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WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY
(FEBRUARY 22)
THREE OLD TALES
BY M. L. WEEMS (ADAPTED)
I. THE CHERRY TREE
When George was about six years old, he was
made the wealthy master of a hatchet of which,
like most little boys, he was extremely fond. He
went about chopping everything that came his
way.
One day, as he wandered about the garden
amusing himself by hacking his mother's pea-
sticks, he found a beautiful, young English cherry
tree, of which his father was most proud. He
tried the edge of his hatchet on the trunk of the
tree and barked it so that it died.
Some time after this, his father discovered what
had happened to his favorite tree. He came into
the house in great anger, and demanded to know
who the mischievous person was who had cut
away the bark. Nobody could tell him anything
about it.
Just then George, with his little hatchet, came
into the room.
``George,'' said his father, ``do you know who
has killed my beautiful little cherry tree yonder
in the garden? I would not have taken five
guineas for it!''
This was a hard question to answer, and for a
moment George was staggered by it, but quickly
recovering himself he cried:--
``I cannot tell a lie, father, you know I cannot
tell a lie! I did cut it with my little hatchet.''
The anger died out of his father's face, and
taking the boy tenderly in his arms, he said:--
``My son, that you should not be afraid to tell
the truth is more to me than a thousand trees!
yes, though they were blossomed with silver and
had leaves of the purest gold!''
II. THE APPLE ORCHARD
One fine morning in the autumn Mr. Washington,
taking little George by the hand, walked
with him to the apple orchard, promising that he
would show him a fine sight.
On arriving at the orchard they saw a fine sight,
indeed! The green grass under the trees was
strewn with red-cheeked apples, and yet the
trees were bending under the weight of fruit that
hung thick among the leaves.
``Now, George,'' said his father, ``look, my
son, see all this rich harvest of fruit! Do you
remember when your good cousin brought you a
fine, large apple last spring, how you refused to
divide it with your brothers? And yet I told you
then that, if you would be generous, God would
give you plenty of apples this autumn.''
Poor George could not answer, but hanging
down his head looked quite confused, while with
his little, naked, bare feet he scratched in the soft
ground.
``Now, look up, my son,'' continued his father,
``and see how the blessed God has richly provided
us with these trees loaded with the finest fruit.
See how abundant is the harvest. Some of the
trees are bending beneath their burdens, while the
ground is covered with mellow apples, more than
you could eat, my son, in all your lifetime.''
George looked in silence on the orchard, he
marked the busy, humming bees, and heard the
gay notes of the birds fluttering from tree to tree.
His eyes filled with tears and he answered softly:--
``Truly, father, I never will be selfish any
more.''
III. THE GARDEN-BED
One day Mr. Washington went into the garden
and dug a little bed of earth and prepared it for
seed. He then took a stick and traced on the bed
George's name in full. After this he strewed the
tracing thickly with seeds, and smoothed all over
nicely with his roller.
This garden-bed he purposely prepared close
to a gooseberry-walk. The bushes were hung with
the ripe fruit, and he knew that George would
visit them every morning.
Not many days had passed away when one
morning George came running into the house,
breathless with excitement, and his eyes shining
with happiness.
``Come here! father, come here!'' he cried.
``What's the matter, my son?'' asked his
father.
``O come, father,'' answered George, ``and I'll
show you such a sight as you have never seen in
all your lifetime.''
Mr. Washington gave the boy his hand, which
he seized with great eagerness. He led his father
straight to the garden-bed, whereon in large
letters, in lines of soft green, was written:--
GEORGE WASHINGTON
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