Evening star., 1925-02-22

were in his trousers pockets, for the
early morning air was chill.
Are you Mr.. George Washington?
the traveller asked.
"Yes, sur that's my name.
What relation are you TO George
Washington. first of Wakefield and
then of Mount Vernon?
Indeed, sur, don't know just what
the relationship is, but Mr.. Wilson,
who lives at Wakefield, has II all fig
ured out and he'll tell you
Here was a kinsman of the Father
of His Country and living on the old
Washington lands who had not paus-
ed long enough in life's struggle to
acquaint himself with the degree OF
kinship. and yet there are persons
who say Virginians talk pedigree In
their sleep. Then Mr.. Washington
said:
"The farm isn't looking so well
now. You can't get the hands to
work It, I've got a lot of potatoes
in the ground that I've been trying
for a week to get, dug and very like
ly the frost will catch them before
I can get them out. Wages are so
high and the hands won't work. CTen
years before the war;. Then Mr..
George Washington changed the SUD-
ject.
Wont you come in and have break
fast?" Well. to a city man who had
been trudging along strange road
in cold night and dawn this invitation
was alluring. At table was Mrs
George Washington, who was Miss
Agnes Writ, granddaughter of Will
liam Writ, Attorney General in An
drew Jackson's cabinet, and one OF
Americans distinguished lawyers and
statesmen. She was a comely ma
tron, and was more eager that The
Star man take more coffee, more corn
mullins, more homemade sausage ana
more homemade butter than in CIV
ing information about kinship to the
great Washington and the great Writ.
Another at the table was Miss
Frances Washington, daughter of
Robert J. Washington of Cambellton
in that neighborhood Miss Wash
ington is great-great-
of the Father of His Country. Few
in those parts call her Frances. She
is Miss Fanny" Her breakfast
dress was a neatly cut and dainty
garment of white dotted black lawn,
with white shoulder straps crossed.
She could not quite rid herself of sus-
picion toward a disheveled stranger
who had dropped in at daybreak from
nowhere in particular. Others at ta-
bile were Miss Elizabeth Writ Wash
ington about 10 years old, quaint
and reserved little lassie, and Miss
| Frances Writ Washington, years
old a bustling little lady who set
| the table and sustained her part In
| the animated conversation.
She took hold of the camera and
platecase which the stranger carried
and said, "ain't this pretty heavy for
you to tote"
Also at table was the baby. He
| had been christened a few days be-
| fore and the name given him was
George Lee Swanson Washington
Mrs. Washington and Mrs. swanson
were school chums, and in compli-
! ment to Virginia's governor, the baby
was named George Lee Swanson
Washington.
Leaving Laurel Grove the road
| twists through fields and pines and
passes the home of Lawrence Wash
| ington, or Uncle Lal," a descendant
of Augustine Washington, Oldest
| brother of George Washington of Vir-
ginia and the world.
In later years the Rambler came to
| know well this honorable man and
his children, Lloyd, Lawrence, Henry
| Isabel, Sadie, Julia and Elsie.
This story has come to the point
where the Sunday Editor is reaching
| for his axe, and the Rambler will tell
you, perhaps next Sunday. of his trip
| to Blenhelm and Wakeneid, OIL the
people he met there, and of the old
| friends who have left the world, and
the children who have--grown up and
married.
| DIR. Richard Washington. whose
| home is the farm, Claymont, adjoin-
| ing the Washington farm of Camp
bellton, dropped In to see me a few
| days ago and said: You wrote the
| best history of Wakefield that has
| been written" I agree with him. DR.
| Washington has excellent literary
| taste. The other day man said to
me your stuff is rotten" That fell
lnW has no sense at all