Many things are told about Washington when he was little; but he lived so long ago that we cannot tell very well whether they ever happened or not.  One story is that his father took him out into the garden on a spring morning, and drew the letters of his name with a cane in the soft earth.  Then he filled the letters with seed, and told little George to wait a week or two and see what would happen.  You can all guess what did happen, and can think how pleased the little boy was when he found his name all growing in fresh green leaves.

Then another story, I’m sure you’ve all heard, is about the cherry-tree and the hatchet.

Little George’s father gave him one day, so they say, a nice, bright, sharp little hatchet.  Of course he went around the barns and the sheds, trying everything and seeing how well he could cut, and at last he went into the orchard.  There he saw a young cherry-tree, as straight as a soldier, with the most beautiful, smooth, shining bark, waving its boughs in a very provoking way, as if to say, “You can’t cut me down, and you needn’t try.”

Little George did try and he did cut it down, and then was very sorry, for he found it was not so easy to set it up again.

[Illustration:  The letters of his name . . . the soft earth]

His father was angry, of course, for he lived in a new country, and three thousand miles from any place where he could get good fruit trees; but when the little boy told the truth about it, his father said he would rather lose a thousand cherry-trees than have his son tell a lie.

Now perhaps this never happened; but if George Washington ever did cut down a cherry-tree, you may be sure he told the truth about it.

I think, though he grew to be such a wise, wonderful man, that he must have been just a bright, happy boy like you, when he was little.

But everybody knows three things about him,—­that he always told the truth, that he never was afraid of anything, and that he always loved and minded his mother.

When little George was eleven years old, his good father died, and his poor mother was left alone to take care of her boys and her great plantation.  What a busy mother she was!  She mended and sewed, she taught some of her children, she took care of the sick people, she spun wool and knitted stockings and gloves; but every day she found time to gather her children around her and read good books to them, and talk to them about being good children.

So riding his pony, and helping his mother, and learning his lessons, George grew to be a tall boy.

When he was fourteen years old, he made up his mind that he would like to be a sailor, and travel far away over the blue water in a great ship.  His elder brother said that he might do so.  The right ship was found; his clothes were packed and carried on board, when all at once his mother said he must not go.  She had thought about it; he was too young to go away, and she wanted her boy to stay with her.