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The Cherry Tree

When George Washington 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 gar-
den amusing himself by hack-
ing 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 discov-
ered 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 can-
not tell a lie! I did cut it with my little hatch-
et."
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 golden.