Full text of "How I Twice Eloped: An Indiana Idyll"

See other formats

Google

This is a digital copy of a book that was preserved for generations on library shelves before it was carefully scanned by Google as part of a project

to make the world's books discoverable online.

It has survived long enough for the copyright to expire and the book to enter the public domain. A public domain book is one that was never subject

to copyright or whose legal copyright term has expired. Whether a book is in the public domain may vary country to country. Public domain books

are our gateways to the past, representing a wealth of history, culture and knowledge that's often difficult to discover.

Marks, notations and other maiginalia present in the original volume will appear in this file - a reminder of this book's long journey from the

publisher to a library and finally to you.

Usage guidelines

Google is proud to partner with libraries to digitize public domain materials and make them widely accessible. Public domain books belong to the
public and we are merely their custodians. Nevertheless, this work is expensive, so in order to keep providing tliis resource, we liave taken steps to
prevent abuse by commercial parties, including placing technical restrictions on automated querying.
We also ask that you:

+ Make non-commercial use of the files We designed Google Book Search for use by individuals, and we request that you use these files for
personal, non-commercial purposes.

+ Refrain fivm automated querying Do not send automated queries of any sort to Google's system: If you are conducting research on machine
translation, optical character recognition or other areas where access to a large amount of text is helpful, please contact us. We encourage the
use of public domain materials for these purposes and may be able to help.

+ Maintain attributionTht GoogXt "watermark" you see on each file is essential for in forming people about this project and helping them find
additional materials through Google Book Search. Please do not remove it.

+ Keep it legal Whatever your use, remember that you are responsible for ensuring that what you are doing is legal. Do not assume that just
because we believe a book is in the public domain for users in the United States, that the work is also in the public domain for users in other
countries. Whether a book is still in copyright varies from country to country, and we can't offer guidance on whether any specific use of
any specific book is allowed. Please do not assume that a book's appearance in Google Book Search means it can be used in any manner
anywhere in the world. Copyright infringement liabili^ can be quite severe.

About Google Book Search

Google's mission is to organize the world's information and to make it universally accessible and useful. Google Book Search helps readers
discover the world's books while helping authors and publishers reach new audiences. You can search through the full text of this book on the web

at |http: //books .google .com/I

.1.1

PRICE 25 CENTS

Howl
Twice
ElODed

The only Novelette ever
^ sketched by Abraham Lincoln

OATHEBINK EAVEJS

I did when I was a littls codHer

CmcAQo. Tt.t. . '^

Oak Printing antj I'obi.isii i nh <;o. -I jj

115 Oak Strbht j^

Fit>nnnnnm

T1I6 onlu novelette ever sketctied bu
Abraham LlncolB

1)oiw f dvpice £lopcd

An Indiana Idyll

Suggested by

ABRAHAM LINCPLN

Elaborated by

CATHERINE EAVES

**Did yon ever write out a story in your mindl
I did when I was a little codger."

Abraham Livooln

CHICAGO
Oak Pbivtinq and Publishing Co.
115 Oak Stbbbt

With an apology to the shade of

ABRAHAM JLiINCOIJSr

for the transgression of descanting upon his

INDIANA IDYLL,

this dissertation is dedicated to the bright
analyst of his character,

HON. MURAT HALSTEAB.

the humble Author.

Abbaiiam Lihcolit

aa a youih

Sig Coccia's ticlebrated statue

Bibibited St the Boyal Academr, London

CONTENTS.

DediccUion.

Statue of Abraham Lincoln in his youth.

Analysis of Abraham LincoMs character by M, JSalstead

Letter to the Publisher,

Idyllic Life.

Playmates.

Loversick.

Knight-errantry.

Synopsis by Abraham Lincoln.

2.
Synopsis by Abraham Lincoln.

• 8,
Synopsis by Abraham Lincoln.

Synopsis by Abraham Lincoln.

Synopsis by Abraham Lincoln.
Elopement and Animal Instinct.

6.
Synopsis by Abraham Lincoln.
Second Elopement and Common Horse- Sense.

Synopsis by Abraham Lincoln.
Awakening.

Appendix.
Corroboration.

Extract from editorial by Murat Halstead Id <<Stand-
ard Union" of Brooklyn 1895, anent portrait owned by
Hon. Robert T. Lincoln of his famous father, Abraham
Lincoln.

for that age the youthfulness of the portrait is wonder-
ful. This Is a new Lincoln, and far more attractive, in a
sense, than anything the public has possessed. This is the por-
trait of a remarkably handsome man The head is magni-
ficent, the eyes deep and generous, the mouth sensitive, the
whole expression something delicate, tender, pathetic, poetic.
This was the young man with whom the phantoms of romance
dallied, the young man who recited poems, and was fanciful
and speculative, and in love and despair, but upon whose brow
there already gleamed the illumination of intellect, the inspi-
ration of patriotism. There were vast possibilities in the
young man's face. He might have been a military chieftain,
a novelist, a poet, a philosopher, Ah I ahero, a martyr— and yes,
this young man might have been— he even was Abraham Lin-
coln! This was he with the world before him. It is a good
fortune to have the magical revelation of the young man the
world venerates. This look into his eyes, into liis soul— not
before he knew sorrow, but long before the world knew him—
and to feel that it is worthy to be what it is, and that we are
better acquainted with him and love him the more, is some-
thing beyond price.

On reading the above splendid analysis of Abraham
Lincoln's character by the able pen of Murat Halstead, I

became emboldened to try and draw — guided by that — a
feeble pen-pictnre. on more enlarged scale, of the great and
loveable man in his yonng rustic days.

May the shade of Abraham Lincoln forgive the
trembling, botching transcriber of his own, charming In-
diana Idyl.

The few words in italics are historical.

Cathbbinb Eayxs.

Hoosier Heights
Buckthorn Valley, Ind.
Sept. 1901.

2^1^ Explanation.

Mr. Publisher.

My brother William insists npon my writing this let-
ter; it is very funny, or, at any rate, strange to write to a
person that yon have not the sligthest idea whom he may
turn out to be. But the case is so peculiar that
there is no other way of doing it. Brother William is go-
ing to the great oity of Chicago on business for a few days,
and while there, is going to see some publisher regarding
a manuBcipt he has with him. But he is not the author of
it, nor am I, — the fact is — it has a great, big, glorious
name attached to it. I dare scarcely tell you, — you will
stagger when you read it, — it is a beautiful, moral, and
charming sketch by Abraham Lincoln!!!

Now I know you will stare, — and you not knowing
anything about it! So I must explain. We have down
in our parts a small literary society in connection with
our church, and beating about for a theme to write an essay
or a poem or a story about, one of our elders, uncle Remus,
who heard about it, proposed that we should take up one of
Abe. Lincoln's well-known little stories which he always was
fond of telling, and elaborate the same into a regular tale,
in several chapters, with a strong, implied moral at the
tag end. Now, the one we chose, the illustrious Abra-
ham Lincoln, himself, had intended to enlarge into a nove-
lette, but, somehow, never found opportunity to do so.

Living in and near Gentryville, the almost classio
Lincolnean ground, we deemed it our bounden duty, and a
great honor, to accept Uncle Remus' proposal. He gave
us the entire outlines of a story, which be had learned
some years ago from a personal old friend of President
Lincoln's in Springfield, old Mr. Kidd, to whom the ill-
ustrious Abraham Lincoln himself had told it in a jocular
way.

We had no less than seven papers submitted to our
little literary society, (of which I have the honor of being
secretary,) for competetion; two were essays not at all in
accordance with the theme set forth, and the rules laid
down, and one was a pretentious, lengthy comic poem,
written by a mad-cap of a boy, but, oh, such stuff, rhyme,
rhythm, and reason all out of joint, but four were regular
little stories, according to the rules, though, of* course
crude and stultified, — all but one, and that one took us
all by surprise. It was afterwards, by request, read at
two general meetings, half each time, and everybody
thought it ought to be published. Now it depends upon
if you think so too, Sir. It is written by a charming and
unassuming young lady (of only nineteen), but she is so
modest that she on no account will allow her real name to
be published, but has assumed a pseudonym, or pen-name.

We have much debated upon a strong and suitable
title, as we know that is very important, such as: "Ho
I twice eloped,'* by Abraham Lincoln or, **A commc
Horse-Sense Tale" by Abraham Lincoln, but that soun-
like a bad pun; however, the writer, herself, has abid
by her original subtitle, that of: **An Indiana Idyl,"
Abraham Lincoln, as she disclaims any merit in the r

elaboration of the sketch, and she want's to place the
honor where honor is due.

My brother will inform us of your decision.

Apologizing for my long letter^trespassing upon your
Taluable time

I am.

Dear Sir,

Yours very respectfully

Sally W.

Secretary for **the Lincoln Literary Society"

which is the new name we are going to assume if you ac-
cept and publish *An Indiana Idyl,' by Abraham Lincoln.
Sept. 1901 Hoosier Heights near Gentryville, Ind.

CHAPTER I.

Synopsis by Abraham Lincoln:

** When we were living in JBicckthom Valley inlndianay
a womanwith her two daughters came travelling along ^ their
vehicle broke down^ and we helped their driver to fix it up.^^

Idyllic Lsife.

All depends upon in what spirit you look upon things.
The color-blind have no conception of the beauty of some
colors, the squint-eyed look at things awry, but those who
are neither blind nor morally oblique look at things
straight as the are. The poor are great philosophers, —
I mean in submitting to the oppression of the rich, and those
living in the country are often keen observers; they are
in daily sweet communion with nature, and instinctively
or intuitively understand her ways and means, and some
times from a trivial incident they will draw a moral lesson
where you or I, would see nothing but the ludicrous.
''The simple annals of the poor" are therefore daily of
more moment to the people at large than the book-learned
world imagines.

Dame Nature had thrown open a full page for her
abcdarians to read, to study, and ponder over in the shape
of an almost square meadow with an illuminated text c

variegated flowers, margined with a broad border of foli-
age. Here and there in the copse lay sturdy trunks of
stalwart trees that had to yield to the settler^s agressive
axe, and sacrificed their glorious and splendied lives to be-
come useful to man, and they were now awaiting custom-
ary, neighborly log-rolling. An almost stifling heat lay
oppressive over the land,giving the impression of southern
indolence and languor, but down among the shady grass
myriads of insects were busy plying their vocations, "for
every one hath business and desire, such as it is," and be-
tween the branches of a neighborly hickory and May-
apple a large spider had woven its net, and was busy
strengthening and drawing it taut, waiting for the victims
that occasion would be sure to bring. Near by a big
rawboned lad was sitting on a rustic fence, his knees drawn
up to his chin. An axe rested idly against his knee.
lie wore a pair of blue homespun jeans, all too short for
him, and his round-about jacket he seemed to have grown
out of, an old wide-awake barely kept in place his unkempt
hair; raw-hide boots completed the outfit. An old, soiled
book lay in his lap; — ^he had tried to read but the floral
text embroidered on the carpet, — like a Moslem prayer-
rug, — ^before him, had diverted his attention, and now his
deep, sunken eyes gazed intently at the work of his
diligent neighbor, as if he were trying to solve the mathe-
matical problem the scheming spider was displaying be-
fore him. A few tiny, unsuspecting insects had already been
caught in the net, but the master-spirit was still inter-
secting new lines, and cross combinations, making the
meshes smaller and the fabric stronger and securer. A
gorgeous, brown and golden, large butterfly came flitting
quite close by, as if the innocent creature had twitted the

wary and venomons catolier, — the boy held his breath in
sheer anxiety lest the beautiful being should be caught, —
and if so, he would instinctively, on the instant, have
demolished the wondrous work of the calculating mathe-
matician, and liberated the prisoner, — so strong was his
sympathy with the unwary and unprotected brown butter-
fly. But fortunately it skimmed by and darted off on
business and pleasure among the flowers of the meadow.
The spider seemed to glare enraged at it, and climbed
nimbly and eagerly to the edge of his net, and uncoiled
another long, slimy line from out himself to extend the
circuit of his nefarious business. And the boy reasoned
to himself: — Yea, out of oneself the means and energy
must all come; to be prepared is everything, — the oppor-
tunities will come: that great prize of the brown and gol-
den butterfly escaped him — but the next will not. He
will profit by disappointment; he will feast right royally
yet. Success will ultimately attend on methodical calcu.
lation.

A mocking-bird scattered in rich profusion a cascade
of sometimes luscious, sometimes silvery strains, — then
stopped abruptly as if listening for answer, or approval,
in the sylvan bower, and when none came, laughed im-
moderately, and then sang lustily to itself, as if all the
woodland must perforce listen to its heaven-bestowed
gift;and the lad listened meditating, and tried to fathom the
mystery of the message of song, but it seemed to him as
whimsical, unaccountable and unknowable as dame natur
herself in her most capricious moods, — or the blessin
and misfortunes that seem scattered haphazard by pro
dence itself. Well, — he summued up to himself, mutterir
— perhaps only seem so.

From the opposite side of the meadow, just emerging
from the copse, a prairie-schooner came slowly dragging
along, — the horses were jaded and weary, — ^the driver
seemed asleep, the heat had nearly overcome him, the
horses wandered almost at will, — for there was no regular
road, only a trail with deep, miry ruts. There was no
one visible but the surly looking teamster, but from under
the canvas came a strain of a hymn, or patriotic song;
sung by female voices, of which only the burden distinctly
reached the lad, where he sat perched on the fence.

Ever happy times will be
In the country of the free.

He smiled thoughtfully and complaisantly, to himself
at the song-ladened message, — ^but scarcely had he done
so, before he descried in the distance how the wagon on
descending the somewhat steep bank suddenly tilted over
to the front, precipitating the driver headlong down,
turning over horses, and the whole concern. Shrieks and
cries succeeded the song, and brought thither a farm-
laborer, who came out of the adjacent wood, but he made
no hurry, only slowly advanced to the capsized schooner,
from which a young girl of some seventeen years had just
emerged, helping her mother to crawl forth, and with
combined ejfforts they were now trying to pull out the
younger child.

— Ain't you going to help a fellow when you see him
standing on his head? — came from the infuriated team-
ster.

— ^I'm sure I did'nt see you standing on your head,
the canvas hid ye — but sure I will — came the drawling
reply.

By this time our meditative friend from the rustic
fence came scurrying along on his long legs to volunteer
his services, just as his stepbrother John got the driver
extricated from the entanglement of the reins and traces,
and helped him on his feet again. He was just in time to
receive into his arms a young girl of some thirteen sum-
mers, as she, with his assistance, emerged from the myste-
rious interior, from among bundles and bedding, and
crockery- ware. It was an armful he got, and a strange
sensation vibrated through his nerves, and caused his
blood to tingle as he gently placed her on the ground.

— Are you hurt? he asked,

—Not a little bit.

— Were you much afraid ?

— Not the least, I think it's rare fun.

— Oh, Ann, how can you say so?

— Well, mother, I think so, when nobody is hurt,
and we only had a wee, little tumble, after all that
jolting.

— ^I suppose we shall have to walk the rest of the
way; it can't be very far, anyhow.

— Where are you going, ma'am? our lanky friend
inquired.

— To South Creek camp, to join my husband.

— Oh, that's some ten or twelve miles from here. You
will have to stay with us for a day, or so, until we fix you
a new, off-side, front wheel. I will have to go over to
Gentry ville to get that, so you had better come along
with me to mother, she will make you very welcome.

— Well, you are really very considerate, young man;
I think we shall have to accept your hospitality, or
what say you, girls?

— Oh, yes, mother, if we may —

The boy Htniled inwardly, pleased at the prospect of
a little oompany.

— What may be your name, young master?

— Abraham, so please you, ma'am — ^he drawled out.

— Oh^ what a long name! Ann replied inadvertently.

— Yes, but they call me Abe generally, for sake of
brevity. I shall only help John and your driver to brace
up the wagon, and I will bring you home. It is'nt a
stone-throw to our house. Just on the other side of the
hillock. You can leave your things quite safe, there are
no thieves, or Indians, about here, and your man can
tedder your horses in the meadow, under yonder beech.
Come along, all of you!

On making for the house Abe had a good opportunity
of taking stock of his protegees. The matronely woman
was really very comely, although about forty, and by far
the best looking of the three. But a sad and pensive ex-
pression was spread over her pale face They all wore
sun-bonnets of blue callico. But there was a neatness and
trimness about the mother's appearance which was lacking
in her daughters. She wore a plain dress, without any
trimmings whatever, it was even a little the worse for
wear, which old gown she as a thrifty housewife naturally
had selected for a travelling dress. Her eldest daughter
showed a slight indication of frippery in her dress which
was of grayish tint, with actually a fur-below of dark-
blue stuff, and on her neck, which was only visible from
the front, there was a small, black, velvet ribbon, with a
tiny gold heart, that bobbed up and down on the throat as
she spoke, which made Abe almost laugh, for it was so
ludicrously suggestive as it pointed straight out at him,

each time she spoke. <<That little golden heart of bers
is Id too tight a place," thouht the youDg philosopher to
himself. Her dress was somewhat shorter, and made
quite visible her small feet, incased in a pair of sturdy
slippers,tied crossways above the ankles. The youngest girl,
Ann,ashehad heard her called just now, wore an old frock,
made too short even for her young age; it was of a kind of
nondescript color between faded drab and soiled buff, and
had evidently been a best gown, now selected to travel in.
Her light brown hair, which as the sun shone on it sug-
gested a suspicion as of reddish golden threads intermixed,
hung disgracefully loose about her, for her sunbonnet had
fallen back, and the strings had nearly threatened to
strangle her, in her effort to emerge from the capsized
schooner. She wore a frill round her neck, which would
have suggested a Punchinello, if such a personage had been
known to the beholder.

On the road Abe said with a smile, — Well, to tell you
the truth, ma'm, since no one is hurt, — not even the
horses, — I am not particularly sorry for your little
mishap, provided your husband won't be too anxiously
awaiting you, for we don't have many visitors here, and
unless I go down to Gentryville, — and it is a mile and
a half to town, — I haven't many to talk to; — a little
company, you know, is always welcome to us country
folks. — Where may you be coming from with your girls,
ma'am?

— From Kentucky, Master Abraham.

— So did we some eight years ago, — we came from
Knob Creek in La Rue county. My father came
here into Indiana to better himself, besides, neither

himself, nor my own mother^ when she was alive, oonld
abear the slave-trade.

That is the very reason we have left too; — I hope it
will never disgrace Indiana. It is perfectly impious, the
women added vehemently.

— Oh, ifenser I have a chance I will have a hard hit
at it, replied young Abe, a wild, electric sensation cours-
ing through his blood, and he stopped for a moment, aad
drew himself up to his full height, his eyes flamed, and he
seemed as one inspired, — which made all his companions
look at him in surprise.

— How old may you be, Master Abraham? asked the
mother.

— Sixteen, last February.

— Only sixteen! Why, I thought you were at least
twenty.

— Yes, I am tall and big for my age. They used to
nickname me the little giant.

— And what are you going to be? Farmer, of course?

— I don't know about that. Do you want a good
laugh?

— Yes, of course we do, — the youngest girl answered,
ever alert, and on the look out for merriment.

— Well, then, — I have just a notion to become — -well,
why don't you laugh?

— We haven't heard anything yet, the elder daughter
observed.

— Some people make up their mind to laugh before-
hand, but he laughs best who laughs last.

— ^Well, but let us hear.

— ^There is mother standing in the door waiting for
us. You will hear from the others by and by, for they

all think it monstrous funny for me to have such a notion,
— all but my step-mother, — and she is a women of rare
sense, that thinks nothing impossible if only you set about
it in the right way.

— Here mother, I have brought you company; — this
lady and her daughters,— they are your daughters, ain't
they? — have come all the way from Kentucky, and were
going to the camp at South Creek, — ^when their wagon had
a break down on our track. Til get a new wheel at
Gentry ville for them.

— And in the meantime, perhaps, you will allow me
to cook our food in your kitchen? the women said.

— Certainly, certainly, my dear; you are welcome to
all the assistance we can give you. — So you come from
Kentucky? I must have a long talk with you. And these
are your girls? Well, I'm sure! I lived in Kentucky
before I married again, and came here. It makes one feel
warm at heart to meet folks from home. Be seated, girls,
and put* your bundles away. Sally, my dear, bring in some
fresh spring water, 'tis a warm day. — And then the hospit-
able housewife spread the table with some doughnuts,
blackberries and milk, grapes, paw-paws, bickory-nutp
and May-apples, and old-fashioned hospitality was freeJ
dispensed in that manner in which thq poor excel, by ma)
ing the visitor feel at ease, and quite at home, where hear
iness supplies the place of ceremony. — Eat, my dears, t
your heart's content, or your body's fill, you are so vei
welcome, the more you eat the better I shall be pleased
The plain spoken hostess did not express herself so vi
garly direct, for good manners were not lacking to th
sensitive heart, but her frank and kindly invitation mig!
easily have been thus translated*

The father came home, and the travelers were intro-
duced, and the toiler's hand of right good fellowship ex-
tended to one and all, — and the driver, who had appeared
rather aggravated at the mishap, cheered up considerably
when father Thomas began dilating upon the prospects of
the crops, and the condition of the country. The young
daughters of the two families grouped together, and after
a little shyness had worn off, began to chatter freely with
one another, two or three speaking together at one and the
same time, when the became very aninmated. Abe,
who was no very great ladies man,glanced askance at them,
and chuckled to himself when he listened to their chatter-
ing, and felt tempted to put in a droll remark, by way of

a spoke, to keep the wheel going.

— ^You don't appear to have any niggers in these

parts, — the driver observed to the farmer.

— ^No, and I am right glad of it, for I hate to see them

creatures treated like cattle. That was one of the reasons

I left Kentucky years ago.

— And I, for one, — said Abraham, don,t believe sla-
very is justifiable, even though they twist and turn some
passages iu the Old Testament to prove that it was so,
then. I hold it damneable that man, created in the image
of his maker, should be held in bondage, — it is perfectly
blasphemous, for, surely, if we picture us God as anything,
it must be as a free agent. I think the freer a man is the

more god-like is he.

— But, surely, that reference in the Bible is to the

white folks, the Israelites in particular? — advocated the
driver.

— Nonsense, man, the races in the East are so inter-
mixed that they are of all possible shades and hues, — Abe
replied.

— Being created in the image of his maker, I take it,
must mean spiritually, — interpolated the traveling lady.

— Yes: of course, but I should like to know if human
nature isn't much the same all over the world, if given the
same conditions to develop in, — Abraham rejoined.

— But you must admit, master, that the niggers are
an inferior race, anyhow, I heard a farmer's wife in Ken-
tucky say — and she was the sister- in-law of the secretary-
of-state, so she ought to know someting, — she said that
the negroes were a dense lot for they all have such thick
skulls, — the teamster elucidated.

— Ha! ha! ha! — Abe burst out. Why, man, if you
possessed a valuable gem, a rich jewel, the more strong,
surely, you would make the casket to hold it; — that might
be answered from the nigger's point of view, besides, you see,
the intelligence doesn't enter the brains through the thick
skull, but through the eyes, and ears, and sensation of the
nerves. You are way behind in Kentucky, yet, to hold
such silly ideas. Do you know why their skulls are thick?
Why, man, for the same reason that their hair is thick and
kinky. Have you ever seen any picture of people in the
East, — I mean Turkey, and India, and other hot climes,
don't you know that they wear turbans as a protection
against heat, for that same reason has wise providence en-
dowed the negroes with thick skulls and kinky hair.

— Abe knows everything, friend, and always sifts
matters to the very bottom, and finds out the reason why
and wherefore, — spoke his stepmother, serene, and a little
severe of countenance.

— ^Yes, — the father added, turning to the visitors, —
our Abeisagreatreader;Ididn't much approve of it at first,
but my wife, his step-mother, who sees things further than

I do, insisted on the boy having his own way. He is a
great arguer, and you should just hear him hold forth to
the boys that hang around at Jones, the grocer, in Gentry-
ville.

— ^Yes, sure, Abe is a great talker; he couldn't live
if he hadn't a chance of spoutinc^, now and then; I. wish
he would argue a little less, and help me with the work
of the farm a little more, — put in his step-brother.

— Hush, John; I am sure you have nothing to com-
plain of; Abe is the most obliging fellow, all around here, —
advocated the mother.

— Yes, obliging to strangers, and ye women-folks, in
particular, I ween.

— But, Johnny, when he does work, he works for
two, or for half a dozen of you, as for that, — said the
father putting in a good word for his own son, whom he
by no means wished to see belittled in the eyes of the
strangers present.

— But, you haven't told us yet what trade you intend
to take up, — said the traveling woman, who began to take
an interest in Abe, despite his gawky and rather uncouth
appearance.

— Well, our boy has set himself a high aim in life, —
replied the mother. You know nothing is impossible for
a true-born American, if he only makes up his mind to get
there. I don't say that he will succeed, — but there is
something even in the trying, alone worth the trouble.
Well, even his father has given in at last that he may study
and prepare himself betimes —

— Yes, — in tempted the farmer, for I heard a very
old man once say, that he had observed that the boldest
and maddest schemes succeeded the best in the world.

—Well, because, you know, fortune favors the bold
— ^Abe himself put in.

— Well, you see, ma^am, it isn't quite impossible,—
for it is open to all, — ^he is actually studying — only study
ing — to become president, — continued the mother.

—President! Of what? — the woman inquired.

—Why, of the United States, to be sure, — the othe
replied calmly.

— ^President! Of the United States! — and the womai
dropped the knitting she had in hand.

-Yes, is there anything wrong in that? — simpb
afiked the confident spokes-woman.

—Why don't you all laugh? — Asked Abe,

—Well, 'tis only his fun, —nobody can ever mak
him out, — said John in rather a sarcastic tone.

— ^Tes, Abe is droll at times, — spoke his sister Sally
but he is such a good fellow; — nobody is in it, compare(
with him, — she continued, eyeing John askance, and pout
ing her lips just a wee bit saucely. And I am sure he ii
the president of all the boys in Gentry ville already, an(
as for that, for miles around. And there is nobody ai
strong as our Abe, and they know it; I will speak up fo
my brother Abraham, I will; he will be a great man yet
when all other boys will be sticking in the mud still
Depend upon it.

— Hush, child, you shouldn't be so positive. Mai
proposes and God disposes, — the mother admonished her

— I hope He will feel disposed, then, to make me j
president.

— ^Young man, don't tempt the Lord, — said th(
stranger woman warning.

— I didn't mean to, only I thought that God migh

make me as good a president as any, for in reading much
of their history , and absorbing it all, I might just begin
where they left off, guided by the experience they have
accumulated. See!

— ^What a boy you are, to be sure! Well, well, —
go on with your studies, though books are hard to get in
these far-away parts; — if it comes to nothing else it serves
to keep the lad out of mischief, — said his father.

— ^Knowledge is power, — quoth Abe.

— And talk is cheap, — added Jonn.

— Yes, I don't mean to charge anything for my ora-
tions. I believe knowledge should be disseminated free to
all — to all that have ears to hear.

— ^Yes, and the right heart to understand, — ^added the
mother, ever anxious to take Abe's part.

— ^Why don't you speak up for the niggers then, too,
and make them masters of us? — ^asked the irate teamster.

— I wouldn't make them masters, but give them
equal rights, or else it is a mockery to acknowledge all
Christians as our brethren. I shall speak up for them
some day, when the right time comes. I would rather be.
assassinated^ than surrender the great principle of liberty
to all men, or connive at a great evil to attain some selfish
end, whether for myself or the state, — said Abe with great
determination.

A hush fell upon the small audience, although the
effect was different upon the various listeners. It was as
if an angel of peace, bringing a me3sage of unutterable
love, had passed through the room, and like Mary of old,
the mother treasured the words of her gifted son in the
core of her heart.

Synopsis by Abraham Lincoln:

they stopped and prepared their meals in our cabin.

They fiad brought several books with them^ and the lady
read some stories to us, which I had never heard be/ore. One
of the girls quite took my fancy ^

CHAPTER II.

Playmates.

The following morning both the mothers were up be-
times preparing breakfast, for the travelling woman insisted
upon furnishing some of the victuals she had brought with
her. When the men, one by one, came down from the
loft, the housewife expressed no little surprise at seeing
Abe ttie last of all, and lagging considerably behind the
others, too.

— Why, I am sure, I thought you had been over to
Gentryville long before this to see about the wheel. They
will be ready to start in an hoar.

— The wheel won't be ready before noon, anyhow, ao
there's no hurry, — Abe replied.

— Besides Abe is scarcely awake yet, he has been ly-
ing awake all night, reading the book the lady lent him
last night; I scarcely got a wink of sleep for him, burning
his rush-light till dawn of day." amiable John complained.

Well, ainH they going to leave to day, and must'nt I
have finished the book by that time?

— I can't see the necessity of that at all, and, Robin-
son Crusoe, from which she read aloud last night, what
good will that do you?

— It will, at any rate, teach a fellow how to shift for
himself, if left by fate in a desolate condition, how to turn
every opportunity to the best account. You will live to
need learning that, yourself, some day John; you are not
over-thrifty.

After breakfast Abe jogged on slowly to Gentry ville.
At the corner of Jones' grocery be saw the usual lot of
boys hanging about, as if expecting something to turn up.
— Hallo! here's the president coming!-That was the nick-
name by which he went among his companions. — What's
up» that you are in town so early?

— I am waiting for the wheelwright and the black-
smith to finish a job.

— ^What's the matter with the wheels in your head?
Any of the cogs used up?

Oh, it's a lady'swheel.

— Oh, there's a woman in the case! Tell us all about
it!

— There's nothing in it, I tell you boys; a broke-down
wagon, that's all,

— With a lady in it? That's a great deal, Abe; take
care you are not caught in the spokes,

— Have you seen **The Louisville Journal, "just come
by mail? They are raising a hellaballoo about the nig-
gers down in Kentucky. There's an abolistionist-paper
here that won't be squashed. We'll have some rare fun
presently; the boys will be up in arms against each other,

the south and the north fighting for their lives which shall
possess the ebony beauties, the lovely, plump mulatto
girls. You ought to marry one, Abe. or a dozen of them,
and move to the Pacific and raise a large family, a tribe
of your own, over wich you would become chief.

— ^IdonH believe in the amatory intermixture of races
or that is ever meant by nature, or she would never have
divided us into races, but I believe in the amicable inter-
course between them, and I venture to predict that at some
future distant period, say 300 years hence, the negroes
will dominate the south, for by that time they will not
only have been emancipate i, but their intelligence will
have come abreast of the whites of that age, and they are
much better fitted by nature to live under a broiling sun
than the whites are.

— Hear, hear! the great negro emancipator!

— Yes gentlemen,! avow a deep, unconquerable hatred
of ihskt peculiar institution slavery, a hell upon earth, a sin,
iniquitous and flagrant, enough to damn a nation, a
downtrodden humanity, crying aloud to God every hour
of the day for succor and redemption!

— Your father left Kentucky for that self-same reason;
you must have been born with the hatred of slavery in
your breast, one of his audience suggested.

— Or he is in love with some mulatto-girl, sneered an-
other of the bystanders.

— Had you a negro woman for a wet-nurse? jeered a
third of the crew.

— Abe pretended not to hear the irreverent taunts of
the gang, but continued. Not only do I abhore the abject
slavery of the blacks but I hate tyranny in any shape, and
my heart bleeds for every oppressed creature on God's

beautiful earth, and my sonl weeps for them when I think,
that I am impotent to do anything for them, — and great,
good God, no resources left for them but prayer, — no re-
sources but prayer, he reiterated, excited and exalted.

— What is the use of praying? — queried one of them,

Abe looked at the interpolator for a moment, then re-
plied: — What is the use of eating?

— What is the use of eating? Why we must eat to
live.

— So we must pray to be able to live a spiritual life. I
tell you boys when we come up to the dead, blank wall of
tbe unknowable before us, and we have reached the end
of our thethered reason, we, forsooth, sink into our boots,
— into abjectness, and beat our brains in vain against the
dead wall, as the Jews moaned of yore at the wall of la-
mentation in Jerusalem, — then I tell you, every mother's
son of you, you will all turn to prayer as a last resource.

— Like whistling in the dark to keep your courage
up, — one of the gang opined.

— Leave off, Charlie, Abe is all right, if confession is
good for the soul, then prayer must be too, for that is the
very quintessence of penitence and supplication.

— Nay, if you're going to preach, lads, I'll beg to be
excused. I am going in for statecraft, not for priestcraft,
and so I thought Abe was.

— And so I am, boys, but sometimes church and state
will come in close proximity, as you know, although they
disown each other in this free conn try, but it can't be de-
nied that the state can't entirely ignore humanitarian sub-
jects, — for if it did, what need would there be for any
government for the happiness of the many? — Gentlemen
J have done. I will say no more.

— Hurrah for the president!

— All of owr age will look up to me yet -he said with
an expression of humor in his eye, preparing to get down
from the stand.

— How foolish you do talk, sometimes.

— And those of the next age still more so.

— Worse and worse.

— I guess they will. They must all look up to me, this
and the next generation, for if I am so tall now, what won't
I be when I am fullgrown, you bet, jested Abe with
a deep meaning to himself. But I admit this is tall talk,
he added with a quaint smile, forcing down the demon of
ambition that felt tempted to rise within him.

Abe called at the blacksmith's to get the new wheel,
on which the old tire had been fixed, — but on the road
home, whenever he encountered any incline he took it in
his head to run the wheel up-hill, just for the mere sake
of illustrating to himself how to overcome any obstacle that
might rise in his way, by the sheer impetus of his own will.

— Halloo there!

— Halloo ! — Abe replied.

— Halloo there! — again came the common, merry sa-
lutation.

— Halloo ! — again responded Abe, but he saw no one.

— Ha! Ha! Ha! — came a ringing laugh.

Abe looked all around, and finally he looked up at a
tree by the the roadside, from which the voice seemed to
come, aud there, sure enough, young Ann had climbed up,
and sat comfortably, jammed in between a branch and the
trunk of the tree, dangling her feet playfully about.

— I thought I would just go to meet you, but you
were such a long time coming. I saw you running the

wheel uphill; no wonder it took you long time. I am used
to that game, myself. — Help me down I daren't jump. —

— Whatever made you climb up so high? —

— Because you were so long time coming. I had to
get lip to have a clear wiew of the prairie around, If you
were to hold the wheel high up to me, I might bend down
and get hold of it, and you would swing me down like a fairy.

— And break your neck, or your legs; no, thank you,
I won't be accessory to that. Let me think. Stop where
you are. Cousin Dennis is working in the next fieldj I will
just run and fetch him, and together we will get you
down. Be sure and not attempt to get down, in the mean-
time. — Abe sped along on his long locomotives, to return
with assistance in a trice.

Meanwhile Ann, to while the time away, began
whistling snatches of some lively tunes, picturing to her-
self how it would feel to be a happy mockingbird perched
in a high tree, and she sometimes whistled, sometimes
laughed and sometimes sang, keeping things very lively
for herself, and the other merry, little birds around her, in
the neighboring trees, but which kept perfectly mute in
sheer astonishment at the queer monster mockingbird they
beheld partly screened by the foliage.

At last the boys came. Abe arriving first,and Dennis
lagging a little behind, and the first greeting the jolly
mockingbiri gave was: — Is your name always Dennis?

— Now, you wicked, little mockingbird, — we heard
in the distance how you imitated them, — will you now be
careful, and do just as I tell you. ? Here, I'll place myself
with my back to the trunk of the tree; — you Dennis get on
my shoulders, and also keep your back to the tree, — and
you little lady-bird will try to step on to his shoulders,

and take hold of his up-stretched hands, — but do'nt at-
tempt to flap your wings; no capers, please; now then,
here we are. Up you go!

Dennis, agile as a coon, climbed up the, tree, — and
stood on Abe's shoulders, and he, sturdy as the stem it-
self, stood with his legs a little parted so as to maintain
his steadiness, the picture of the young athlete he was, but
the little mockingbird, so blithe and merry, could scarcely
step on Dennis' shoulder, for she was laughing so immo-
derately in trying first one foot and then withdrawing it,
trying the other.

— Now take hold of my hands, — said Dennis, hold-
ing them up, — ^and now dont be fooling, but step on to my
shoulders. There you are; — now then, don't laugh, —
gently down , — and Abe will receive you.

— Oh, this was nice; let us do it again! — she ex-
claimed when she had safely reached the ground.

— Oh, no, my lady fair, once in a time will do for a
fairy flight like that, — said Abe, to prevent her from ven-
turing up a second time.

— But you wo'nt tell mother, or anyone, that I climb-
ed up the tree?

— Oh, no, we don't squeal — Dennis assured. — But
what are you going to give us for helping you down?

— Give you? why, thanks, of course; many thanks!

— I think we are entitled to a kiss.

— ^A kiss! one — between you? Would that do?

— Well, if it were a big, long one, it might — Dennis
answered.

— Then kiss each other — she said, to cheat them,
and laughing, ran away, fleet as a hind in the forestf

— ^The two boys looked at one another, and langhed
heartily also.

— She is a daisy — said Abe — I think I will go for my
share; it may only be a slap in the face, though, for little
vixens are flippant — but I should like to tame her though.
4nd picking up the wheel he proceeded on his way home-
ward.

Dennis stood long looking after the two. — It some-
times begins that way, — he chuckled to himself. — Abe
is evidently smitten with her, and a young thing in a short
frock too! Well, well, I declare — and he turned down
the field to resume his interupted work. — It does a fellow
good to see a little flirtation once in a while — and again
he laughed heartily to himself, and the echo repeated the
laugh, and a mocking-bird in the distance, this time a real
one, took up the laugh, and laughed provokingly, and
Dennis muttered to himself — and I am not in it, and she
asked me if my name was always Dennis, and I am blowed
if it ai'nt!

On Abe arriving at the cabin the wheel was soon ad-
justed and fixed to the wagon, and the travellers began to
take their leave, expressing heartfelt thanks for the genu-
ine hospitality they had enjoyed in that bumble home, the
women and girls promising each other at some near future
time to renew the acquanintance, which might almost be
said to unexpectedly have been knitted into firm friend-
ship, not to allude to anything so premature as a love-knot.

During the stir of the leave-taking Abe found an op-
portunity to say to Ann in an undertone — you owe me
still that kiss for helping: you down, when you got up a
tree, I'll come, and fetch it some day, soon,

Ann only gave a little laugh by way of reply, as mUoh
as to say: "Well, I don't object."

Abe stood long gazing after them, watching the
prairie-schooner disappearing in the blue distance of the
Buckthorn valley.

— What are you thinking of, Abe? — asked the step-
mother, when she saw him standing there, af if trans-
fixed.

— Oh, I was only thinking of a little butterfly that I
saw flitting away over the meadow yesterday, when it
nearly had been caught in a spider's web; — it was an op-
portunity lost to the rascally spider.

— ^Why, surely, Abe, — said the mother and looked
searchingly into his eyes; — you are not fretting about that
little butterfly that has just flitted over the prairie? You
are only sixteen, and she only thirteen; for shame!

— That would be old for butterflies, wouldn't it? —
said Abe, laughing and went away, down the hill, to
milk the cow.

CHAPTER III.

Synopsis by Abraham Lincoln:

— . . • and when they had left I could not get her out of
my thoughts J and one day, basking in the sun by our cabi7{j
I worked out quite a little story in my mind, I imagined
I took our horse and followed their track, —

Iiove-sick.

That night Abe went early up to his rude couch in the
cock-loft; he tried to read, but his thoughts wandered
frequently, and he couldn't fix his attention; he was
wounded, <Hhe little giant" felt the pain of love's darting
shaft; — a lionine cub held captive by a child, and led by
a mere ribbon, — he chafed, — laughed at himself, — chided
himself, — spurned the idea, — ^but couldn't keep his
thoughts from her, — a child, that ought to be whipped,
and sent to bed for disobedience in climbing up trees, —
besides, she knew nothing, couldn't possibly know any-
thing, had nothing to recommend her, — nothing but a
pair of pouting, rosy lips, — but they were uncommonly
pretty, he must admit, and her eyes were merry, laughing
eyes, that made one almost believe in perfect mundane
happiness, but her nose, well, he was afraid it was a little
tilted, — most likely it was. — for she was of a saucy

nature, — would have to be tamed like a wild kitten, — a
squirrel, — Lis thoughts began to ramble, then to jumble,
and finally he fell into an uneasy, fitful slumber.

He dreamt that he was a poor reformed negro-boy in
Kentucky, madly in love with his haughty master's
daughter, of wondrous beauty, that she passed by him in
a garden, and dropped her glove for him, her slave, to pick
up, which he did, and kneeling to her as a divinity, kissed
the glove as he returned it to her, that she might know he
loved her. Instantly her numerous white admirers fell
upon him, and were dragging him away to be lynched,
for his presumption in loving her, which they construed
to be an insult, punishable with death. His forehead was
clamming with cold perspiration when he awoke, and he
was glad it was only a dream. He tried to read, but his
thoughts wandered anew, and as it was getting towards
morning, he arose, dressed himself, and went out in the
chilly air of the gray dawn.

He passed by the tree which Ann had climbed, and
sobered by the damp atmosphere he wondered how he for
a moment could have been infatuated with that young
stripling of a girl, — but somehow he looked back at the
tree, and the whole athletic picture of the sportive young
people stood clear to his mental vision, and he could have
kicked himself for looking back, but it is needless to say
that he did not do so, but only hurried his steps onward,
as from a haunted place, but with no particular goal in view.

The small town of Gentryville was lying dull and
nnlighted yet in the dim distance, and the association of
ideas brought to his remembrance how a young friend and
companion of his, some time ago, had suddenly become
demented, without any hope of ever recovering his reason.

and was now oonfined in a little cabin in the outskirts of
the village. He woald go thither, and seated on a tree-
stump near listen to the snatches of plaintive songs the
poor maniac solaced himself with between the intermit-
tent hours of frenzy and troubled sleep. Someone had
touchingly compared it to the fabled warblings of an ex-
piring swan.

The uncanny, chill, and mystic gloaming of the early
morn still wrapt the whole tract of land, when Abe reached
the abode of idiocy; within that log-hut lay a human soul
fettered in the toils and talons of an inhuman foe, lunacy,
as if possessed by an evil spirit, as the Biblical traditions
related of yore; here, indeed, had the human reason run
the length of its tether, and battered wildly at the dark
portal for admission into the unknown, to escape from the
mind's and soul's imprisonment in the black void. And
Abe unconsciously found himself repeating: <<Great, and
just, and merciful God, — and no resources left — no, not
even prayer, — for the poor demented soul cannot even
pray for itself. They say there are griefs so great that
the heart shrivels up and can no longer bleed, and the
cistern of tears drains dry. And all this woe in this world
of ours, ohy I can understand now, young and inexperi-
enced as I am, how Christ wept over the sins and sorrows
of Jerusalem. No resources left, but prayer, and he can-
not even pray for himself. What if I should volunteer
my intercession? But of what avail? In things ppiritual
we must act for ourselves. Oh, how impotent I am, how
poor, not even a tear to offer for my friend beloved."

He listened in vain for any signs of the poor, de-
mented lad, he had heard him croon on several occasions,
and felt deep sympathy for him, but this morn the sun

rose benign and blithe while the maniac still lay steeped
in forgetful sleep, and Abe gradually returned homeward,
taking himself to task fo^* his wayward mood.

The morning air was exhilarating, and he felt his
spirits reviving, and he turned down into the field, and
helped John and Dennis haying. But when dinner-time
came at noon, and he had his lunch, he stole out, round
the corner of the house, and sat in the sun, meditating:
whatever he attempted to do to divert his thoughts, whether
by reading, or walking, or sympathizing, or manual work,
it availed him naught, he could not keep that young girl
out of his mind, and he had to give way to himself, and
confess that he was actually in love at sixteen, — but, then,
he was uncommonly developed, physically and mentally,
for his age, so he thought he would compromise the mat-
ter by allowing to consider himself at least twenty, — the
age most people took him to be, anyhow, on account of
his size and his intelligence.

The effect of this compromise was that he pulled
himself together, and acknowledged himself a young man,
and would now look out for a wife. Ann, to be sure,
was very young, but of course, he wanted a young wife,
— and they married very early in the rural districts, — and
allowing some time for courtship, — the most delightful
time in life, he was fully aware, that would bring her up
to the period of maturity, and respectable age of matri-
mony. She was nearly fourteen now, — two years and a
half more, that would make her fully ripe sixteen, quite
the time — and Abe smiled to himself: — What a scheming
codger you are, Abe! — He rose from the seat by the wall,
where he had been basking in the sunbeams, which, per-
haps, were in a way responsible for having fired his youtli*

f ul amatory imagination. He walked about a little, to
and fro, in the same beaten path, as he were thrashing his
brains for the right thing to do next, but once he had
made up his his mind, the resolve would be put into im-
mediate action.

— Very well, what is the next thing to do? — of course
I must go and see my girl, and have a proper understand-
ing.

He sat down again, and mused long and intently; he
saw it clearly in his mind's eye; the sun the while nearly
blinding him, and dring his blood to nearly fever heat,
bat still he sat there entranced by his own imaginative
thoughts.

He would take the horse, and track the woman and
her daughters to South Creek camp, barely twelve miles
distant, and return betimes in the morning, and no one at
home would know anything about it. He would make a
detour of Gentryville, for this was nobydy's business but
his own, his own private affair, with which the boys, his
political auditors, had nothing to do, — they were all very
well to practice his stump-orations upon, but they must
not be admitted into any confidence, — the sacred secret of
love, — they would only jeer and laugh, — but his mother,
for whom he had never concealed anything, — she who en-
couraged him in all his plans, — but then that little ad-
monition at the departure of the butterfly Ann; it would
be more prudent not to say anything about it just yet,
not at any rate until after the..hm! — the betrothal. —
Now, then, but where is our trysting place to be? At
her father's half-face camp to be sure. — But what if the

girl won't have me? — and he stopped short, — such things
do happen, and I am not a handsome fellow, but large,
and rawboned and brawny, — ^pshaw! she is a mere child, —
and I must train her, — we will be playfellows first, and
lovers afterwards, and finally marry; — that, I have ob-
served, have been the course elder ones have followed, —
I must always profit by the experience of others, else
what would be the use of studying, one way or another,
from actual life, and from books. — Old boss, — he said,
on coming into the field to halter his favorite, — if you
knew where you and I are going to-day, still you wouldn't
tell, would you? — and he petted its neck, and the horse
clipped its ears, as much as to say: — Hallo! Whaf s up?
Are we Efoing to have a jolly long run? I like that. —
Ah, my sweethart, — said Abe coaxingly, and put his face
to the side of the horse's head, as they do that love tha
dear, sensible and patient creatures, — I guess we are go-
ing to have a bit of adventure together, or what think you,
Pegasus? This is my first trip on such an errand; we
shall overtake them ere, maybe, they shift camp; — mind
you. Bill; — ^yours are the only ears into which I confide
my secret, I must perforce, for you will have to carry me
there, and you may have to take us both for a ride:-"—
would't that be jolly? — in full stretch over the prairie, —
fiy by night, — on love's wings — hal ha! my pretty one; —
now, then, off we start; — but we will take the trail on the
other side of the hill, and I'll wave my hand as we pass
Gentryville in the distance, for the boys there ar'nt in it
this time with me, — and you will be my trusty friend, all
the time, won't you. Bill, dear boy? — And the horse and
the boy understood each other, — of course they did, —
they always do, — when love, not tyranny, holds the reins.

And off the two started at a gay trot on Abe's first trip
a courting.

Abe knew the location of the South Creek camp,
although a long way further to the north-west. It was a
long strotch before him, and gave him ample time for re-
flection, to which he was habitually given. He read much,
pondered over each salient point separately, and, so to
say, labelled it, and put it away in the allotted pidgeon-
bole of his memory, which was the only way in the desultory
manner of his reading, which the untoward circumstances
forced him into, of systemathically arranging a rich store-
house of knowledge, from which to draw as occasion de-
manded. And in the same manner he treated the daily
occurrances that seemed to be of any moment, in he
crammed any little incident into some crevice of the
Bhelves, to be utilized at some future occasion as an illus-
trative anecdote.

We have observed before that Abe was not much of
a flirt, — few boys are at his age, — but that he was looked
upon by everyone as much older than he really was, so
that he thus really began looking upon himself as of age,
and it therefore never occurred to him that he was rash,
or premature, in setting out on an errand of love-making;
he felt himself quite a young man, and a knowing one at
that. He only chuckled to himself, now and then, as if
he were having a joke with himself, on his ride, which
soon took the nature of a slow trot, leaving old Bill to
carry his master onward at his own equine mood and dis-
cretion, and Abe fell a-musing upon quite different
things.

He had read how one teacher assured that were there
is a will there is a way, and by that way self-made men

proved the truth of that axiom, — and that character was
the basis on which one's fate in life depended; — but an-
other sage of great repute maintained that no one really
was the maker of his 'own future, but that everything de-
pended upon circumstances or opportunities, — which was
but another name for the dispensation of providence. It
was almost impossibe to say which of the two were right.
Abe, of course, inclined to believe in self-made men, and
that opportunities would present themselves, but here,
now, he had come to a place on the prairie where the trail
divided, the one diverging slightly to the left, and the
other a little to the right* Abe stopped the horse, and
considered for a moment, — perhaps in this, as in matters
philosophical, which just then were uppermost in his
thoughts, it would be best to take a middle course— strike
out a new path for himself, — keeping both the slightly dL
verging lines in sight, and almost in contact. But after'
he had ridden for some little time on the new bee-line he
was laying out for himself, and to which old Bill seemed
certainly to object, he decided for the left course, — as the
South Creek camp is in a north-westerly direction, and he
couldn't be much out of his bearing in following that, —
and he smiled to himself quite satisfied that if a man
chose the strenous self-conducted life, it wouldn't prevent
providence from now and then throwing in a toward
circumstance, which one might improve to a brilliant op-
portunity.

What old Bill mused on might be inferred later on when
we observe how contentedly he followed the well-beaten
path. He went by his own instinct, or common horse-
sense, and Abe was equally content for a while to allow
Bill to trot on at his own individual pleasure.

Now and then Abe awoke from his reverie, and urged
Bill on by telling him that in this manner they wouldn't
get there before nightfall, and that would be too late for a
decent suitor to come on his first visit, and Bill began im-
mediately to show some more decided interest in the trip
they had undertaken. In this manner the man and the
brute interchanged their friendly companionable feelings
having a perfect understanding between each other, al-
though they did hot express themselves by they same
means of utterance. But harmony, at any rate, existed
betwixt their mutual communications. Love is as potent
a power between man and brute, as between man and man,
or rather as between man and women, for, like the latter,
man and domestic animals are much given to caress one
another.

Abe may be said to have had a premonition as he rode
across the prairie and wooded hillocks, how he at some
future time would like to survey all this land in a proper
manner, — measure it, if only with a primitive grape-vine
furlong, and divide it into townships and farming lots.
What a splendid view the endless vista presented, inviting
man from all the oppressed countries in Europe, to come
here, and take possession for a mere old song of the
boundless, undulating tracts, which seemed to smile at the
prospect of cultivation, and the habitation by civilized
man. The Indians had already retreated westward, and
here the opportunity lay waiting for the countless hords
of homeless, downtrodden denizens of the old world.

Abe felt grateful, and almost proud, at heart, that he
was one of the pioneers of civilization in the trackless
land spread out before him, where the water-courses as yet
were the only highroads of communication. He held in

his reins, doffed his hat, and seated on horseback though
he was, he poured out a fervent prayer of gratitude to the
generous maker of all this abundant country, and the sun,
which was just beginning to set, suffused the land with a
golden and roseate shimmer, as if indicative of the wealth
and love which there lay latent waiting for the immigrants
to be therewith blessed, — and he sang aloud to himself,
and all surrounding, listening nature, — and his equine
friend pricked its ears in token thereof, — sang with
his deep, sonorous voice, from the fullness of his heart, a
hymn, which his own mother had taught him while he
was a mere child, nestling at her knees.

It spoke of God's love to man, as revealed by all
nature, and he felt as if the angelic spirit of his mother
had moved by his side in the still evening, and smilingly
approved of this trip to confide to so young and innocent
a heart the holy secret of his first love, — ^the slumbering,
heaven-born spark, — the gift of every mortal, the first
kindling of the sacred fire, which was confided to every
vigorous, manly youth, and virgin, pure and innocent as
a vestal.

There among that cluster of trees curled the smoke of
a camp-fire; he had arrived at his goal somewhat sooner
than his slow pace had allowed him to anticipate, — and he
held in his reins once more, and his heart beat almost
audibly, — how would he broach the subject, — he smiled,
the only way for a shy, bucolic swain would be to say
nothing at all about it, but just wait, and chance or op-
portunity, would present itself. After that decision he
alighted with a light heart, tied his horse to a tree, and
did not forget to pat its neck, and whiaper confidentially:
— Now, then, here we are! 1 feel not a little queer about

it, — I wish, old friend, you could help me out of it. And
the horse gave a slight neigh, as much as to say: — ^We'll
gee about it.

Abe felt strange at heart, and almost a little shaky
on his legs, but the neighing of the horse, — which simple
counlry-folks always construed as a special greeting of
welcome, — had attracted attention in the little half-face
camp, — the die was cast, — there was nothing but to pro-
ceed on love's foolish errand.

CHAPTER IV.

Synopsis by Abraham Lincoln:

^-and succeeded in finding them at last^ and they tcer^^
all surprised to see me so soon agoin. I found an oppor^*-
tunity of talking with the girl alone.

J^ni^ht-errantry.

— There's a man on horseback just arrived at the
camp, — said the father, — who can that be? — There ar'nt
many men about here, and I almost know them all by this
time, — but I don't seem to be able to place this one. He
is coming up the path just now.

— A stranger, — said the mother, in whom we recog-
nize our traveling lady-friend. — Perhaps a man seeking
work,

— Oh, no, he wouldn't come on horseback.

— A visitor, at any rate; he's just in time for supper,
— remarked the wife.

— Not know him! Why, mother, 'tis Abe, I'm sure!
— ejaculated Ann, with love's quick instinct.

—Abe? What Abe? Who is he?— asked the father.

— Why, Abe, you know, — and the little vixen colored
slightly while she added: — Don't you know, Abe, that

got onr wagon mended when it broke down, and where
we stopped over night? Why, I am so glad, — and she
flew to meet him. — Why, how are you, Abe? — and she
took hold of both his hands, for one wasn't sufficient in
the exuberance of her heart, — we might almost have said
follyy for it beat already a little responsive to his own
anxious palpitation.

— ^Why, Master Abraham, who would have thought
to have seen you so soon? — exclaimed the mother. — I am
so pleased to meet you, however. How are all the folks
at home? I hope nothing ill has happened.

— Thank you, they are quite well, all; — he felt the
words almost choking him, simple though they were.

— This is my husband. Master Abraham; we can't
sufficiently thank you for all your kindness and trouble;
the wheel is splendid.

—I am very glad to meet you, young man, and thank
you heartily for your kind attention to my wife and
children. You see, our cabin is scarcely ready yet, so J
coudn't send for my folks much earlier, and if the weather
remains fine, which I think it will, we'll all sleep in the
camp-tents yet for a couple of nights, or so.

— But where is May? Ann, run and call your sister!
—ordered the mother. — She is tending the little pigs and
chickens, mother, — she'll be here immediately, — replied
young Ann, for she did not feel inclined to leave Abe,
her playmate in the equilibristio jump from the tree, just
the moment he had arrived: and when her mother gave her
a look, as much as to say: — I expect you to obey me, —
Ann, who rightly interpreted the glance, pouted her lips
with : — she'll be here in a moment, mother. There she
comes; I told you so.

The supper spread on the ground, in front of the
principal tent, and consisting chiefly of vegetables, such
as corn-cobs, mush, sloe, and potatoes, Irish and sweet,
— being over, the father took the young visitor for a stroll
to show him in the still dim light the environs, and the
fine prospect that lay before them. Abe knew something
already about the neighborhood for his paternal uncle
Mordecai had lived for some time at a settlement some
few miles further away; and he harbored some slight in-
tention of looking him up while out on this little trip.
The settler found Abe a very pleasant young man, — a
little reserved and guarded in his conversation, he thought,
but that would wear off on better acquaintance. The fact
was Abe couldu't help feeling a little sheepish at first,
conscious of the secret errand that had brought him there,
and in the innermost recesses of his mind he was hatching
a deep, dark, hazardous and adventurous plan, which as
yet he scarcely dared to admit to himself, — but when the
fatal passion once had taken possession of him he gave
himself totally up to its fascinating allurements.

Who should have thought it? Abe, the just, the
noble-minded, the tender-hearted, was actually plotting in
his mind, -I can scarcely write it down, and would not
do so, if he had not recorded it himself, — yes, Abe was
planning to — elope with Ann.

And here he was walking with the father, chatting
amicably, — and his mind all the time intent upon the sin-
ister deed, and Abe was not at all romantic, but of a joc-
ular turn of mind, when not concentrated upon some great
patriotic or philantropic themes; — but then, after all, he
was only a premature boy of sixteen, and when the fatal
master-passion once had taken hold of him, it did so so

completely, that he almost writhed in agony under its firm
grip. He had been playing with the sacred fire until a
conflagration threatened to consume him.

He did not know how soon to get rid of the father,
and confer with his young lady-love. That she loved him,
in her own childish, inexperienced, and impulsive way, he
felt sure; a meeting glance of their eyes had told him that,
a responsive wave of yearning love had met and inter-
changed and intermingled, "such as soul to soul afford-
elh. " The plain truth was that Abe was madly in love,
experiencing the first delirium of that intoxicant, and
nothing less than possession, he thought, would satisfy
him, that is possession of the certainty that she would be
his for "life. Strong natures suffer invariably more agony
when the fierce flame has taken hold of them. With them
it seems a case of life and death, while weaker natures
content themselves with a lukewarm feeling.

The long expected opportunity occurred, — when the
moon, — aye the lovers' friend, — rose .over the horizon,
and invited to a charming stroll along the banks of the
little streamlet, that meandered among the knolls and
meadows, — a kind of silver streak to follow in the laby-
rinth of the glamorous monlight patches, and fantastic
shadows of the trees, whimsical streaks of scintillating
aquatic silver, which, with the gentle rustle of the leaves,
seemed as if they were the suppressed laughter, and soft
whisperings- of the elfin world, invisible, but ever present,
enticing the youthful lovers to follow its erratic course, —
a water-sprite will-o'-the-wisp that wouldn't stay its on-
ward course until it reached the haven of all restless souls,
— the boundless ocean, — the image of eternity.

The father of his own inclination soon retired into

his tent to rest after a day of incessant toil, bat the
mother, who was yet, though unconsciously, susceptive to
the poetry of sylvan life, herself proposed that she with
her children should take a n)oonlight walk, if Master Abra-
ham did not object, and was not too tired after his long
ride on horseback.

Of course Abe scorned the idea of being tired, so off
the four started along the rippling creek, the two girls in
advance, and Abe with the mother sedately behind, carry-
ing on a languid converse about the farm products of the
settlement, though the woman inwardly really reflected
more upon the beauty of the landscape, which also pos-
sessed the double interest of being new to her, and destined
to contain her rural, future home, while Abe was impati-
ently beating his brains between the brief, polite rejoin-
ders, how he could get rid of the old dame, and snatch an
interview with merry, little Ann.

At last a chance presented itself, for Ann ran away
ahead, turning her head back and speaking as she ran, tell-
ing the others that she would just run on a little bit to
find where there was that ford to the other bank of the
stream, which she had seen the day before in the distance,
for the other side, she was sure, was much prettier. Away
she darted, and the mother exclaimed: — Dear me, that
girl will be death of me! She never hesitates, or asks
leave, but runs madly on. The ford is sure to be a
dangerous place.

No sooner had the anxious words passed the maternal
lips, before Abe, — like an arrow, shot after one that is
lost, that it may indicate the whereabout of the other one,
— also disappeared in the same direction. — I'll overtake

51 >

her, and see she gets into no miscbief, — ^he called out,
running on.

When Abe reached the ford, Ann was already merrily
skipping over the large stepping stones that had been
placed there to facilitate getting across, and it was only
his long legs, and firm determination, that made him over-
take her, while she stood laughing at him on the very
central stone, the water coursing rapidly between all the
displacing obstacles. And Abe was not slow to profit by
the golden opportunity, but jumped agile on to the place,
and boldly clasped her in his arms, and — kissed her? No,
he didn't, he had too much self-respect for that, — he only
held her firmly, preventing her from wriggling into the
stream*

— ^Now, yon little elfin, I have caught you at lastl

— Oh, you wouldn't take advantage of me just now, —
to make me give you what I— owe you. If you do, I'll
scream I

— ^Don't be silly, I don't want you to give it to me
until you do so of your own ' free will. But I want
to talk to you for a moment before the others come up. —
Listen, Ann, it is for your sake I have come here, and I
have been watching this chance of speaking to you. —
Ann, my darling girl, I love you with my whole soul.
Will you be my wife?

— Here, this instant? — she jested with a merry laugh
in her eye.

— ^Well, I want your promise now.

— ^I dare not!

—Is that all?

— ^I might, but I dare not, I am too young.

—Yes, I know, to marry, — but not to promise; besides,

you need not be afraid, — ^we'll keep the secret to our-
selves. Your mother and May will be here in an instant;
— ^will you promise?

— ^No, no!

— I am too ugly?

— ^No, no!

— What is your reason, then?

— ^I have no reason; I only feel I mustn't.

— ^Now you spoke like a true little woman. Feeling,
not reason guides a female heart. Shall I see you again
alone?

— Yes, yes!

—When?

— ^When I have grown up.

— Oh, I can't wait,

— To morrow — week.

— Nonsense; I can't stay!

— Let me go!

— I shan't until you tell me when I may speak to you
without any witnesses.— Ann, my love, — I mean busi-
ness, that is I mean to marry you, later on, when you
yourself fix the time.

— If you don't let me go I'll jump into the stream.

— No, you little vixen, you shan't, while these strong
arms hold you. I suppose you expect me to say that then
I would jump into the water too, but I am too sensible,
Ann, no nonsense about me. — When I say I want you to
be my wife, I mean so.

— My feet are getting wet.

— Will you answer yes or no, or I'll duck you like a
witch, — that one would almost take you to be, — for you
have bewitched me, anyhow. I will take no refusal, —

for here the others come,- -prepare yourself to meet me
late to-night: I'll saddle my horse, and take you for a ride
over the prairie.

— A ride! That will be nice; — you needn't duck me,
m come. Now I would give you a kiss for promising me a
ride, but I daren't just now, for there's mother and May
coming along the bank on the other side.

— But where shall I meet you?

— I'll sneak down to the pig -sty.

— Sneak, Ann?

— Yes, of course; — you wouldn't have me dance down
the path, would you?

— But why the pig-sty, darling?

— Because nobody would think of looking for us
there.

— ^No, I hope not. What a child you are, and how
cute!

— ^Whatever are you young folks doing so long stand-
ing in the middle of the stream? — asked May from the
other side.

— Why, contemplating the beautiful moonshine pros-
pect before us, to be sure, — Abe droUy replied with a merry
twinkle in his eye, for now he began to feel a little more
at ease,— and pretty sure of his quarry.

It was quite a sight to see Abe helping Ann back
over the slippery stepping stones, she pretending to need
his assistance, and mimicking the manners of some grand
dame she might have seen in some pictures, — but on com-
ing to the last stone, jumping unaided ashore, and runn-
ing up the somewhat steep bank laughing merrily.

— And so you thought you caught me this time, — but
you didn't!

Abe felt nneasy for a moment, — whether she meant to
break her promise, and, worst of all, tell of his proposal,
and their intended nocturnal ride, and he felt qualms of
Gonscienoe too, as well he might, for he still recollected
his mothers words — and you only sixteen, and she only
thirteen! For shame!

They returned by another route through the wood,
following an old Indian trail, and May more than once
startled and gave a slight cry, when some unwonted sound
struck her ear; — but they were of wild fowl, or animals,
and the abrupt shades of huge stems in the bright moon-
light involuntarily caused her to shudder, for she was of
a more romantic and sensitive trend than her younger
sister, and she could not help picturing to herself the
possibility of suddenly encountering some stray Irroquois
or Black-Hawk Indian, who might still linger in his old
haunts, — ^but the redskins had departed, forced westward
by civilization, only leaving throughout the country an
impress of their aboriginal rights, as in this very name of
Indiana, and in the names that still cling to a thousand
and one places, investing them all with the atmosphere
of Indian warlike romance, — of times happily passed
away.

CHAI>TER V.

Synopsis by Ahrdham lAncoln:

— . . • and persv^ading her to dope with me that very
nighty I did so y — and put her on the horse behind mey and
Sizt out over the prairie . When we had ridden a consider-
<Mble timey we came to a campy and found it was the one we
^lad started from; however we entered*

Blopement ar)d -^rjirrjal Irjstirjct.

When they arrived at their little half-face camp, the
mother seated herself on a bowlder under a tree; and her
two daughters nestled up to her, while Abe stood in front,
of them expecting to say good night, and retire. He had
told them that he intended to be up, and, perhaps, away,
early in the morning, to look up his uncle Mordecai, but
that he might call again oq his return home.

The mother folded her hands in prayer, and the
children knelt on each side of her, with upturned faces,
the moon shining bright upon the beautiful group, cano-
pied by two outstretched limbs of the tree; from which
the foliage hung in ample festoons, as if a Hama-dryad
were rendering a sylvan benediction ; it was a picture which
would have gladdened the eye of any artist, of a religeous
bent of mind, whether a painter or a sculptor, but which

made Abe feel abashed of himself for a moment; yet, he
nerved himself by reasoning, — Bah! She will get over it,
we will return penitent, be forgiven, and all will be well,
— and the girl will aye remain mine! — But when the
mother began pouring out a fervent prayer of gratitude
for the recent reunion of the family, and imploring kind
providence still to bless and protect them, Abe's heart
winced as if under the lashes of a scourge, and he had
well nigh given up his secret purpose, which now appeared
to him almost in the light of sacrilege, if the neighing of
his horse had not for the moment attracted his attention,
and made him remember the silent compact between him-
self and his equine friend, that the latter should carry him
out of all danger consequent upon his daring love-escapade.
A semi-religeous hush followed upon the mothers heart-
felt outpourings, during which Abe held his breath as if
fearing to mar the sanctified moment, and in so doing, he
thought he listened to the awful silence of the woodlands,
whis is more felt than oterwise perceived, and all surround-
ing nature seemed to reveal to him thejeskmingweltamertZf
the impressions of life and sufferings and death, — when
suddenly the joyous strains of a mocking-bird rung through
the copse, and thrilled Abe's susceptive heart with the re-
sponsive throb of amorous feeling, and faintly suggested
to him that he also must soon be on the wing, and seek a
sylvan home, or nest, for himself and his young mate.

Their silence was broken by the mother kissing her
children tenderly and bidding them good night. Then she
rose, and the girls retired to their own little tent, close to
that of their parents. The wife lifted the canvass curtain,
and entered into her own and husband's dormitory, once
more turning round with a sweet *'god night" to Abe,

^lo kept at a short respectful distance before repairing to
^ small shed a few steps aside, where the two farm-laborers
already were breathing heavily, steeped in deep sleep after
"^leir day of toil.

Abe approached with hesitating steps the sleeping-place

^signed to him, once more revolving in his mind his re-

P'*ehensible intent, — when the neighing of his horse again

^^Hed to him from afar, as if to remind his master that he

^^8 awake, and impatiently waiting, — and the love-esca-

^^de which he had first conceived in the boyish spirit of a

^^lly lark, — a true American daring adventure, in which

l>e times abounded, — had now gradually fashioned itself

^to a bold reality, — an oppertunity which he had himself

-Teated, and which he now must seise by the forelock of

^Tie time. His heart and pulse beat double quick time,

^nd urged him frantically on. — He turned on his heel, —

victorious temptation veered him round, and he stood long

as if transfixed to the spot, while tumultous passion raged

within; it was the rebellion of his youthful, hot blood

scaling the ramparts of his cool reason, which he had

thought, and flattered himself, were so well fortided by

strict morality; — a cowardly hoistening of the white flag,

•—virtue capitulating, — when the anarchistic red blood

rushed madly onward to the siege. Love's first triumphant

war-cry made him dizzy, — and he acted as one that has

been hypnotized by the mischievous little love-god, as all

do when under his fatal influence, and he obeyed all his

insidious and imperative suggestions.

First he bent on one knee close to the side of the tent
where the girls slept, — and there he listened, again with
suspended breath, — their suppressed talk had ceased, —
they were evidently asleep, — but presently a slight cough

was heard, — some one was likely awake. Was it a signal?
Another cough. Quite awake, he was sure. Was it Ann?
Most likely. But how was he to ascertain? He put his
head close to the canvass to listen, A hand on the inside
felt all over his face, and grabbed hold of his big nose.

— Oh, darling, don't!

A suppressed titter only responded.

— Is that you? — he softly whispered.

—Hush!

— Are you coming?

— ^At the pig-sty, I told you, — she cautiously replied.

— I'll wait for you.

—Be off!

— But are you sure to come? Now's the time.

— Don't wake anybody, and I'll come!

— Come, my love!

—Hush!

Abe retreated with slow and wary steps, partly afraid,
and partly emboldened by the success so far of his ad-
venture; — but the pig-sty, — what a trysting-place, —
enough to mar the charm of it all, and daunt the spirit of
a more romantic lover than Abe was; he always hugely
enjoyed the ludicrous, and this was droll in the extreme,
so much so, that he actually laughed to himself at the
situation, although he was much agitated. The waiting
in the shadow of the contemned pig-sty seemed an etern-
ity to him, and when the frolicsome and winsome girl at
last came down the path, carrying her shoes in her hand,
— barely decently dressed, he began rating her for keep-
ing him waiting there two hours.

— Why^ AbCj I haven't been ten minutes, — I had to
dress so very cautiously^— indeed, I have been putting on

me of my things coming along, for I daren't stop to do
all in the tent, for fear May might awake.

— Well, my darling, come along now, the horse is
Siting down by the pond.

And the two began running along the bridle-path,
-first love's mad career in the alluring moonlit night.

— You will take me for a ride? How far? — she
ked.

— As far as you like, my little love.

— How soon will we be back? Before sun-up?

— Ob, some time— soon.

— And father won't whip me?

—Oh, no!

— And mother won't scold me?

I guess not; they might only shake their heads a little,
id say that the young people nowadays are more bold,
d considerably more forward than what they used to be
ben they were young. Here's the horse. I must get
► first, myself, and then help you up behind me.

— I can get up myself, from this big tree-stump. —
11 used to riding. — Now clasp me tight around the waist,
d hold to me firm, and away we go! — he said.

— Oh! this is fine; — I haven't had a ride for ever so
Qg. Father's horses are never at liberty. But I will,
ough, sometime in the fall.

As they rode out over the prairie, Abe looked up at
e sky, and he thought for a moment that the moon looked
;hast at seeing the yougsters setting out on their jaunt,
it Abe only smiled inwardly to himself, and muttered
ilf aloud: — All right, old man in the moon — we are just
ily having a bit of a lark; — we will return some time,

kiss, and make up with the old folks, and all will go as
meriyly as a marriage bell.

—What are you saying?— queried Ann,— who is go-
ing to have marriage-bells?

— Why you and I, of course, in a sense.

— How jolly; — you never told me that.

— Did I not? But its quite natural, isn't it?

— Well, I suppose it is, since I don't know anybody
else, — I mean any other boy that I might like as well.

— Cling to me fast, or you will fall off the horse.

She obeyed him instantly. — 1 feel your heart beat,
Abe, what a big heart you have got,

— Dont you think there is room in it for you?

— Oh, yes, indeed; — and you'll be good to me?

— I'll bo as good to you as your mother; I oan't
promise anything better than that.

— But, dear me, what will mother say?

— Why, — bless you, my children, — she'll say.

— But where are we going, Abe? Ain't you going to
turn soon?

— Not for some time yet; — I thought we might give
uncle Mordecay a call, and you might stay with him for a
little.

—A little? Why? For how long?

— Why, for some weeks, or a couple of years.

— Why, are you mad, Abe? You ain't carrying me
off, are you?

— No, my darling, we're only eloping together, real
high fashion, you know.

— If you don't let me off, Abe, I'll scream!

— What is the use of screaming out on the prairie?
There isn't a soul near for miles round.

— Well, Abe, I never thought you were such a villain!

— I would never have dreamt it, myself, my dear,
little love, — but the fact is passion makes us desperate,
and sure enough we are off together to be man and wife
after some little time.

— You spoke of two years; do you call that a little
time? I suppose you will keep me a prisoner in your
wigwam until that time.

— I am uo Indian, Ann, but lam rig^t glad you think
that time long, since it sliowt^ you care a little for me.

— Well, I suppose 1 must be your prisoner, then,*
since you won't let me off.

— No, Ann, it is you who haye captivated me; — 1
won't be your slave, for I hate slavery, but we will just
jog on life's merry jaunt together. Here now goes for a
trot, — and off the sped at double-quick time ovei" the
prairie.

— But, surely, Abe, — she said after they had been
riding again in silence for a consideriible time, and hugg-
ing him still more closely, — youMl turn now, won't you?
The moon has gone down, it's very dark, and 1 am gett-
ing frightened.

— And I am getting hungry, for I couldn't eat much
at supper with that load on ray conscience.

—What load, Abe?

— Why, our elopement, to be sure. But the worst U
it is gettinfif so dark, that I don't know my bearings, an J
I can't see the track.

Said she, after a slight pause: — Why don't you loose
the rein, and let the horse find his own way; he's sure to
follow the trail.

— ^A very good suggestion, my little wife; don't you

see, now, how necessary it is that man and wife should
stick together, and give one another good advice?

— I really think you would make me a very good
husband, Abe, — she Eaid, and squeezed him still a little
tighter. — What a pity we have to wait so long!

— Two years and a half, at least, it seems an etern-
ity to me.

— Does it, Abe? I am so glad it does; it shows you
must love me very much.

Abe did not reply, but raised her right hand, and
bending low, kissed it.

— Oh, Abe, 1 love you ever so much; I'll follow yoa
anywhere!

— What was that? — asked Ann after a time, as su
shooting star attracted her eye.

— An angel darting through the air to guide us on
our path; — love's radiant messenger from above.

— Oh, how beautifully you speak, Abe; you ought to
have been a preacher,

— No, I wouldn't make a good one; I can't speak by
rules laid down for me; I am too independent; I have my
own way of talking people down.

— Yes, I heard that the people of Gentryville like
very mut^h to hear you talk, Abe.

— Not more than I like to talk, myself. Somehow I
must have got the gift of the gab, — little one, — and I see
things either in a droll way, — in a ludicrous aspect, — or
else I am aflame within, and feel myself towering over all
others to such a tremendous height that I could topple
over, and crush them all, — but I never fall, somehow I
always keep my balance, and after I have talked them over
to my views I always come out victorious.

— And that's how you have talked me over too; you
lay perhaps think it funny what came to my mind just
3w : that I shall always look up to you as a tower of
rength, and regard myself as the ivy clinging to it, —
aoth Ann from her copy-book.

— See! — Abe replied, — we are getting on famously
)gether, — you are catching my spirit, and the lovely,
ttle tendril may adorn the knotty stem.

— But, I say, Abe, — almost whispered the captive
;aiden, — that clump of tree is awfully like the copse at
i>me; at least as far I can see in the dark.

— And I think I can see some tents under the trees,
lat really looks ...

— Surely, Abe, the horse must have followed the trail
lat lead us back.

— I guess he has; — oh, you old rascal, — continued
be, patting the horse's neck. — ^Well, perhaps it is just as
ell, as we hadn't brought anything with us. Here I'll
t you down. Now, give me that kiss you have owed
e so long; I couldn't take it while we were riding, for
len, you know, you would have turned my head entirely,
ow steal quietly into your tent, — and say nothing of our
Iventure to anyone. I'll stay over to morrow, and we'll
ian it better next time. Good night, my own little dar-
ng!

— No, no kiss just yet, Abe, next time! — and away
le darted up the hill, and disappeared among the brush-
ood, taking a near cut to the tent.

— Well, well, so the girl has fooled you after all; —
le ruce of a women, — however young, — ^will surpass the
snse of a man any day, and when allied with the instinct
F an animal, — the two are sure to carry the day, but I

won't be fooled a second time. To-morrow night I'
have it planned all right. Dear me, I am qaite tired,-

he said, and stretched oat his huge, long limbs, — I sat so
stiff in the saddle, I coaldnU move for that tight embrace
of hers; — love-making is rather hard work on horse-bacls^,
I find, — and he yawned, — actually yawned hugely, as if
quite untouched by love's irritating barb. — He tied up
his horse, patted it once more on the neck, grimly smiling
to himself, — You rascal, you, you were in league with the
girl; I thought it was me you were to help. — So-o-o-o
I-i-i-i de-e-e-d, — neighed the horse. Then Abe quietly
went up to the laborer's shed to sleep, and dream of
his first love-adventure, that had terminated so in-
gloriously in the dark to him, he thought.

CHAPTER VI.

Synopsis by Abraham lAiicoln:

— . . • That very night we sat out again on our jaunty
^t the exact thing happened over again^ for the horse re-
amed to the identical camp^ and then we drew the inference
^t it was not meant we should elope. I remained with
lew* until herfajther gave his consent to our union.

liecorjd Elopemerjt and CoiT)rr)or)

J^orse-Ber)§e,

The next morniDg when they were all having break-
»8t one of the hired men said: — You was late turning in
'8t night, or, rather, early this momiug, Master Abra-
im, for the rooster crowed shortly afterwards.

— ^Yes, I had a run over the prairie; it was such a
Vely night; I sometimes take a fancy like that.

Ann who was serving at table, and had a dish with
earning, hot cakes in her hand, held her breath, and
oked askance over her shoulder at Abe.

He met her glance, but managed to maintain an ex.
ression of perfect indifference, and neither betrayed by the
ightest movement of any facial muscle the mntal secret
: their nocturnal escapade.

Kor had sister May in her sleep observed that Aiui'9

plaoe by her side had been vacant the greater part of the
nighti for happy youth aye sleeps heavily and peacefully.

Abe helped the farmer during the day in splitting
rails for a rustic fence, and the latter expressed his ad-
miration of the great dexterity his young friend displayed
in handling the axe for that purpose. Abe only smiled,
and made one of his droll remarks that: — :8plitting them
was quite a quick and easy thing compared with the slow
and laborious way of making them grow, and the very
opposite of uniting, but that by uniting what once had
been split, one was enabled to fence in quite a large field
for one's own future crop. — Of course the farmer bad not
the faintest idea of the sly political allusion, but it worked
all the same with the would-be future politician and pres-
ent rail-splitter.

In the afternoon the girls and Abe went blackberry-
ing. When in the act of gathering fruit from the same
bush the young lovers found an opportunity of exchang-
ing a few words with regard to their pending second
venture the next night.

Ann, my daisy, you'll meet me to-night at the same ^
try sting-place?

— Behind the pig-sty, I know; nasty smell, — she-^
added with a roguish smile.

— But you won't let me wait long?

— ^You will just have to bide there till I cangetaway_
'Tis no easy thing, I tell you.

— What are you two whispering about? — ^May pat in
from behind the next shrub; as she was the elder sister,
she of course considered herself a kind of guardian angel,
and with the strict morality obtaining in the semi-puritan
family she would not allow the slightest suspicion of a

flirtation to take plaoe« Whether she would have been
as strict with regard to herself we leave to be inferred
from the reader's knowledge of human nature in general.

— Whispering? — Do you want to know? — Very badly?
teazed Ann.

— Some of your pranks, I suppose, — retorted the
custodian.

— We're only planning to give you all a little sur-
prise.

Abe looked up at the girl in blank astonishment.
What was she about?

—What is it?

— Wait and see!

May looked at her with her large, soft eyes, — scrutin-
izing the little vixen, but the latter merely pouted her
X ips, and with a toss of her head seemed only to tilt her
Xiose a little more in defiance.

Abe felt deeply interested in the contents of his
^basket, sorting out those berries that seemed to be over-
ripe, but he chucked out a few more than was really nec-
essary, to prolong his posture of bending low, to hide his
conscious blush, which might have fed the sister's sus-
picion.

— Well, [ suppose we shall know in time; — ^your
pranks, or larks, are always premature, anyhow. But
master Abraham is your confidant, he, perhaps, will
tell me?

— Oh, I never betray a trust, — Abe replied politely.

After a slight, painful pause May asked sophistically:
— Then you wouldn't repeat anything I would tell you in
confidence?

— certainly not! — replied he.

— ^Very well, then, I think you two are a conple of
good-for-nothings, that won't let me into your seoret. Ton
are well mated yon two. — There was a slight suspicion of
tears in her voioe,

— Ah, well, yon know, Miss May, that two is comp-
any, and three is none. But I shall keep my word, and not
betray your confidential communication that we, — Ann and
I — ^are well mated, so you don't betray the secret
yourself.

— Well, I'm sure, a hoyden and an over-grown hoy,
what a pair you would make!

— Stop now, there, Ann, I'm sure, is no hoyden, only
she happens to look at things in a merry mood, — as all
young girls ought to, — and as for myself, — I am already
a man, for, your see, I am really so huge and take such
big strides, that I have outsripped my own age, and am
thus in advance of time.

— Ha! ha! ha! Well, you are the drollest fellow I
ever met, so I want be cross with you long. You go on -
whispering; 'tis only silly things at the best; I shan't -
listen.

— No, don't. May, for they never hear any good of^
themselves that listen, — retorted Ann with quite an air^
of superior wisdom about her.

The badinage happily dwindled away, as they all—
wended their way homeward, where a substantial even —
ing meal awaited them, prepaired in their absence by th^
hands that never tires, — a loving mother's.

The day waned, and at last moonlit night came, —
love's priviledged period, — when they two again would '
start on their erratic journey. They experienced much less
compunction about their undertaking this time, for after

lieir trial-trip they felt already quite inared to the idea of
tt elopement, as if their young, unsophisticated hearts
ideed had been hardened to the effect their flight might
ave upon their families. And yet what heart could have
een softer, or more noble than Abe's, when not under
16 baneful influence of an unbridled passion, — and as for
nn, the little thoughtless hoyden, who would not for-
ve her, after flrst, however, having administered to her
g;ood, sound, wholesome, old-fashioned whipping, and
en sent her to bed to heal her wounds of heart and other
Qsitive extremities.

But the die was cast; they must, perforce, give them-
Lves up to love's frolicsome injunctions.

It was a cold night, and the moon veiled her beauty
casionally with the lace of flimsy clouds, as if ooquett-
g with the powers of darkness that seemed to be domi-
»nt that hour, — or, perhaps, it was with gallant, distant
ars, whose star was in the ascendant, — ^but, at any rate,
ir smiles were fitful, — like the gusts of wind that at
nes stirred the long grass and luxuriant foliage, like
ent trumpet blasts bidding nature to prepare for a war
Lth the elements.

But the young lovers observed it not, or if they had
me so, would not have heeded it, for their hearts were
;low,and they saw only visions of a pastoral, happy future,
iiere radiant love tinged everything with it's roseate
lor, — and youth eterne seemed to reign for ever, — ^for
experienced boys and girls in their teens see no further
an their noses. *'A lame and impotent conclusion,"
it quite the pessimistic truth for all that.

— Hist! Are you there? — whispered Ann when she
id arrived at their trysting-place.

— Yes, love.

— I have brought a bundle.

— Good. We'll strap it to the horse. Now my ow ^
little girl, — said Abe, holding her in his huge embrac^^
— with this kiss on your brow I promise you to treat yo "■
like a little lady, although you may have to work, an ^
keep ray <* wigwam" tidy.

The moon did not put in an appearance when they
mounted the horse, and Abe thought that the man in the
moon might have showed his face, to countenance their
love, and wink at their elopement. But no; it was dari:
above this time.

Abe had resolved to take another route to Uncle
Mordecai's this time, and so that Bill might not be in-
duced to play off any more of his friendly tricks on his
young master; — but the sky appeared like a thick, impene-
trable wall in the direction he had fixed upon. After rid-
ing for some short distance, — at what might be called old
Bill's contemplative pace, a slight muttering, as of disap-
proval, was heard from above, and mighty Jove blinked
his eye, — but what a transcendant glance, — it span the
whole horizon, and made Abe for a moment involuntarily
hold in the reins, or, perhaps, the horse itself stopped
of its own accord, startled at the magnificence displayed
before it, for we often observe how the animals take
cognizance of any unwonted effect in nature, — particularly
in the sky, and when the heavy roll of thunder was heard
from afar Bill clipped with his ears sagaciously, and when
the first heavy drops fell admonishingly his equine nature
made itself evident, for he lay his ears viciously back, and
his whole flesh q\iivered as if be had received an electric
shock. Bill was thereby evidently put on his metal.

An Olympian broad-sword oombat in the welkin con-
tinued with unabated force, aiid the electric flashes, created
thereby, darted in all directions, and by their brilliancy
nearly blinded beast and man. Poor Ann clung to her
protector, and hid her affrightened countenance behind
his broad back. The boy patted the horse on the neck,
and in a half-hearted way tried to urge it on, — but old
Bill had a mind of his own, ond when the next clap of
thunder came as a furious message to the plain, and the
creatures thereon, the horse rose on its hindles^s, as if
struck with awe, or with an equine translation of sauve qui
pent, veered round with its precious burden, and with its
ears close to its head, bolted in a straight bee-line for the
home they had but just left.

— For Heaven's sake, cling to me, Ann, firmly; the
horse has bolted, I can't hold it!

Meanwhile all in the little half-face camp had been
awakened by the uproar in nature. May had instinctively
crept nearer to Ann's place, when to her surprise she found
her not there. — Oh, the child has already crept out of bed
to seek father and mother; — she reasoned to herself. It
was her habit to regard Ann as a mere child, — which in-
deed she was, — and May thought herself much older and
more sensible; -but as she crept under the bedclothes, as
if to hide herself, a gust of wind shook the little tent, and
dismay struck her heart, and she began to cry, and wonder
if-if- — What had become of her sister? Was it possible
she was with Abe? — She experienced a feminine presenti-
ment that something had happened, or was going to
happen.

Her father had risen, concerned about the safety of

the tents id the storm, and was just putting in his hea(^^
through the opening, when May recognizing him by th^^
flash of lightning, impetously asked him through her tears^
— Where is Ann?

— Is she not here?

— No, no; she must be out in the storm! Oh, thalS
child! — she sobbed, — Father, find her!

— Oh, she can't be far away; — perhaps I just misse^=
her, for I had to pull our tent- cords tauter for safety, a~^
the back. She must just then have gone in to her mother <_
But I think you had better get up, and take shelter in th^
cabin, although there is no door to it yet.

— I will, father, I will,

"When the farmer came to the men's shed, he found
them up and stirring — ^Where is master Abe? — he asked.

— He hasn't come in for the night yet.

— ^Not been in?

— ^No; we have been asleep till the storm 'woke us, —
but his bed is untouched.

— Dear me, what does the boy do out in such weather?
I say, I think you have better all come into the cabin for
shelter; the tents can't be relied upon in a storm like
this.

— ^Tes, rough night, this, master. Thank you kindly,
I think we will.

— Ann! Ann! — was heard the voice of May calling
out in the black night. No response came, only the shriek-
ing of the wind, and the deep soughs of the trees.

— Ann, where are you?

This made the farmer hasten to the cabin,, where he
already found his affrighted wife and eldest daughter in
deepest anxiety huddled together in the doorway.

— ^Have you seen nothing of her? — asked the mother.

— No, nor of Abraham; he is missing too.

— Foolish children, they are hiding under a tree.

— No! — shrieked May, they have eloped! — I'm sure,
— their dark hints, and I couldn't find any of her clothes.

—What? Eloped!— thundered the father.

— Impossible, child! — cried the mother, trying to
persuade herself that nothing so untoward could happen.

— Oh, that was mean of him! — May moaned.

— Oh, I'll shoot the villain! — shouted the father in a
paroxysm of rage.

— Oh, don't kill them; they'll come back when re-
pentance strikes their hearts.

— Repentance will come too late to plead with me,

— Oh, husband, don't vow vengeance! You would,
yourself, repent afterwards when too late. God will hear
tbc prayers of a father and a mother.

— What, in a storm like this! — sneered the maddened
father.

— Yes, in a storm like this! Does not the Almighty
ride upon the storm? — I feel the presence of God nearer
me than ever in an awful uproar in heaven and earth like
this, — almost whispered the wife in a husky voice.

— Well, perhaps you are right, wife.

— God sometimes hears our prayers before they are
uttered, — ^rejoined the pious mother.

Abe's trusty, old« equine friend rushed madly along
the plain; it must have been for some miles, although he
accomplished it in so short a time. Still it seemed an
aeon torn out of dark eternity to the two young, anxious
and terrified hearts he bore onward. Somehow it suggested

the wild ride of Tarn O'Shanter, with a jading witch be-
hind him, to Abe, who could not help feeling the simili-
tude apposite and droll.

At last they reached the narrow ford of the creek. The '
horse hesitated for a moment, reared on its hind-legs, and .
then dashed madly on to the opposite bank, but, on alight- —
ing, the impetus was so great that the two lovers fell off ~

in the soft mud, one on each side of the brute, who still

pursued the onward course it was intently fixed upon.
Abe, so to speak, gathered himself t'>gether, for he felt-
for a moment as if he were all in pieces; then he picked
up Ann, bundle and all, and said: — Heaven be thanked,
you are safe, child!

This was the first time he said <*child", for now he
felt more in the position of a fatherly protector, than an
ardent lover, or knight-errant with his lady fair.

When he had brushed off the mud as much as he
could with his bare hands, they proceeded on their home-
ward tramp, he, of course, carrying her bundle, which had
been ripped open, and had to be re-tied. After a little
while he said: — Ann, my dear child, — seeing that the horse
has twice brought us back, do'nt you think it is pretty
plain that we ought not to elope? I conclude that is the
meaning of the powers that be.

— I guess it is, — replied Ann, with a tremulous sigh,
for she was thinking of what was in store for her.

— Well, well, then, just consider this our trial-trip
together on life's rough journey. Do you hear the old
horse neighing? it has arrived at the barn; I believe he is
laughing at us, the rascal! I asked him to bring me safe
out of this pickle, and sure he did, though I did not ex-

peot it in that peculiar manner, Well, well, we must be
thankful he did not break our necks.

— ^Yes, it did go at a break-neck speed, and no mis-
take!

— ^Yes, daisy, child, such is love's mad career at 13
and 16, — said Abe with a grim smile. — And to think that
the horse had more sense than either of us !

— ^I guess it has common horse-sense,* while we can
have none of that — commented Ann,, who had begun to
echo Abe's sentiments, and seemed to have profited by the
experience.

— Father! mother! they have come home! Don't you
hear? That was Abe's horse neighing, I'm sure! — May
exclaimed joyously.

— Oh, no, child, it was one of our own horses.

— No, father, I know that neigh when I hear it; — it
is for all the world as if the horse was laughing at you; —
'tis such a peculiar neigh, a real horse-laugh, and no mis-
take. I could tell it anywhere.

One of the men came running along, shouting '^ — The
horse has come home, with the saddle hanging loose!

— Oh, dear me, an siccident too, and the children not
with him! Ah me! — the mother moaned, and nearly sank
together on the threshold.

— Keep up, wife, keep up! they may be safe yet! God
may be merciful, and spare them yet, although it is a
frightful night!

— Well, will you be merciful then, too?

— Hm! — Well, yes, I suppose I must, if the Lord
Himself sets a good example.

— Nay, nay, I want yoa to feel merciful at heart in
any case; whether they are spared, or not.

— You are asking too much, wife.

— God never lays greater burdens upon us than He
enables us to bear.

— "What would you have me do?

— Pray to God that you may bear your troubles like
a man, like a true Christian.

Said he: — What a good soul you are; — far superior to
the likes of me.

— ^Tou are fhe strong, I am the weak; — the weak be-
come the strong in the hour of need and adversity, — she
replied.

The thunder-storm had ceased, the moon shone forth,
resplendent and serene, the stars came out, and all the
heavens spoke of a great and glorious power before which
all power of darkness vanish, — and the parched earth,
that rejoiced at the refreshing rain, sent forth redolent
insense of loam and resinous trees and of myriad flowers, as
thanksgiving in the bright night to the allwise Creator,

Abe and Ann walked slowly through the wood, their
thoughts hovering between the futile hope that they would
not yet have been missed, and the dire certainty of an aw-
ful reprimand, supposing their intended elopement had
been discovered. Their steps were reprehensibly tardy,
seeing that they might have expected a general anxiety
for their safety during the heavy storm, — but still they
tarried, — Annn in particular, as if to prolong the calm
before the storm. Abe trusted to his frank and manly
avowal to get them both out of the scrape.

At last they were in sight of the tents and hut, and
discovered in the dim moonlight the family all gathered

in the doorway of the cabin. Ann could contain herself
no longer, but gave a faint cry and rushed onward to her
mother's embrace, who was eager to fold her erring
child to her heart.

— Oh, you are here at last! — exclaimed the father.

Abe tarried a few steps in front of them. — ^Now for
a bold avowal, — he thought to himself.

— TV here have you been, my child? — the mother
asked, stroking her hair that hung loose and drabbled
about her.

Ann could not answer, only sob.

— Where have you been? — sternly demanded the
father of Abe.

— For a ride across the prairie.

— For a ride across the prairie? — the father repeated.

— ^Yes, the truth is —

— The truth is? — interrupted the irate farmer.

— Heaven help us! — sighed the mother.

— What would you have me say?"

— The truth, man.

— ^Very well, then, it is no use beating about the bush,
the truth is I love your little daughter Ann.

— Boy; are you mad?

— Yes, somewhat madly in love. It is premature, I
know; but I'll wait, so you give your consent now.

—I? Never!

— ^I expected as much, and that was the reason I was
just bringing her to my uncle Mordecai, that he might
intercede for us, for you don't know me, but might have
listened to him. I am willing to wait, but if in the mean,
time you can find anyone who loves Ann better, or will
treat her more tenderly than I, of course I will give up

my claim to a better man, — for my greatest desire is
that Ann should be made happy.

— Now you speak like a sensible fellow, and I may
think the matter over; you may be engaged, and sweet-
heartening a little under mother's supervision for two or
three years, — for ye are both too young yet to marry, but
I promise nothing yet, and will think the matter over, as
I said.

— Yes, do, father, sleep on it, — and now good night
all, — and God bless you all.

— Good night, Abe, — said the mother, — and bless you
for bringing my child back unharmed.

— ^Well, really, the horse is the one to be thanked,
for it had more sense than I that time, — for if I had had
my own wilful way, you may not have heard from us for
a day or two, and been left in awful suspense in the mean-
time; but forgive me, Aunt, for when a young feL
low is desperatedly in love he can't control his
senses. Love is such a wayward imp that he leads us all
astray.

— But if your love were of the right sort, Abe, it
would unite with reason to control your senses, — sweetly
spoke the mother.

— And you a woman. Aunt, and don't know that love
won't listen to reason; — ^feeling, not reason, guides the
female heart, from which my observation you will
perceive that the tormenting passion is eminently fem-
inine.

— Not when it rushes madly along, like yours, and
plays the part of a robber.

— Nay, nay, you have nothing to say: didn't you steal
your husband's heart, and keep it, too?

— But he got mine in exchange,

— Exactly, yes, as Ann has mine, and I hers; — that's
how I have been imbued with some of the pranks of that
dear, little heart.

— Get away with you! There's no arguing with you.
Good night, or rather, good morning, for it is waning
towards dawn, — May cut him short.

— Abe, — said Ann, who by this time had completely
revived, — shall we go blackberrying again to-day?

— There you see what a little daisy she is; no sooner
comes the peep-o'-day than she opens her eye as bright
as ever, and is wide awake. But I shall have to return
home to-day, Ann, or else my folks will be as worried
about me, as yours' have been about you.

— You are a dutiful lad, then, after all, — said the
father. — Ann, you haven't thanked and kissed Abe for
bringing you safe back. Now you may do so.

Ann looked a little sheepish, then laughed slightly,
and advancing coyly to Abe, flung her arms round his
neck, and standing on tip-toe, tried to give him his
sweet reward, but she did not reach up, he being
BO tall, and all laughed, but Abe fell gallantly on
one knee, and then she gave him a loud, smacking
kiss.

— What a terrible child she is? — remarked May in an
undertone to her mother.

'When the embrace unlocked Abe said: — ^This is our
first kiss.

— Well, — I am proud to hear that, my lad, though I
don't think I would have waited so long. Would I,
mother? — asked the farmer gleefully.

She smiled to him, radiant with love, in response.

and as the sun rose over the horizon he shed his re
shimmer, — virgin love's own color, — as a proper,
and pure atmospheric setting to the early bethrotal,-
the father deemed he need not sleep on the n
after all.

I / I «

CHAPTE

Synopsis by Abraham Lincoln:

— lioroaght out this story in my mindy w?ien J was a

youug lad

X intended to elaborate that sketch and have it printedy and
Tacttially once commencedy but T deemed there wasn^t much
in it; however y T fancy that was how love first made itself
felt with me.

^^vakenin^,

The morniflg hours qaickly passed, and the sua was
already high iu the heavens when Abe began in fail earn-
est to think of departure, and of returning home. He felt
that everyone, — his beloved stepmother most of all, —
would be concerned about him, — his conscience worried
him until he should meet them again. But he felt at last
quite overcome with fatigue, and the excitement of the
night, though he struggled hard against the somnolent
feeling, and seated himself upright against the trunk of
a tree, the blazing sun opposite, and he began fancying
himself sitting outside his own parents' cabin, — as he had
done when first he resolved upon his night-errantry, and

the golden sunshine conjared np to his mental visions
dreams of a bright future^ gold-emblazoned as the sun
himself; — they were so dazzling glorious that it made him
almost blind and forced him to invert his vision, and see
what there within passed review, — dormant, embryo
thoughts that would fashion themselves into realities by
the force of his character when in full play upon congen-
ial circumstances. He saw plodding farm-labor and rail-
splitting, and ferry-boats and streams, and grocery and
postal business, and land-measurement in one swift, con-
glomorate line pass before him, but his lips moved, for he
fancied himself incessantly talking, talking, talking, and
at last he saw only huge assemblies before him, that de-
voured his every word, he swaying them to tears or
laughter at will, and the eager crowd jostled, and began
pushing him aloft, and calling him "their own rail-splitter,"
and hoisted him into that glorious rostrum, the sun, above,
and he was empowered with the might of Jove, and he
held the thunderbolts in his hand, and brother rose against
brother, and millions clashed together in grim and fearful
war, and tyranny shook on its throne of mental darkness,
and his own, fair warriors were triumphant, and brought
forth the black captives that had been held by tyranny,
and embraced them, and healed their wounds, and called
them brothers, but at the hight of glory, a misguided as-
sassin fired a shot at him, and with a benediction of
humanity on his lips he died, . . and awoke, — to find himself
seated with his head resting against the wall of his parental
cabin, the sun blazing in his eye, and his cousin Dennis
coming up to him with a shot-gun just discharged, and
saying: — I thought that would wake you up. Why, you

have been asleep, Abe, this hour in the sun, instead of
helping me with the hoeing.

— Ah, the hoeing, — thought Abe to himself, — rubb-
ing his eyes, — have I come no further in my carreer than
so, yet? Why, I must have been day-dreaming. — I'm
much given that way. I thought I was away from home
on a trip to South Creek camp after that pert, and merry
little girl that was here the other day, and I thought I
was riding on old BilJ.

— Oh, yes, that old fool has been calling for you in
the field two or three times.

— ^Ah, J heard his neighing, then, in my sleep.

— What have you been shooting, Dennis? — asked the
mother on coming out from the cabin.

— Oh, nothing, just for a lark, to wake Abe, who has
been dozing in the sun, this hour, or more, even during
that short thunderstorm we just had.

Then Abe began to relate to them, in a brief, and
captivating style, the impress of his reverie, from which
recital, perhaps, now, three quarters of a century after-
wards, have reached us in the foregoing chapters, some
slight vibrations thereof, expanded and extended across
the gulf of time.

— My whole reverie really remains as vivid to me, as
if I had written out the story in my mind, and if I wasn't
short of pen, ink and paper just now —

— Oh, I got a Turkey buzzard only yesterday, and
I will boil you a pen, and as for ink if you bring
me some briar root, I'll make you some. But paper
is the worst of all to get, for that is scarce in these
outlying parts, said his step-mother, ever encouraging him.
" — Never mind just now, mother ; />^Aa/># I may write

it down some future day, aud publish it^ but it doe^n^t
matter for the presentj auyhow, for, I guess ^ it isn^t much
of a story after aU^ though I think it is the beginning of
love with me.

— God is love, — Abe resumed after a slight paase,
pondering profoundly.

— Of course He is, — the mother eohoed, — and the
breath of God is the principle of fecundity, says the Bible.

— Yes, but, — her speculative son continued, — ^the sun
is the procreative cause of everything that grows, at any
rate apparently the most potent is the service of God, —
the sun therefore, so to say, awakens the plants, — ^witness
<*the miracle of spring,"^ — and the amorous condition of
animals and man. — The sun therefore, indirect, and direct,
as for that, — <<for if the sun breeds maggots in a dead
dog, being a god kissing carrion," — if the sun procreates,
then he ought to be regarded as the mythical god of all
love,— of all lovers.

— I thought the moon was that, — ^replied the mother,
who wanted to avert any infidel talk.

— ^The moon gives only a reflex of the sun. I don't
think the ancient sun- worshippers were far out in their
symbolising creed. You see, that's how I blame the in-
tense heat of the sun for broiling my blood and brains into
that concoction of an amatory nature, my running away
with a girl in my day-dream, while dozing here. — But I'll
be off to my mentor to see if I can't borrow "The revised
Law of Indiana," which I know is such fascinating read-
ing that it will drive all foolish notions oat of one's head,
or, better still, I'll take a read of the *< Declaration of In-
depence;" that glorious document always puts me on the
right track, and, as for that, so does "The constitution of

the United States;^' there isrCt a patriotic sentiment that I
have, that I dorUt owe to these/ although I should like to
make an amendment, or two, to ''The Constitution," par-
ticularly regarding tbe poor, unhappy slaves of the South.

The sun had veered round a little to the west, and the
two were now sitting in the shade of the cabin; he had
doffed his hat to enjoy the cooling breath of wind that
stole round the comer, and his mother gently wiped his
heated forehead, saying: — That's a good lad, that'll pay
better, and do more good than love-making, or story-
telling, although, I grant, that your laughable idea of the
animal of course being endowed with better horse-sense
than a foolish boy and girl, would carry a certain instinct-
ive moral with it,— which might benefit some young folks,
— and some old ones, too, if only they look at it in the
right light, that what we call common horse-sense is of
more precious value, than running away with false
notions.

Abe looked up in his stepmother's face, and smiled
approval.

Finras.

Appendix

CORROBORATION^

By the courteous consent of Messrs S. S. McClureCo.
of New York, we hav3 reprinted the extract from Miss
Ida M. Tarbell's admirable *'Life of Abraham Lincoln",
copyright by that firm, a standard and national work of
great research, as a corroboration of his charming Indiana
idyll, the elaboration of which we publish by request
under the pseudonym of '^Catherine Eaves".

Miss Ida M. Tarbell writes:

"The nearest approach to sentiment at this time of which
we know, is a story he once told to an acquaintance in Spring-
field. It was a rainy day, and he was sitting with his feet on
the wood-sill, his eyes on the street, watching the rain. Sud-
denly he looked up and said:"

"Did you ever write out a story in your mind? I did when
I was a little codger. One day a wagon with a lady and two
girls and a man broke down near us, and while they were fix-
ing up, they cooked in our kitchen. The woman had books
and read us stories, and they were the first I ever had heard.
I took a great fancy to one of the girls, and when they were
gone I tought of her a great deal, and one day when I was sit-
ting out in the sun by the house I wrote out a story in my
mind. I thouglit I took my father's horse and followed the
wagon, and finally 1 found it, and they were surprised to see
me. Italkad with the girl and persuaded her to elope with
me; and that night I put her on my horse, and we started off
across the prairie. After several hours we came to a camp;
and when we rode up we found it was the one we had left a
few hours before, and we went in. The next night we tried
again, and the same thing happened- the horse came back to
the same place; and then we concluded we ought not to elope.
I stayed until I had i^ersuadad her father to give her to me.

I always meant to write that story out and publish it, and I
began once; but I concluded it was not much of a story. But
I think that was the beginning of love with me.*'*

We have appended tbe quotation in its entirety at
the end of the book, because if it had been put at the
beginning it would have been telling the story ere it had
been perused by the reader.

Editob

* Intoryiew with Mr. T. W. S. Kidd of Sprinfffleld, niinois, editor ol
'*The Morning Monitor."

This book should be returned to
the Library on or before the last date
stamped below.

A fine of five cents a day is incurred
by retaining it beyond the specified
time.

Please return promptly.

,*i >

-.r^^ 2 I 1673

■<j

1 ■■iiiiiii ■

■ 3 2044 086 287 844 ^B

^Kfy

^B*

^^^Eh '^^I

Internet Archive Audio

Featured

Top

Images

Featured

Top

Software

Featured

Top

Books

Featured

Top

Video

Featured

Top

Mobile Apps

Browser Extensions

Archive-It Subscription

Save Page Now

Full text of "How I Twice Eloped: An Indiana Idyll"

See other formats