Jack and Jill by Louisa May Alcott

rang and the orchestra struck up.

Yes, there really was an orchestra, for Ed declared that the national

airs must be played, or the whole thing would be a failure. So he

had exerted himself to collect all the musical talent he could find,

a horn, a fiddle, and a flute, with drum and fife for the martial

scenes. Ed looked more beaming than ever, as he waved his baton

and led off with Yankee Doodle as a safe beginning, for everyone

knew that. It was fun to see little Johnny Cooper bang away on a

big drum, and old Mr. Munson, who had been a flEer all his days,

blow till he was as red as a lobster, while everyone kept time to the

music which put them all in good spirits for the opening scene.

Up went the curtain and several trees in tubs appeared, then a

stately gentleman in small clothes, cocked hat, gray wig, and an

imposing cane, came slowly walking in. It was Gus, who had been

unanimously chosen not only for Washington but for the f ather of

the hero also, that the family traits of long legs and a somewhat

massive nose might be preserved.

“Ahem! My trees are doing finely,” observed Mr. W., senior,

strolling along with his hands behind him, casting satisfied glances

at the dwarf orange, oleander, abutilon, and little pine that

represented his orchard.

Suddenly he starts, pauses, frowns, and, after examining the latter

shrub, which displayed several hacks in its stem and a broken limb

with six red-velvet cherries hanging on it, he gave a thump with

his cane that made the little ones jump, and cried out,

“Can it have been my son?”

He evidently thought it was, for he called, in tones of thunder,

“George! George Washington, come hither this moment!”

Great suspense on the part of the audience, then a general burst of

laughter as Boo trotted in, a perfect miniature of his honored

parent, knee breeches, cocked hat, shoe buckles and all. He was so

fat that the little tails of his coat stuck out in the drollest way, his

chubby legs could hardly carry the big buckles, and the rosy face

displayed, when he took his hat off with a dutiful bow, was so

solemn, the real George could not have looked more anxious when

he gave the immortal answer.

“Sirrah, did you cut that tree?” demanded the papa, with another

rap of the cane, and such a frown that poor Boo looked dismayed,

till Molly wispered, “Put your hand up, dear.” Then he

remembered his part, and, putting one finger in his mouth, looked

down at his square-toed shoes, the image of a shame-stricken boy.

“My son, do not deceive me. If you have done this deed I shall

chastise you, for it is my duty not to spare the rod, lest I spoil the

child. But if you lie about it you disgrace the name of Washington

forever.”

This appeal seemed to convulse George with inward agony, for he

squirmed most effectively as he drew from his pocket a toy

hatchet, which would not have cut a straw, then looking straight up

into the awe-inspiring countenance of his parent, he bravely lisped,

“Papa, I tannot tell a lie. I’d id tut it with my little hanchet.”

“Noble boy–come to my arms! I had rather you spoilt all my

cherry trees than tell one lie!” cried the delighted gentleman,

catching his son in an embrace so close that the fat legs kicked

convulsively, and the little coat-tails waved in the breeze, while

cane and hatchet fell with a dramatic bang.

The curtain descended on this affccting tableau; but the audience

called out both Washingtons, and they came, hand in hand, bowing

with the cocked hats pressed to their breasts, the elder smiling

blandly, while the younger, still flushed by his exertions, nodded to

his friends, asking, with engaging frankness, “Wasn’t it nice?”

The next was a marine piece, for a boat was seen, surrounded by

tumultuous waves of blue cambric, and rowed by a party of

stalwart men in regimentals, who with difficulty kept their seats,

for the boat was only a painted board, and they sat on boxes or

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