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Then all at once he heard a cry; a shrill little voice that did not linger in his ears, but went straight to his heart and kept echoing there and twining itself in and out, in and out, over and over again.

This little voice stirred Lawrence strangely; it seemed to tell him things he had never known before, to speak a wisdom he had never dreamed of, to breathe a sweeter music than he had ever heard, to inspire ambitions purer and better than any he had ever felt–the voice of his firstborn–you know, fathers, what that meant to Lawrence.

Well, Lawrence was brave again, but there was a lump in his throat and his eyes were misty.

“She’s here at last,” he murmured thankfully; “heaven be praised for that!”

Of course you understand that Lawrence had been hoping for a girl; so had his wife. They had planned to call her Mary, after her mother, the quondam belle of the Northern Neck. Grandfather Joseph Ball, late of Epping Forest, was to be her godfather, and Colonel Bradford Custis of Jamestown had promised to grace the christening with his imposing presence.

“Well, you can come in,” said Miss Bettie, with much condescension, and in all humility Lawrence did go in.

Dr. Parley was quite as solemn and impressive as ever. He occupied the great chair near the chimney-place, and he still held the gold head of his everlasting cane close to his nose.

“Well, Mary,” said Lawrence, with an inquiring, yearning glance. Mary was very pale, but she smiled sweetly.

“Lawrence, it’s a boy,” said Mary.

Oh, what a grievous disappointment that was! After all the hopes, the talk, the preparations, the plans–a boy! What would Grandfather Ball, late of Epping Forest, say? What would come of the grand christening that was to be graced by the imposing presence of Colonel Bradford Custis of Jamestown? How the Jeffersons and Randolphs and Masons and Pages and Slaughters and Carters and Ayletts and Henrys would gossip and chuckle, and how he–Lawrence–would be held up to the scorn and the derision of the facetious yeomen of Westmoreland! It was simply terrible.

And just then, too, Lawrence’s vexation was increased by a gloomy report from the four worthy dames down-stairs–viz., Mistress Carter, Mistress Fairfax, Miss Dorcas Culpeper, spinster, and Aunt Lizzie, the nurse. These inquiring creatures had been casting the new-born babe’s horoscope through the medium of tea grounds in their blue-china cups, and each agreed that the child’s future was full of shame, crime, disgrace, and other equally unpleasant features.

“Now that it’s a boy,” said Lawrence, ruefully, “I ‘m willing to believe almost anything. It would n’t surprise me at all if he wound up on the gallows!”

But Mary, cherishing the puffy, fuzzy, red-faced little waif in her bosom, said to him, softly: “No matter what the others say, my darling; I bid you welcome, and, by God’s grace, my love and prayers shall make you good and great.”

And it was even so. Mary’s love and prayers did make a good and great man of that unwelcome child, as we who celebrate his birthday in these later years believe. They had a grand christening, too; Grandfather Ball was there, and Colonel Bradford Custis, and the Lees, the Jeffersons, the Randolphs, the Slaughters–yes, all the old families of Virginia were represented, and there was feasting and merry-making for three days! Such cheer prevailed, in fact, that even Miss Dorcas Culpeper, spinster, and Lawrence, the happy father, became completely reconciled. Soothed by the grateful influences of barbecued meats and draughts of rum and sugar, Lawrence led Miss Culpeper through the minuet.

“A very proper name for the babe?” suggested Miss Culpeper.

“Yes, we will call him George, in honor of his majesty our king,” said Lawrence Washington, with the pride that comes of loyalty and patriotism.