“SHUT the schoolroom door, Harold! Now, Aunt Ellen, you are fairly our prisoner, and can only be set free on payment of a ransom." And two merry boys, Charles and Harold Hurst, led the lady they had thus addressed to an easy chair. Aunt Ellen seemed to enjoy the fun as well as her nephews, and joined heartily in their laughter, then asked her young captors to name her ransom.
“A story, Aunt Ellen, a story! You must please tell us a true story, for we are quite tired of playing horses, and you know we promised mother not to go out till the rain is quite over, of course we must keep our word, though it does not rain much now," Harold said, with a somewhat wistful look out of the window.
“Brave boys," said Aunt Ellen. "I am much pleased to find you can be trusted, and perhaps I can't do better than tell you something about the early life of George Washington, a truth-loving, truth-telling boy, who was born in America, rather more than a hundred and fifty years ago, in the year 1732.
“The part of America where George was born is called Virginia. At the time of which I am telling you, several rich families lived near Mr. and Mrs. Washington, whose fathers and grandfathers, like Mr. Washington's, had once had happy homes in England, but during the dark days to friends of King Charles the First, when Oliver Cromwell ruled in England, they left their loved country, and went to seek new homes in America.
“Mr. and Mrs. Washington lived in a large house; and kept quite a number of servants, some to work in the sugar and cotton plantations, others to serve in the house; but George was early taught to obey his parents and to speak the truth.
“When he was about six years old, a friend made him a present of a new hatchet or small ax. Nothing could have pleased George better. In a state of great delight he ran into the garden, and began chopping at everything that came in his way. After a time he thought it would be very amusing to play that he was a real woodsman, and going to cut down a tree. He was standing near a young English cherry-tree, which his father valued very much, when, without thinking of the mischief he was doing, he began to chop away at its bark with so much energy, that in a short time it was quite spoiled. George then ran off to some other play.
“It was not till the next day that Mr. Washington going into his garden saw what had been done. He went at once to the house, looking very sad, and saying, ‘My beautiful cherry-tree is killed! who could have done it? Nobody knew. I would not have taken five pounds for it,' Mr. Washington continued. In a moment George understood it all, the mischief he had done and his father's sorrow. His eyes filled with tears, and his heart beat quickly. Springing forward, he exclaimed, ‘I cannot tell a lie, father! I cannot tell a lie! I killed your tree. I did it playing with my new hatchet,' ‘Come to my arms, my son,' said his father, ‘I forgive you, and I would rather have a son who is brave enough to tell the truth, than own an orchard full of cherry-trees.'
“George often heard the Bible read, and from quite a little child had been taught to kneel in prayer, but his father felt sure he did not really understand that God was the Creator of all things. So one day he traced the name of his son, George Washington, in large letters on some ground that had been prepared for the purpose, and sowed cabbage seed in the spaces made by his tracing stick.
“A few weeks later and George was again playing in the garden, when, to his great surprise, he saw his own name growing near the gravel walk. He stopped his play in a moment, looked again and again, but could not understand how it came there, so he set off to the house to find his father. Mr. Washington was in his study. ‘Father, please come into the garden, I have something to show you,' George pleaded.
“Mr. W. laid aside his books, and followed his son into the garden. ‘There, father,' said George, pointing to his own name in cabbage plants, ‘did you ever see anything so strange before?'
“‘It does look curious, certainly, George,' his father answered.
“‘But who could have made it, father,' was George's next question.
“‘It grew so, my boy,' was an answer that did not at all satisfy George, for he said, ‘Oh, no, father, I feel sure it did not grow so of itself. I never saw one letter grow, and here is my whole name. I am certain some one must have done it on purpose, and I believe it was your doing, father.'
“‘Yes, George, it was my doing, and I want you to learn a lesson. I am your father, and I love you with a father's love. But you have another Father, who is far greater and more tender than I am, and who is able to do more for you than I can.'
“‘I know whom you mean, father, said George, you are talking to me about God.'
“A long conversation followed, one never forgotten by George. His father told him in simple words about the power and goodness of God in making all the bright and beautiful things around him. He told him, too, of the still greater love of God in giving His own Son to die for sinners, in such a way that the young heart of George was fairly won.
“But I have not told you anything about his school-days. The first school he went to was taught by a Mr. Hobby, and George and his master soon became fast friends. Mr. Hobby was not learned, and thus unable to teach Greek or Latin, but he took care that his pupils should know how to read, write and spell well. He watched over them too in their play hours, and took great pains to encourage fair-play and kindness to each other.
“George was very fond of playing at soldiers, and though some of the boys were older than himself, the whole school chose him as their captain. He always seemed full of fun, and had plenty of time for play, though he was at the head of his class, and did extra lessons at home with his father.
“His copy and exercise books were very neat, and free from blots. Sometimes his master would say as he held up George's books in view of the whole school, Look here, boys, it is no more trouble to work well than it is to work badly. It costs no more to have a clean copy-book than a dirty one. There is always plenty of water in the brook that runs past the school-house with which to wash your hands, so there is no excuse for dirty finger marks, and there is no law that a boy SHALL blot his copy book.”
Charles and Harold looked at each other, and Charles began to wonder if Aunt Ellen had noticed all the blots in his new exercise book. He did not like to ask, and she continued.
“I should like to tell you, too, how when George was only eleven years of age, his father's death was the first real sorrow he had ever known, and how truly he honored and obeyed his widowed mother, by giving up his great desire of going to sea, rather than grieve or vex her; but my time is gone now. When you know more of the history of America, you will be able to understand better how important a part George Washington took in the history of his country. But I should like to give you one short Bible verse to think about and remember, ‘He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty, and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city.'" (Prov. 16:3232He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty; and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city. (Proverbs 16:32).)