I cut down the
cherry-tree with my little hatchet."

There would have been something heroic and above-board about that--a
struggle against temptation foreshadowed, and a brave determination to
stand up to the rack, fodder or no fodder, worthy of a boy that meant to
be father of the man, who in his turn was the father of his country,
thus doing up all his paternity in a wholesale way. But to say he
couldn't was so sneakingly good that I don't believe it of him. In fact,
I don't believe one word of the story.

Put that down on the records of your Society.

Of course, one never thinks of George Washington, that a nice boy,
showing a hatchet, does not come in as the first picture.

The reason I happened to think of it was an invitation to go in a
Government steamboat down to Mount Vernon, Washington's old homestead,
and see the tomb where he was buried.

Of course I wanted to go. When the President of these United States gets
out a Government steamboat on purpose to carry a distinguished New
England female down to the tomb of her country's forefathers, it's an
honor she's bound to accept.

I did accept it with enthusiasm, and at once invited Cousin Dempster and
E. E. to go with me, for it always gives me pleasure to act as a sun to
their moon.

The Japanese were invited to join me on the boat, and as many as two
hundred other people were allowed to go down, which I was rather glad
of--they being amongst the best--and my nature being social, as you
know.

Well, between nine and ten in the morning, we drove up to the Navy
Yard--a place where the Government builds the ships that are always
being altered, and mended, and made worse than they were before. It's
like a village on the water, is this Navy Yard, with a high wall around
it, and a gate big enough for our carriage to go through, which it did,
taking us down to the water in fine style.

"Do you want to go on board the 'Tallapoosa'?" says a man on the wharf.

"The 'Tallapoosa'!" says I to Dempster. "What outlandish thing is that?"

"The steamboat," says he.

"Well, why don't they call it a steamboat?" says I; "such airs!"

With that, I jumped out of the carriage, taking a neat dancing step as I
touched the ground, and spread my parasol.

Just then another carriage drove up, choke full of little dark men.

"It is the Japanese," says Dempster.

"The Japanese! How can you say so?" says I. "Where are their punch-bowl
hats and stiff veils?"

"Oh," says De