and will fit you exceedingly well.” “I thank thee,” said Peggy taking them reverently, for Martha had been Lady Washington’s only daughter, and she had been told of her early death. “I see you are a Quakeress,” said Mrs. Washington pleasantly. “We have many such down here, though not so many as are in your state. How vastly the frock becomes her. Doth it not, Hannah?” “It does indeed,” replied Nurse Johnson glancing at the girl with approval. “Child, you should never wear aught but colors. You were never made for the quiet garb of your sect.”