The Cherry Tree by M. L. Weems
 When George was about six years old, he was
made the wealthy master of a hatchet of which,
like most little boys, he was extremely fond. He
went about chopping everything that came his
way.
One day, as he wandered about the garden
amusing himself by hacking his mother's pea
sticks, he found a beautiful, young English cherry
tree, of which his father was most proud. He
tried the edge of his hatchet on the trunk of the
tree and barked it so that it died.
Some time after this, his father discovered what
had happened to his favorite tree. He came into
the house in great anger, and demanded to know
who the mischievous person was who had cut
away the bark. Nobody could tell him anything
about it.
Just then George, with his little hatchet, came
into the room.
"George,'' said his father, "do
you know who has killed my beautiful little cherry tree
yonder in the garden? I would not have taken five
guineas for it!''
This was a hard question to answer, and for a
moment George was staggered by it, but quickly
recovering himself he cried:
"I cannot tell a lie, father,
you know I cannot tell a lie! I did cut it with my little
hatchet.''
The anger died out of his father's face, and
taking the boy tenderly in his arms, he said:
"My son, that you should
not be afraid to tell the truth is more to me than a
thousand trees! Yes - though they were blossomed with
silver and had leaves of the purest gold!'' |
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