The blacksmith was slow, and the wheel was in a bad condition, so it was nearly eight o’clock of a January night before they were in the gate at Ferry Farm. It was wide open, the house was lighted up, and in the doorway stood Madam Washington and the three little boys. Every negro, big and little, on the place was assembled, and shouts of “Howdy, Marse George! Howdy, Miss Betty!” resounded. The dogs barked with pleasure at recognizing George and Betty, and the commotion was great.