THE LITTLE HATCHET STORY.
WITH OCCASIONAL QUESTIONS BY A FIVE-YEAR-OLD HEARER.
BY BURDETTE.
Mrs. Caruthers had left her infant prodigy, Clarence, in our care for a little while that she might not be distracted by his innocent prattle while selecting the material for a new gown.
He was a bright, intelligent boy, of five summers, with a commendable thirst for knowledge, and a praiseworthy desire to understand what was said to him.
We had described many deep and mysterious things to him, and to escape the possibility of still more puzzling questions, offered to tell him a story—the story—the story of George Washington and his little hatchet. After a few necessary preliminaries we proceeded.
"Well, one day, George's father—"
"George who?" asked Clarence.
"George Washington. He was a little boy, then, just like you. One day his father—"
"Whose father?" demanded Clarence, with an encouraging expression of interest.
"George Washington's; this great man we are telling you of. One day
George Washington's father gave him a little hatchet for a—"
"Gave who a little hatchet?" the dear child interrupted with a gleam of bewitching intelligence. Most men would have got mad, or betrayed signs of impatience, but we didn't. We know how to talk to children. So we went on.
"George Washington."
"Who gave him the little hatchet?"
"His father. And his father—"
"Whose father?"
"George Washington's."
"Oh!"
"Yes, George Washington's. And his father told him—"
"Told who?"
"Told George."
"Oh, yes, George."
And we went on, just as patient and as pleasant as you could imagine. We took up the story right where the boy interrupted, for we could see he was just crazy to hear the end of it. We said:
"And he was told—"
"George told him?" queried Clarence.
"No, his father told George—"
"Oh!"
"Yes, told him he must be careful with the hatchet—"
"Who must be careful?"
"George must."
"Oh!"
"Yes, must be careful with his hatchet—"
"What hatchet?"
"Why, George's."
"Oh!"
"Careful with the hatchet, and not cut himself with it, or drop it in the cistern, or leave it out of doors all night. So George went around cutting everything he could reach with his hatchet. At last he came to a splendid apple tree, his father's favourite apple tree, and cut it down—"
"Who cut it down?"
"George did."
"Oh!"
"But his father came home and saw it the first thing, and—"
"Saw the hatchet?"
"No, saw the apple tree. And he said, 'Who has cut down my favourite apple tree?'"
"What apple tree?"
"George's father's. And everybody said they didn't know anything about it, and—"
"Anything about what?"
"The apple tree."
"Oh!"
"And George came up and heard them talking about it—"
"Heard who talking about it?"
"Heard his father and the men."
"What were they talking about?"
"About the apple tree."
"What apple tree?"
"The favourite tree that George had cut down."
"George who?"
"George Washington."
"Oh!"
"So George came up and heard them talking about it, and he—"
"What did he cut it down for?"
"Just to try his little hatchet."
"Whose little hatchet?"
"Why, his own, the one his father gave him—"
"Gave who?"
"Why, George Washington."
"Oh!"
"So George came up, and he said, 'Father, I cannot tell a lie, I—"
"Who couldn't tell a lie?"
"George couldn't."
"Oh, George; oh, yes."
"It was I who cut down your apple tree; I did—"
"His father did?"
"No, no; it was George said this."
"Said he cut his father?"
"No, no, no; said he cut down his apple tree."
"George's apple tree?"
"No, no; his father's."
"Oh!"
"He said—"
"His father said?"
"No, no, no; George said, 'Father, I cannot tell a lie, I did it with my little hatchet.' And his father said, 'Noble boy, I would rather lose a thousand apple trees than have you tell a lie.'"
"George did?"
"No, his father said that."
"Said he'd rather have a thousand apple trees?"
"No, no, no; said he'd rather lose a thousand apple trees than—"
"Said he'd rather George would?"
"No, said he'd rather he would than have him lie."
"Oh, George would rather have his father lie?"
We are patient and we love children, but if Mrs. Caruthers hadn't come and got her prodigy at that critical juncture, we don't believe all Burlington could have pulled us out of the snarl.
And as Clarence Alençon de Marchemont Caruthers pattered down the stairs, we heard him telling his ma about a boy who had a father named George, and he told him to cut down an apple tree, and he said he'd rather tell a thousand lies than cut down one apple tree.