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."