“It is, indeed, a treasure that your Excellency gives me; it is safe, too. There are men living who could say that my life was nothing to me, compared to your secrets. The paper that I told you was lost I swallowed when taken last by the Virginians. It was the only time I ever deceived your Excellency, and it shall be the last; yes, this is, indeed, a treasure to me; perhaps,” he continued, with a melancholy smile, “it may be known after my death who was my friend; but if it should not, there are none to grieve for me.” “Remember,” said the officer, with strong emotion, “that in me you will always have a secret friend; but openly I cannot know you.” “I know it, I know it,” said Birch; “I knew it when I took the service. ’Tis probably the last time I shall ever see your Excellency. May God pour down His choicest blessings on your head!” He paused, and moved toward the door. The officer followed him with eyes that expressed deep interest. Once more the peddler turned, and seemed to gaze on the placid but commanding features of the General with regret and reverence, and then, bowing low, he withdrew. The armies of America and France were led by their illustrious commander against the enemy under Cornwallis, and terminated a campaign in triumph that had commenced in difficulties. Great Britain soon after became disgusted with the war; and the independence of the States was acknowledged. THREE WASHINGTON ANECDOTES Adapted from M. L. WEEMS The original story of little George Washington and his hatchet, together with two other doubtful anecdotes not so well known. On a fine morning in the fall of 1737 Mr. Washington, taking little George by the hand, went to walk with him in the orchard, promising to show him a fine sight. On arriving at the orchard, a fine sight indeed was presented. The whole earth, as far as could be seen, was strewed with fruit, and yet the trees were bending under the weight of apples which hung in clusters like grapes, and vainly strove to hide their blushing cheeks behind the green leaves. “Now, George,” said his father, “look here, my son! Don’t you remember when a good cousin of yours brought you that fine large apple last spring, how hardly I could prevail on you to divide with your brothers and sisters; though I promised you that if you would but do it God Almighty would give you plenty of apples this fall?” Poor George could not say a word, but hanging down his head, looked quite confused, while with his little naked toes he scratched in the soft ground. “Now look up, my son,” continued his father, “look up, George, and see there how richly the blessed God has made good my promise to you. Wherever you turn your eyes you see the trees loaded with fine fruit, many of them indeed breaking down; while the ground is covered with mellow apples, more than you could eat, my son, in all your lifetime.”