It was decided
that Carter should come down later with the car and bring a basket
luncheon, taking them home in the afternoon.
Mount Vernon is sixteen miles below Washington, and the sail down
the Potomac was delightful in the cool of the morning, and Betty
thought she had never seen anything more beautiful than the deep
greens of the trees and grass on either bank. By common consent the
boatload of chattering people became silent as they came in sight of
Mount Vernon, and as the glimmer of the house showed white between
the trees. Betty's heart contracted suddenly. Louise, who was
watching her, squeezed her arm sympathetically.
"I know how you feel," she whispered. "Mother told me that the first
time she went abroad and dad took her to see the Colosseum she cried.
You're not crying, are you, Betty?"
Betty shook her head, but her eyelashes were suspiciously damp.
Libbie was staring in unaffected enjoyment at the scene before her
and fairly dancing with impatience to be off the boat.
"I do want to see Martha Washington's things," she confided, as they
went ashore. "Her ivory fan and her dishes and the lovely colonial
mahogany furniture."
"George Washington's swords for mine," announced Bobby inelegantly.
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