Washington's father died when George was only eleven years old, leaving him, with his brothers and sisters, to the care of a most excellent and sensible mother. It was that mother's influence more than anything else which made George the man he became. [Illustration: WASHINGTON'S SIGNATURE AT THE AGE OF 12.] George went to a little country school, where he learned to read, write, and cipher. By the time he was twelve, he could write a clear, bold hand. In one of his writing-books he copied many good rules or sayings. Here is one:-- [Illustration: "Labor to keep alive in your breast that little spark of celestial fire called conscience."[2]] [Footnote 1: Plantation: George Washington was born on a plantation (or large estate cultivated by slaves) on Bridges Creek, a small stream emptying into the Potomac. See map in paragraph 127. Not long after George's birth (February 22, 1732), his father moved to an estate on the Rappahannock River, opposite Fredericksburg. See map in paragraph 127 for this place and Mount Vernon.] [Footnote 2: Celestial: heavenly, divine.] 124. Washington's sports and games; playing at war; "Captain George."--But young Washington was not always copying good sayings; for he was a tall, strong boy, fond of all out-door sports and games. He was a well-meaning boy, but he had a hot temper, and at times his blue eyes flashed fire. In all trials of strength and in all deeds of daring, George took the lead; he could run faster, jump further, and throw a stone higher than any one in the school. When the boys played "soldier," they liked to have "Captain George" as commander. When he drew his wooden sword, and shouted Come on! they would all rush into battle with a wild hurrah. Years afterward, when the real war came, and George Washington drew his sword in earnest, some of his school companions may have fought under their old leader. 125. The great battle with the colt, and what came of it.--Once, however, Washington had a battle of a different kind. It was with a high-spirited colt which belonged to his mother. Nobody had ever been able to do anything with that colt, and most people were afraid of him. Early one morning, George and some of his brothers were out in the pasture. George looked at the colt prancing about and kicking up his heels. Then he said: "Boys, if you'll help me put a bridle on him, I'll ride him." The boys managed to get the colt into a corner and to slip on the bridle. With a leap, George seated himself firmly on his back. Then the fun began. The colt, wild with rage, ran, jumped, plunged, and reared straight up on his hind legs, hoping to throw his rider off. It was all useless; he might as well have tried to throw off his own skin, for the boy stuck to his back as though he had grown there. Then, making a last desperate bound into the air, the animal burst a blood-vessel and fell dead. The battle was over, George was victor, but it had cost the life of Mrs. Washington's favorite colt.