again, and it is one of my
great regrets and reasons for self-reproach that I have forgot the name
of the honest man who was our host that night, and remember only that the
name of his prettiest daughter was Betty.

As we reached a part of the country which was more closely settled, I
soon perceived that however great dishonor had accrued to British arms
and British reputations as the result of that battle by the Monongahela,
Colonel Washington had won only respect and admiration by his consistent
and courageous conduct. We were stopped a hundred times by people who
asked first for news, and when they heard my companion's name, vied with
one another to do him honor. It did me good to see how he brightened
under these kind words and friendly acts, and how the color came again
into his face and the light into his eyes. And I hold that this was as it
should be, for I know of nothing of which a man may be more justly proud
than of the well-earned praises of his fellows.

At last, toward the evening of a sultry August day, we turned our horses'
heads into the wide road which led up to Mount Vernon, and drew near to
that hospitable and familiar mansion. News of our approach must have
preceded us, for there, drawn up in line, were the bowing and grinning
negroes, while at the entrance gate were Mrs. Washington and her
children, as well as a dozen families assembled from as many miles
around to do honor to the returning warrior. My heart beat more quickly
as I ran my eyes over this gathering, but fell again when I saw that the
family from Riverview was not there.

And such a greeting as it was! We all remained a space apart until Mrs.
Washington had kissed her son, as something too sacred for our intrusion.
But when he turned to greet his neighbors, I have rarely seen such
genuine emotion shown even in our whole-hearted Virginia. At the great
dinner which followed, with Mrs. Washington at the head of the table and
her son at the foot, we told again the story of the campaign, and the men
forgot to sip their wine until the tale was ended. Yet with all this
largess of goodwill, I was not wholly happy. For I had no home to go to,
nor was there any waiting to welcome me, and the woman I loved seemed
farther away than ever, though now she was so near.

CHAPTER XXII

A NEW DANGER AT RIVERVIEW

But Dorothy was not so near as I had thought, for next morning came a
message from my aunt. It was delivered almost as soon as I