From Farm House to the White House Part 2

Then he read them aloud, "G-E-O-R-G-E W-A-S-H-I-N-G-T-O-N."

With wondering eyes he rushed to the house, and excitedly broke the news.

"Oh, pa, come here! come here!"

"What's the matter, my son? what's the matter?" responded his father.

"Oh, come here, I tell you, pa; come here!" and the boy could scarcely contain himself, so great was his excitement.

"But what is it, my son? Can't you tell me what has happened?"

"Come here, and I'll show you the greatest sight you ever saw in your life!"

By this time he was pulling his father along towards the garden, the latter understanding full well what had happened. Very soon they reached the bed, where the bright, thrifty cabbage plants had spelled the name of GEORGE WAs.h.i.+NGTON in full.

"There, pa!" exclaimed George, pointing to his name in cabbage plants, and exhibiting the greatest astonishment by his appearance. "Did you ever see such a sight in all your life-time?"

"Well, George, it does seem like a curious affair sure enough," his father answered. "But who should make it there, pa? Who made it there?"

"Why, it _grew_ there, of course, my son."

"No, pa! No, no! somebody put it there."

"Then you think it did not grow there by _chance_?"

"No, indeed, it never did. That couldn't be."

"How is that, my son? Don't it look very much like _chance_?"

"Why, no, pa; did you ever know anybody's name in a plant bed before?"

"Well, George, might not such a thing happen though I never saw it before?"

"Yes, pa; but I never saw plants grow up so as to make a single letter of my name before. How could they grow up so as to make _all_ the letters of my name! And all standing one after another so as to spell my name exactly--and all so nice and even, too, at top and bottom! Somebody did it. _You_ did it, pa, to scare me, because I am your little boy."

"Well, George, you have guessed right," answered Mr. Was.h.i.+ngton. "I did do it, but not to scare you, my son, but to teach you a great truth which I wish you to understand. I want to introduce you to your _true_ Father."

"Ain't you my _true_ father, pa?"

"Yes, I am your father, George, as the world calls it, and love you with a father's love. Yet, with all my love for you, I am but a poor father in comparison with your _true_ Father."

"I know well enough whom you mean," continued George. "You mean G.o.d, don't you?"

"Yes, I mean Him, indeed, my son. _He_ is your _true_ Father," was Mr.

Was.h.i.+ngton's hearty answer.

George went on with his inquiries, and his father, answered, adding at last:

"Well, then, as you could not believe that _chance_ had made and put together so exactly the letters of your name (though only sixteen), then how can you believe that _chance_ could have made and put together all those millions and millions of things that are now so exactly fitted for your good! Eyes to see with; ears to hear with; nose to smell with; a mouth to eat with; teeth to bite with; hands to handle with; feet to walk with; a mind to think with; a heart to love with; a home to live in; parents to care for you, and brothers and sisters to love you! Why, look at this beautiful world in which you live, with its golden, light to cheer you by day, and its still night to wrap you in sleep when you are too tired to play; its fruits, and flowers and fields of gra.s.s and grain; its horses to draw you and cows to give you milk; its sheep to furnish wool to cloth you, and meat for your food; its sun, moon and stars to comfort you; bubbling springs to quench your thirst; wood to burn that you may be warm in winter; and _ten thousand other good things_--so many that my son could never number them all, or even think of them! Could _chance_ bring about all these things so exactly as to suit your _wants_ and _wishes_?"

"No, pa, chance could not do it," answered George, really taking in this new view of the world around him.

"What was it, then, do you think, my son?" continued his father.

"G.o.d did it," George replied.

"Yes, George, it is all the work of G.o.d, and n.o.body else," responded his father. "He gives us all."

"Does G.o.d give me everything? Don't you give me _some things_?" George inquired.

"I give you something!" exclaimed his father. "How can I give you anything, George? I who have nothing on earth I can call my own; no, not even the breath I draw!"

"Ain't the house yours, and the garden, and the horses and oxen and sheep?" still inquired George, failing to comprehend the great truth of G.o.d's owners.h.i.+p.

"Oh, no, my son, no! Why, you make me shrink into nothing, George, when you talk of all these things belonging to _me_, who can't even make a _grain of sand_! How could I give life to the oxen and horses, when I can't give life even to a fly, my son?"

George was introduced into a new world by this lesson, as his father intended that he should be. His precocious mind grasped, finally, the great idea of his "_true_ Father," and the lesson never had to be repeated.

We have rehea.r.s.ed this incident somewhat in detail as given by Mr.

Weems, because its influence will be found interwoven with George's future private and public life.

Another story told by Mr. Weems is the famous _hatchet_ story, which has been rehea.r.s.ed to so many children, since that day, to rebuke falsehood and promote truth-telling.

His father made him a present of a hatchet with which George was especially delighted. Of course he proceeded forthwith to try it, first hacking his mother's pea-sticks, and, finally, trying its edge upon the body of a beautiful "English cherry-tree." Without understanding that he was destroying the tree, he chopped away upon it to his heart's content, leaving the bark, if not the solid wood underneath, in a very dilapidated condition. The next morning his father discovered the trespa.s.s, and, rus.h.i.+ng into the house, under much excitement, he exclaimed:

"My beautiful cherry-tree is utterly ruined. Who could hack it in that manner?"

n.o.body knew.

"I would not have taken five guineas for it," he added, with a long-drawn sigh. The words had scarcely escaped from his lips before George appeared with his hatchet.

"George," said his father, "do you know who killed that cherry-tree in the garden?"

George had not stopped to think, until that moment, that he had used his hatchet improperly. His father's question was a revelation to him; and he hung his head in a guilty manner for a moment.

"George, did you do it?" urged his father.

Raising his head, and looking his father fully in the face, he replied:

"I can't tell a lie, pa; you know I can't tell a lie, I did cut it with my hatchet."

Mr. Was.h.i.+ngton was well-nigh overcome by this frank and honest reply.

For a moment he stood spell bound; then recovering himself, he exclaimed:

"Come to my arms, my boy! You have paid for the cherry-tree a thousand times over. Such an act of heroism is worth more to me than a thousand trees!"

Mr. Weems regards this honest confession the out-growth of previous instructions upon the sin of lying and the beauty of truthfulness. He represents Mr. Was.h.i.+ngton as saying to his son: