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