Lucy was very indignant. She loved trees, and often stood and gazed up at them with awe and delight. She was always angry when she saw a man cut off the tops of eucalyptus trees, even though she knew it was done to make the trees grow broader and handsomer.
“Georgie was a naughty boy,” she said. “I don’t like Georgie!”
“But,” said Mr. Sanford, “I told you how sorry he was. Don’t you think children should be forgiven when they are sorry?”
“I do,” returned Jimmy; “’specially when they ‘can’t tell a lie!’”
Still Lucy was pitiless.
“They won’t have any more cherries at that boy’s house—ever!”
And slipping down from Mr. Sanford’s knee she strode into the house without looking back.
Mr. Sanford was sorry he had told her the story.
“She doesn’t care much if George Washington couldn’t tell a lie,” said Jimmy. “All she cares about is the cherries.”
“Perhaps she thinks,” remarked Aunt Vi,—