Young George And The Colt


There is a story told of George Washington's boyhood,--unfortunately

there are not many stories,--which is to the point. His father had taken

a great deal of pride in his blooded horses, and his mother afterward

took pains to keep the stock pure. She had several young horses that

had not yet been broken, and one of them in particular, a sorrel, was

extremely spirited. No one had been able to do anything with it, and it

was pronounced thoroughly vicious as people are apt to pronounce horses

which they have not learned to master.

George was determined to ride this colt, and told his companions that if

they would help him catch it, he would ride and tame it.

Early in the morning they set out for the pasture, where the boys

managed to surround the sorrel, and then to put a bit into its mouth.

Washington sprang upon its back, the boys dropped the bridle, and away

flew the angry animal.

Its rider at once began to command. The horse resisted, backing about

the field, rearing and plunging. The boys became thoroughly alarmed,

but Washington kept his seat, never once losing his self-control or his

mastery of the colt.

The struggle was a sharp one; when suddenly, as if determined to rid

itself of its rider, the creature leaped into the air with a tremendous

bound. It was its last. The violence burst a blood-vessel, and the noble

horse fell dead.

Before the boys could sufficiently recover to consider how they should

extricate themselves from the scrape, they were called to breakfast;

and the mistress of the house, knowing that they had been in the fields,

began to ask after her stock.

"Pray, young gentlemen," said she, "have you seen my blooded colts in

your rambles? I hope they are well taken care of. My favorite, I am

told, is as large as his sire."

The boys looked at one another, and no one liked to speak. Of course the

mother repeated her question.

"The sorrel is dead, madam," said her son, "I killed him."

And then he told the whole story. They say that his mother flushed with

anger, as her son often used to, and then, like him, controlled herself,

and presently said, quietly:--

"It is well; but while I regret the loss of my favorite, I rejoice in my

son who always speaks the truth."

Young Bekie Youth Without Age And Life Without Death facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinterestlinkedinmail