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.