Thus she spoke, for no one imagined at this time that Virginia would soon become the center of activities. And so chatting they crossed the river, and by noon were in Chester, where they baited their horses and refreshed themselves for the afternoon journey.

It was spring. The smooth road wound beneath the budding foliage of the forest. The air was fresh and balmy, and laden with the perfume of flowers and leaves. The sky was blue, and Peggy followed with delight the flight of a hawk across its azure. Robins flew about merrily, with red b.r.e.a.s.t.s shaken by melodious chirpings, and brilliant plumage burnished by the sunlight. The maiden began to feel a keen enjoyment of the drive, and chatted and laughed with an abandon foreign to her usual quiet demeanor.

They lay at Wilmington, Delaware, that night, and early the next morning were up and away again. Mindful of her new diary Peggy recorded her impressions of the country through which she pa.s.sed for the benefit of her friends of The Social Select Circle.

"The country is beautiful," she wrote enthusiastically on the fourth day of her journey after pa.s.sing from Wilmington through Newcastle, and Head of the Elk, and crossing the Susquehanna River. "Though it seems to me more sandy than Pennsylvania. I think this must arise from being so near the coast. The Susquehanna is very broad at this crossing, but it cannot compare with the Delaware for limpidness and whiteness. Nor are its banks so agreeable in appearance. To-morrow we enter Baltimore, which I long to see, for Nurse Johnson says 'tis a monstrously fine city.

"'And is thee going to tell us naught but about the country, Peggy?' I hear thee complain, Betty Williams. Know then, thou foolish Betty, that the 'Silent Knight,' as thee dubbed him, hath not yet broken that silence. Each morning he bows very gravely and deeply. Oh, a most ornate obeisance! Thee should see it. This I return in my best manner, and the ceremony for the day is over. If he hath aught to communicate he seeks his mother at the inns where we stop for refreshments. Truly he is a lad beset by shyness.

"'And where is thy tongue, Peggy?' I hear thee ask.

"Well, it may be that I shall use it if he does not speak soon. Such shyness doth engender boldness in us females. Will that please thee, thou saucy Betty?"

"Although," soliloquized Peggy when she had made this entry, "it may not be shyness at all, but wisdom. I have heard mother say that wise men are not great talkers, so when the young man does speak I make no doubt but that his words will be full of matter. I must remember them verbatim, and set them down for the edification of The Circle."

They reached Baltimore that night instead of the next day; at so late an hour there was no time to see the little city. It was one of the most important places in the new states at this time, ranking after Philadelphia and Boston in size, and growing rapidly, having been made a port of entry the year before. There was a quarter composed entirely of Acadian families speaking nothing but French, Nurse Johnson told her, and Peggy made a particular note of the fact for Betty's delectation.

"Perchance when I return I can see more of it," said the maiden philosophically as they were getting ready for their departure early the next morning.

"I hope that you can, my dear," said Nurse Johnson. "'Twill be a hard ride to-day, for we want to make Colchester by nightfall. I have a cousin there with whom we can stop, which will be vastly more pleasurable than to stay at an ordinary. If we do not make the place to-night there would be no time for visiting to-morrow."

The roads were good and hard, and the riding pleasant in the early morning. But as the day advanced the atmosphere became sultry, and Peggy was conscious of more fatigue than she had felt at any time through the journey.

"Fairfax must change with you, and let you ride Star for a time," spoke Mrs. Johnson, regarding her with solicitude. "I am sure that will rest you."

"I think it will," answered Peggy. "I do feel just a little weary of the carriage, friend nurse. Perhaps thy son would like the change also? It must be lonely for him riding all alone."

Nurse Johnson laughed as she caught the girl's look.

"You must not mind his not talking," she said. "I think he hath never spoken to a girl in his life. Still, he is a good son, for all his shyness."

The change to Star's back was made, and they started forward at renewed speed. Peggy's spirits rose as she found herself on the little mare, and she rode ahead of the vehicle sometimes, or sometimes alongside of it chatting gayly. So pleasantly did the time pa.s.s that none of them noticed that the sky had become overcast with clouds. A heavy drop of rain falling upon her face compelled the girl's attention.

"Why, 'tis raining," she exclaimed in surprise.

"There's going to be a thunder-storm," cried Nurse Johnson viewing the clouds in dismay. "How suddenly it hath come up. Fairfax, we must put in at the nearest plantation. Let Peggy get back in with me so that she will not get wet. Then we must make speed."

The lad got out of the vehicle obediently, and approached the girl to a.s.sist her from the horse. As she sprang lightly to the ground, he gazed at her earnestly for a moment as though realizing the necessity of speech, and said:

"It looks like rain."

As he spoke the far horizon was illuminated by a succession of lurid flashes of lightning which shone with fiery brilliancy against the black ma.s.ses of thunder-clouds. The muttering of thunder told that the storm was almost upon them. The fact was so evident that no living being could deny it. The lad's observation differed so from what she had expected from him that there was no help for it, and Peggy gave way to a peal of merry laughter.

"I cry thee pardon, Friend Fairfax," she gasped. "It doth indeed look like rain."

For a second the young fellow stood as though not realizing the full import of what he had said, and then, as heavy drops began to patter rapidly through the trees, the girl's merriment infected him and he too burst into laughter.

"It is raining," he corrected himself, which remark but added to the girl's mirth.

"Where are we?" asked his mother as Peggy took her place beside her.

"We are near His Excellency's plantation, mother."

"His Excellency?" cried Peggy. "Do you mean General Washington's house, friend nurse?"

"To be sure, Peggy," said Mrs. Johnson glancing about her. "Mount Vernon lies just beyond us on our left. We must put in there."

CHAPTER XII-THE HOME OF WASHINGTON

"By broad Potowmack's azure tide, Where Vernon's Mount in sylvan pride, Displays its beauties fair."

-"Ode to Mount Vernon,"

David Humphreys.

"Oh, I wonder if Lady Washington hath returned yet from headquarters,"

cried Peggy so interested in the fact that she might again behold that lady that she forgot that it was raining. "I would like so much to see her! I knew her quite well at Middlebrook in New Jersey when the army lay there for winter quarters two years ago. Mother and I were there with father."

"'Tis early for her to return from headquarters, is it not?" asked the nurse, touching the horse lightly with the whip. "Methinks that I have heard her say that she always heard the first and last guns of a campaign; and campaigns do not begin in April at the North."

"True," said Peggy. "Then will it not be an intrusion to go there during her absence?"

"Intrusion to escape a thunder-storm?" laughed Mrs. Johnson. "Hardly, my child. We should be welcome even though we did not seek to avoid a drenching. The general hath left orders with his overseer, Mr. Lund Washington, that hospitality should be extended to every one the same as though he were there in person. Then too every one in this part of the country goes to Mount Vernon for help in every sort of distress. Oh, yes! we shall be very welcome."

"Mount Vernon?" mused the girl. "I wonder why 'tis so called? We call our country home 'Strawberry Hill,' but that is because of the vast quant.i.ties of strawberries that grow there. I see not why the general should call his place Mount Vernon."

"I can enlighten you as to that, Peggy. The estate formerly belonged to his half-brother, Lawrence Washington. He too was of a military turn, and served with Admiral Vernon of the British Navy in an expedition against Carthagena in South America. He married Anne Fairfax on his return, and built this house on the estate left him by his father. So great was his admiration for the gallant admiral that he called his home Mount Vernon, in his honor. There was but one child born of the union, and on her death General George Washington, who was a great favorite with his brother, became his heir. Lawrence died also, so the general came into possession. He hath left the place much as his brother had it, though he contemplates its enlargement when relieved of military duty, I hear. My husband's mother was of the Fairfax family, which is the reason my son is so called. 'Tis the fashion among Virginians to give family names to their children. There! we are going to be caught by the storm after all!"

There came a vivid flash of lightning followed by a deafening peal of thunder as she finished speaking. Their horse reared in affright, then plunged forward in a terrified run. The storm was upon them in all its fury. The rain beat into the cabriolet from all sides, and soon they abandoned any effort to keep dry. It seemed to Peggy that she had never seen such a storm before, and never had she been out in such a one. The rain came down in torrents. Flash after flash of dazzling light darted across the sky, accompanied by a continuous roar of thunder like the discharge of artillery. It was impossible to hear each other speak, so they drew close together, the nurse controlling the horse as best she could.

Suddenly as they ascended a small steep hill from the edge of a wild ravine the mansion with all its surroundings came into view. Peggy forgot that her garments were wet through and through; forgot that it was raining so hard that the outlines of the dwelling were blurred and indistinct, and leaned forward eagerly to see the home of General Washington.

Stately trees shaded the lodges which stood on each side of the entrance gate; and, as they drove through, a colored boy darted from one of the lodges and taking hold of the bridle rein ran abreast of the animal with them to the dwelling.

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 cla.s.s 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 a.s.sistance. 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.