t then a little Indian girl rushed in. She was the daugh-ter of
the king, and her name was Po-ca-hon'tas. She ran and threw herself
between Smith and the up-lift-ed clubs. She clasped Smith's head with
her arms. She laid her own head upon his.

"O father!" she cried, "spare this man's life. I am sure he has done
you no harm, and we ought to be his friends."

The men with the clubs could not strike, for they did not want to hurt
the child. The king at first did not know what to do. Then he spoke to
some of his war-riors, and they lifted Smith from the ground. They
untied the cords from his wrists and feet, and set him free.

The next day the king sent Smith home; and several Indians went with
him to protect him from harm.

After that, as long as she lived, Po-ca-hon-tas was the friend of the
white men, and she did a great many things to help them.

GEORGE WASHINGTON AND HIS HATCHET.

When George Wash-ing-ton was quite a little boy, his father gave him a
hatchet. It was bright and new, and George took great delight in going
about and chopping things with it.

He ran into the garden, and there he saw a tree which seemed to say to
him, "Come and cut me down!"

George had often seen his father's men chop down the great trees in
the forest, and he thought that it would be fine sport to see this
tree fall with a crash to the ground. So he set to work with his
little hatchet, and, as the tree was a very small one, it did not take
long to lay it low.

[Illustration]

Soon after that, his father came home.

"Who has been cutting my fine young cherry tree?" he cried. "It was
the only tree of its kind in this country, and it cost me a great
deal of money."

He was very angry when he came into the house.

"If I only knew who killed that cherry tree," he cried, "I would--yes,
I would"--

"Father!" cried little George. "I will tell you the truth about it. I
chopped the tree down with my hatchet."

His father forgot his anger.

"George," he said, and he took the little fellow in his arms, "George,
I am glad that you told me about it. I would rather lose a dozen
cherry trees than that you should tell one false-hood."

GRACE DARLING.

It was a dark Sep-tem-ber morning. There was a storm at sea. A ship
had been driven on a low rock off the shores of the Farne Islands. It
had been broken in two by the waves, and half of it had been washed
away. The other half lay yet on the rock, and those of the cre