"your mother, my poor child!"

"What is the meaning of that mournful countenance, Mountain?"

"It may be that your mother wishes you away, George!" Mrs. Mountain
continued, wagging her head. "It may be, my poor deluded boy, that you
will find a father-in-law when you come back."

"What in heaven do you mean?" cried George, the blood rushing into his
face.

"Do you suppose I have no eyes, and cannot see what is going on? I tell
you, child, that Colonel Washington wants a rich wife. When you are
gone, he will ask your mother to marry him, and you will find him master
here when you come back. That is why you ought not to go away, you poor,
unhappy, simple boy! Don't you see how fond she is of him? how much
she makes of him? how she is always holding him up to you, to Harry, to
everybody who comes here?"

"But he is going on the campaign, too," cried George.

"He is going on the marrying campaign, child!" insisted the widow.

"Nay; General Braddock himself told me that Mr. Washington had accepted
the appointment of aide-de-camp."

"An artifice! an artifice to blind you, my poor child!" cries Mountain.
"He will be wounded and come back--you will see if he does not. I have
proofs of what I say to you--proofs under his own hand--look here!" And
she took from her pocket a piece of paper in Mr. Washington's well-known
handwriting.

"How came you by this paper?" asked George, turning ghastly pale.

"I--I found it in the Major's chamber!" says Mrs. Mountain, with a
shamefaced look.

"You read the private letters of a guest staying in our house?" cried
George. "For shame! I will not look at the paper!" And he flung it from
him on to the fire before him.

"I could not help it, George; 'twas by chance, I give you my word, by
the merest chance. You know Governor Dinwiddie is to have the Major's
room, and the state-room is got ready for Mr. Braddock, and we are
expecting ever so much company, and I had to take the things which
the Major leaves here--he treats the house just as if it was his own
already--into his new room, and this half-sheet of paper fell out of his
writing-book, and I just gave one look at it by the merest chance, and
when I saw what it was it was my duty to read it."

"Oh, you are a martyr to duty, Mountain!" George said grimly. "I dare
say Mrs. Bluebeard thought it was her duty to look through the keyhole."

"I never did look through the keyhole, George. It's a shame you should
say so! I, who have