e in front of her.

"Red cloak!" exclaimed the squire; "why, Dick told me it was a boy's hat
that blew off and flapped against Forester's eyes."

"Ah! well, father, it may have been a hat. I thought he said a cloak;
but it comes pretty much to the same thing."

There was an unsteadiness about the boy's voice as he said these last
words which every one noticed except his father. The subject, however,
was now dropped, and was not again alluded to during the evening.

Next morning after breakfast Walter knocked at his aunt's door. When he
had entered and taken the offered chair by her side, he sat for a minute
or so with eyes cast down, and silent.

"Well, Walter," she said after a while.

"_Ill_, auntie," he replied, in a voice between a laugh and a sigh.

"What is it, dear Walter?"

"Only those two hands of yours, dear auntie."

"Was there not a cause, Walter?"

No reply.

"Shall I tell you one of the stories you asked me to tell about moral
courage?"

"Do, auntie dear," he said in a low tearful voice.

"My hero this morning, Walter, is George Washington, the great American
general and statesman, the man who had so much to do in the founding of
that great republic which is called the United States. A braver man
never lived; but he was a brave boy too, brave with moral courage. Not
that he wanted natural courage in his early years, for at school none
could beat him in leaping, wrestling, swimming, and other athletic
exercises. When he was about six years old, his father gave him a new
hatchet one day. George was highly pleased, and went about cutting and
hacking everything in his way. Unfortunately, amongst other things he
used the hatchet with all the force of his little arm on a young English
cherry tree, which happened to be a great favourite with his father.
Without thinking of the mischief he was doing, George greatly injured
the valuable tree. When his father saw what was done he was very angry,
and asked the servants who had dared to injure the tree. They said they
knew nothing of it; when little George entering the room and hearing the
inquiry, though he saw that his father was very angry, went straight up
to him, his cheeks colouring crimson as he spoke, and cried, `I did it.
I cannot tell a lie. I cut your cherry tree with my hatchet.' `My
noble boy,' said his father, as he clasped him in his arms, `I would
rather lose a hundred cherry-trees, were their blossoms of silver and
their fr