[to be continued.]
[THE STORY OF THE DIGITS, AND WHAT THEY REPRESENT.]
1 is the lord of the manor,
2 is his swan-like bride,
3 is his gentle daughter,
And 4 is the pony to ride;
5 is young Jack, so nimble,
6 is the careful maid,
7 the priest so humble,
And 8 is the church where he staid;
9 is the palace castle,
And 10 the poor around—
This is the story of Numbers,
While the whirl of Time goes round.
[THE TALL PINE.]
A STORY FOR WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY.
BY KATE UPSON CLARK.
"The tall pine" grew upon the backbone of Bald Mountain, a mighty spur of the Green Mountain range, and from nearly every point for miles around the great tree could be seen standing out clear and distinct against the sky, and towering, like Saul, head and shoulders above its brethren.
It happened that upon a certain Fourth of July, years ago, the eloquent orator of the day, in dilating upon the grandeur of his country and her great men, particularly that greatest of all, George Washington, turned, in a sudden fit of inspiration, and pointed to the tall pine.
"As yonder magnificent tree, fellow-citizens," said the grandiloquent speaker, "uplifts itself above all the giants of the surrounding forest, so, friends and fellow-citizens, does the character of George Washington uplift itself above all others upon the page of history."
These words were received with great applause, and the tall pine was ever after known in the neighborhood as "George Washington."
The land upon which "George Washington" stood was owned by a crabbed old farmer named Hardaker. Mr. Hardaker had a contract for supplying the Fitchburg Railroad with wood, and, winter by winter, was gradually stripping his share of Bald Mountain of all its beautiful trees. This made good places to go blackberrying, but hurt the appearance of the hill-side very much. People wondered how Mr. Hardaker could be so "mean" as to cut everything down so, all at once. He did not need the money particularly, and his motive was just "clear greed"—or so the neighbors said.
At last he neared the vicinity of the tall pine; and as February advanced he announced, with a loud laugh at his own wit, that he was going to "celebrate Washington's Birthday by cutting down 'George Washington' himself with his little hatchet."
This created no little excitement throughout the town, and everybody protested.
"Oh, I wouldn't, Mr. Hardaker," said Mr. Prouty, the village minister; "it has been a landmark here for many years, and it is really, as things have come to be, an object lesson in history to all the children and youth around."
"Humph!" said the old farmer, crossly. "I ain't a-settin' up landmarks for folks, or a-givin' objec' lessons. I pay taxes for all that sort of thing to be did in the schools—awful big taxes, too. I can't raise the money to pay 'em without cuttin' timber pretty stiddy. I calc'late there's—wa'al, a thousan' foot o' lumber in that ar pine, an' I can't afford to leave it stan' no longer."
The old farmer scowled and shook himself as he walked away. He was evidently more "sot" than ever on cutting down "George Washington."
There was a bright boy in town, the son of a Mr. Farnsworth, and named, like so many other bright American boys, after the father of his country. As might have been expected of a boy with such a name, Master George Washington Farnsworth had been brought up to think very highly of his namesake, and all of the Farnsworth family were justly indignant when the news of Farmer Hardaker's intention reached them.
"I declare," said his sister Grace, "it almost seems like killing a real person."
"Well," said her mother, thoughtfully, "you can't expect to find much sentiment in a grasping, narrow-minded man like Mr. Hardaker. There isn't any use in saying much about it, but it is too bad to do it—on his birthday, too. I'm really ashamed to be so 'worked up,' but it seems as if a tree like that might be allowed to stand till it died a natural death."
"The bolt that strikes the towering cedar dead
Glides harmless o'er the hazel's lowly head.'"
quoted Grace.
"Cedars and hazels alike fall before Farmer Hardaker's rapacious axe," said her mother, smiling. "I fancy that he doesn't skip anything, judging from the looks of the poor, shorn mountain-side. It's too bad!"
But, day by day, Farmer Hardaker's ox-sleds, unheeding the expostulations of the entire population, climbed the steep, and came back loaded with the carcasses of "George Washington's" sturdy neighbors. He was getting very near to "George" himself.
"I say, boys," said George Farnsworth to his school-mates, as they were sliding at recess, a few days after he had overheard the conversation between his mother and sister—"I say, ain't it pretty mean of old Hardaker to cut down 'George Washington'?"
"It is that," said several of the boys, heartily, and they turned and looked up to the stately tree, which stood in silent grandeur, as ever since they could remember, and appealed speechlessly to them all.
"He says," continued George, "that he is going to celebrate Washington's birthday by cutting it down with his little hatchet."
The other boys laughed, but George kept sober.
"It's rather funny," he said, slowly; "but can't we manage to save it some way?"
The general opinion seemed to be—borrowed from their friends at home, probably—that it couldn't be done, until at last Tom Dermot said, speculatively,
"Maybe he'd sell it?"
"Maybe he would," said George, brightening up. "You know my name's George Washington, boys, and I'm bound to save the dear old gentleman if I can."
"I don't see why he couldn't sell it standing as well as cut up," continued Tom—"only, if he would, it wouldn't do us any good. We haven't got any money."
"Maybe we could raise some," said George, bravely. "Wonder how he'd sell it?"
"Dear enough, I presume; but we might ask him."
The upshot of this conversation was that, after school, George Farnsworth persuaded his father to let him and Tom Dermot, feeling pretty important, you may be sure, take his horse and sleigh to go over and talk with Mr. Hardaker upon the subject of selling "George Washington" standing.
"Thirty dollars," said the gruff old fellow, who was very angry at the remarks which had been made at his expense, and who had vowed that he would cut the tree down now, whatever happened.
"I won't leave the plaguey thing up for a cent less than thirty dollars."
"I'm afraid we can't raise a sum like that between now and day after to-morrow," said George, looking at Tom in some dismay.
"Then I'll cut it down," roared Mr. Hardaker; and seeing what a rage he was in, the boys discreetly took their leave. They amused themselves on the way home by singing, as loud as they possibly could,
"Woodman, spare that tree,
Touch not a single bough."
"Father," said George, when they reached home, "he says thirty dollars—not a cent less."
Mr. Farnsworth gave a long whistle.
"Pretty dear," he said, smiling, "but I'm glad you have shown so much interest. I'd almost give five dollars myself to save the old tree."
"Would you, father—would you?"
"But I don't want to encourage Hardaker in such extortion as that."
"But you know he's mad, father—that's why he sets the price so high. He thinks now that we can't raise the money, and so he can cut the tree down."
"Yes, I don't see any way to save it."
But George would not give it up, and pleaded his cause so well that his father finally told him that if he and Tom could raise the other twenty-five dollars in time, he would really give him five dollars.
The boys started out that evening in fine spirits to "solicit" for "George Washington." The enthusiasm over the historical "Old South Church" in Boston never ran higher. Mr. Prouty gave them one dollar, and Mr. Steele, the school-master, another. Everybody gave them something. It was astonishing to see how many friends the old tree had.
When school was out the next day, George and Tom started again for Farmer Hardaker's. They were feeling pretty well, for George had in his pocket a deed of the tree, drawn up by the village lawyer, and needing only the signatures of Farmer Hardaker and witnesses to make it valid, and thirty dollars in good current money.
They managed to catch their man just as he was starting for the station with a load of chestnut wood for ties.
"Mr. Hardaker," said George, politely, springing from the sleigh, and approaching the old man, "would you mind stepping into the house a minute, and signing a deed for me?"
"Signing a deed?" said Farmer Hardaker, opening eyes and mouth very wide.
"Yes, sir," went on George, courteously. "You said that you would sell us the tall pine for thirty dollars, and I have brought you the money, and a deed of the purchase for you to sign."
"The mischief you have!" said the old fellow, crossly, but with his eyes twinkling a little at the sight of the money, which George judiciously exposed just then. "Wa'al, I s'pose I'll have to give in."
So the money was handed over, and the rest done in good shape, and the boys went home feeling better than they had ever felt before in their lives.
One or two who hadn't had a chance to contribute to the "fund" went up to the top of the mountain on the 22d of February with their mite. It was a silver plate, on which were inscribed these words (you may have seen them before):
George Washington:
First in War, first in Peace, and first in the Hearts of his Countrymen.
And that very plate, only tarnished a little by wind and weather, may be seen upon the mighty trunk of "George Washington" to this day.
COASTING SKETCHES.—Drawn by F. S. Church.
FEEDING THE LOVE-BIRDS.