J. Berg Esenwein, Marietta Stockard, William J. Bennett
The refusal of the boy Washington to tell a lie 250 years ago is widely held up as a golden exemplar of honesty. It also, of course, took great childish courage.
When George Washington was a little boy he lived on a farm in Virginia. His father taught him to ride, and he used to take young George about the farm with him so that his son might learn how to take care of the fields and horses and cattle when he grew older.
Mr Washington had planted an orchard of fine fruit trees. There were apple trees, peach trees, pear trees, plum trees, and cherry trees. Once, a particularly fine cherry tree was sent to him from across the ocean. Mr Washington planted it on the edge of the orchard. He told everyone on the farm to watch it carefully to see that it was not broken or hurt in any way.
It grew well and one spring it was covered with white blossoms. Mr Washington was pleased to think he would soon have cherries from the little tree.
Just about this time, George was given a shiny new hatchet. George took it and went about chopping sticks, hacking into the rails of fences, and cutting whatever else he passed. At last he came to the edge of the orchard, and thinking only of how well his hatchet could cut, he chopped into the little cherry tree. The bark was soft, and it cut so easily that George chopped the tree right down, and then went on with his play.
That evening when Mr Washington came from inspecting the farm, he sent his horse to the stable and walked down to the orchard to look at his cherry tree. He stood in amazement when he saw how it was cut. Who would have dared do such a thing? He asked everyone, but no one could tell him anything about it.
Just then George passed by.
“George,” his father called in an angry voice, “do you know who killed my cherry tree?
This was a tough question, and George staggered under it for a moment, but quickly recovered.
“I cannot tell a lie, father,” he said. “I did it with my hatchet.”
Mr Washington looked at George. The boy’s face was white, but he looked straight into his father’s eyes.
“Go into the house, son,” said Mr Washington sternly.
George went into the library and waited for his father. He was very unhappy and very much ashamed. He knew he had been foolish and thoughtless and that his father was right to be displeased.
Soon, Mr Washington came into the room. “Come here, my boy,” he said.
George went over to his father. Mr Washington looked at him long and steadily.
“Tell me, son, why did you cut the tree?”
“I was playing and I did not think—” George stammered.
“And now the tree will die. We shall never have any cherries from it. But worse than that, you have failed to take care of the tree when I asked you to do so.”
George’s head was bent and his cheeks were red from shame.
“I am sorry, father,” he said.
Mr Washington put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Look at me,” he said. “I am sorry to have lost my cherry tree, but I am glad that you were brave enough to tell me the truth. I would rather have you truthful and brave than to have a whole orchard full of the finest cherry trees. Never forget that, my son.”
George Washington never did forget. To the end of his life he was just as brave and honorable as he was that day as a little boy.