He went and shut the door. He thought he would feel more comfortable if he couldn't see Mother's eyes. Then he sat down to look at the picture book again. But he felt more miserable than ever.
Bang! he shut the book too. It was very strange. The things that usually made him so happy weren't any fun at all just then.
Then he looked up at the mantel.
Above it hung a great picture. There was a man in a cocked hat. He had on a fine uniform and he rode a tall white horse. Jehosophat knew very well who that was. It would be his birthday tomorrow—George Washington's birthday. The teacher had told them all about it that very afternoon.
She had told them a story, too, about a hatchet and a cherry tree—and—a lie!
The man on the horse looked down from the picture. The eyes were very stern.
A lie!
Yes, that was just what he had told to Mother. He had told a lie, and acted a lie.
Though there was no one else in the room but the great man in the big picture, Jehosophat's cheeks grew very red. A lump came into his throat.
Now he never could be president nor have a sword—and ride a big white horse—and call "Forward March" to the whole army. No—never!