LINCOLN ROOM UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY MEMORIAL the Class of 1901 founded by HARLAN HOYT HORNER and HENRIETTA CALHOUN HORNER ABE LINCOLN at LOAFER STATION ABE LINCOLN at LOAFER STATION A Novel Based on Hoosier Legends by ANET GARRISON EXPOSITION PRESS New York ALL RIGHTS RESERVED INCLUDING THE RIGHT OF REPRODUCTION IN WHOLE OR IN PART IN ANY FORM COPYRIGHT, 1951, BY ANET GARRISON PUBLISHED BY THE EXPOSITION PRESS INC. 386 FOURTH AVENUE, NEW YORK 16, N. Y. MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA CONSOLIDATED BOOK PRODUCERS, INC. DESIGNED BY MORRY M. GROPPER .475 *. To my mother MARY JANE BLACK GARRISON and my aunt DOVIE GARRISON KITCHEN Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2012 with funding from University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign http://archive.org/details/abelincolnatloafOOgarr ABE LINCOLN at LOAFER STATION TL HE STRANGER PULLED UP his horse at the crossroads and looked the settlement over, noting the blacksmith shop, the general store, the saloon, the schoolhouse and the church. "Looks purty good," he reflected, "even iffen they do call hit Loafer Station, of all things/' With a thoughtful air he dismounted and tied his horse to a tree. He spat out his cud of tobacco and, as was his habit, pulled at the brim of his hat, pinching it into a point in front, before he entered the store. Inside, half a dozen men were sitting around talking, punctuating their conversation by spitting into the ash box by the stove. An old fellow behind the counter craned his neck and peered over the top of his glasses. "Howdy." "Howdy, all." The stranger settled himself on a bench and took a twist of tobacco from his pocket. He sized it up, making his decision on which end to bite, then gnawed off a good-sized hunk. i 10 "New in this neck of the woods, hain't you?" the store- keeper inquired. "Yep. Name's Isaac Garrison. Got a place fifteen-twenty mile from here, in the bottoms over by the Ohio." "Over near Rockport, maybe?" "That's right. Me and my wife hail from Ohio. Warn't so long ago we come out here to Indiana, but now the fur- niture's actin restless, like hit's time to move on again. We got another young 'un comin along, an iffen we don't hurry and git moved, we'll have two children that was borned in the same house." Garrison's humor was well appreciated by his company of settlers in the wilderness. But when the general laughter died out, he turned serious. "Hain't had no luck a-tall where we air at," he explained in answer to questions. "First, the grasshopper plague. Then wheat rust. Then them everlastin army worms, an after that, the dang caterpillars." Then men all shook their heads and grunted in sympathetic understanding. "Worst thing is, though," Garrison went on, "in them swampy river bottoms, my young'uns air alius a-comin down with chills and fever. Both my gals air puny, an my boy Tom, now— I need him to help me with the plowin an lookin after the stock, but he's been ailin ever since we come out here. Melinda— that's my wife— she says she don't aim to bring another young'un into the world just to be filled up with sickness right from the start." Again everyone expressed sympathy. "You need to move to high ground, that's dry," one man said. Garrison nodded. "That's what I'm a-lookin for. I figger to take up gover'ment land." The storekeeper leaned across the counter eagerly. "You couldn't find no better land than right around here. We got a fine, friendly community, all upright men with decent 11 / famTies. Now, I alius say you kin tell a honest man by peerin in his face, an I knowed when you come in, you was just the kinda feller we need around here." "Bill Brown here is flggerin you'd be another customer for him/' one of the fellows said, grinning. A long-legged man looked up from his whittling to say, "He's right about the land, though. They's a spot just west of here as good as you could hope to find. Mostly woods, though. You'd hafta do a lotta clearin." "Well, that gives you plenty of logs handy for yore cabin," said Old Man Brown. "An jest to show you the kinda folks we have here, 111 guarantee that ever tarnation one of these fellers'll help you cut yore trees an roll yore logs." The group around the stove nodded vigorously in agree- ment. "Shore." "Glad to, any day." "Begins to look like Mr. Brown will git me for a customer. I see he handles jest about ever'thing." "Anything a feller has money to pay for," the storekeeper stated proudly. "You say they's good gover'ment land real near? My wife would be right pleased to live close to a town with a school an a house of God. She says our young uns air bein raised like heathens." "We got a grist mill here, too," the storekeeper pointed out, "an a doctor in town." The tall fellow stood up. "You come home with me an put up for the night," he told the newcomer, "an in the mornin I'll show you the place I was talkin' about." "I'll shore be obliged to you." Garrison shook hands all around and left with his host. The two men rode for a distance of "two hoots and a holler" to the east of town. When they turned into a barn lot, a lanky youngster with unruly hair came running to meet them and take care of their horses. / 12 "My boy Abe," the tall man said. "By thunder," said Garrison, "I plumb forgot to ast yore name." "Lincoln. Tom Lincoln." In the house, the guest was introduced to Tom's wife, Nancy, and to a young girl named Sarah. "Mighty fine fam'ly you have here, Tom," Garrison said at supper. "Think so myself, Isaac. None better. I useta git after Abe for spendin so much time a-readin an a-figgerin, but his ma said to leave him alone. The boy's a fool for readin and writin; seems hit's jest in him to do hit." "You'd be better off, Tom, iffen you'd been more like him when you was his age," Nancy Lincoln said. "I'd be right proud iffen ary of my young'uns took a interest in somethin like that," said Isaac. "Seems all they ever think about is tomfoolery." "How many childern you got, Mr. Garrison?" Sarah asked. "Five boys and two dishwashers. They's Joe; he's the onliest one that's able yet to help me much with the work. Tom, that's jest a little younger'n Abe here, he'll be the smartest, I reckon. There's Jack, an the twins. That's the five boys. The gals air Eunice— we call her Eunie— an little Betsy. Then there's another one a-comin that we hope will be a gal, too, so she kin grow up to help her ma." "Hit must be nice to have a big fam'ly like that," said Mrs. Lincoln. "We'd shore like to have youuns for neigh- bors." Early the next morning Tom took Isaac to look over the country just beyond Loafer Station. "Hit's purty," Isaac said. "You won't find no better land nowheres." "This'll be a good place to raise childern. I kin see the happy look in Melinda's eyes when I tell her. I'm goin home 13 i and sell out right away, an you kin look for us to be a-comin up the road real soon." Tommy Garrison was dog-tired. All day, with Pa and Joe he had trudged along, driving the stock— cows, hogs, sheep, and a few goats. Up ahead, the ramshackle old cov- ered wagon that had brought the family's belongings from Ohio rattled along. Ma was driving the oxen, calling "gee" for right and "haw" for left. Keeping the stock from straying was hard work, and be- cause he was tired, Tommy was in the mood to get mad. It seemed to him that everybody else was having it easier than he was. Betsy sat beside Ma, and Eunie, who was having a chill, was lying down inside the wagon. The twins rode at the tail end of the wagon, with their feet hanging down, while Jack rode the one horse. The sight of Jack and the twins made Tommy feel sorry for himself. Then a stubborn old cow turned out of the road for the hundredth time, and Pa sent Tommy chasing after her, not Joe. "Joe's Pa's pet and hog-lazy, an so all the hard work gits put on me," Tommy thought. "By God," he burst out, "I hain't a-gonna drive these dang brutes one more step!" Now Isaac Garrison cussed whenever he felt like it, but he didn't allow his boys to do the same. Tommy had hardly opened his mouth when he felt the sting of a hickory switch across his back. With tears in his eyes he turned and ran into the woods. Pa called after him, but Tommy kept on running till he was out of earshot. Now he could cuss all he pleased. "God damn you, you old numbskull!" Pretending he was talking right to Pa's face, he really let her rip. "You old devil, you snake-in-the-grass! I hate you an all yore relations, you— you son-of-a-bitch!" The awful words made him ashamed of himself, but he was too mad to care. In his imagination he had a real fight with Pa and bit Pa on the leg. i 14 "I'll run away, that's what 111 do," he said. "Pa and Ma don't keer nothin for me; they just got me for a slave." Walking on, he wondered what it would be like to make a slave to do all your work for you. He decided to get a job and save his money, and then go south and buy him one. Then all he'd have to do would be to tell his slave, "Do this, do that, an don't take all day about it, damn you." Now the sun was getting low. Piled-up clouds in the west turned gold, then flamed scarlet. Sitting on a log, Tommy watched the scarlet fade to rose. As the color drained out of the sky and gray twilight began to creep over the land, he realized that he was not only tired, but also hungry. Maybe he'd better put off running away. "Pall whale me agin iffen I go back," he thought. But the gnawing in his stomach decided him. He started back toward the road. The darkening woods were full of small noises. "I hain't afeard, not me," he said out loud. Then, "Wished I had Pa's gun. Iffen I could take back a turkey or a deer, maybe that'd take Pa's mind offen the hickory switch." As darkness thickened, the noises in the woods seemed to come closer. Tommy quickened his pace. By the time he reached the road, he was running. Scared stiff, he ran all the rest of the way to Loafer Station. There was no sign of the covered wagon, and so, after some hesitation, Tommy went into Brown's store. "What you want, son?" Old Man Brown peered over his glasses. "Oh. Reckon you air Isaac Garrison's boy." Tommy nodded. "You know where my folks air at, mister?" "Over to Tom Lincoln's. They figgered you'd be along soon. You stay here tonight, an yore pall come fetch you in the mornin." "Dog take hit!" Tommy muttered. He felt better, though, when Martha Brown, a kindly 15 / woman, led him to her kitchen and set out head cheese and fried pumpkin. He wolfed the food and gulped down quan- tities of milk. If he lived a hundred years, nothing else would ever taste so good as Mrs. Brown's fried dried-apple pie. "You shore air a good cook, ma'am/' "I like to see folks eat when they set down to my table." Soon Tommy's stomach was tight. "Reckon I'll set out on the porch awhile." "Not too long. Hit's gittin close to bedtime." He sat awhile in the dark, feeling lonesome because his folks had gone off and left him. By and by he strolled down the road to the saloon and peeped in. "Purty soon 111 be a man," Tommy thought, "and then, by God, I'll git drunk an jest shoot up this here town. I'll ride up and down the road, an ary person shows their head, I'll shoot 'em." Something moved in the road near his feet. When he saw what it was, Tommy forgot his quarrel with the world. A squirrel with a hurt leg— probably run over by a wagon wheel. "Pore little mite." Gently he picked it up and slipped it under his shirt. Old Mrs. Brown had made a bed for him, and Tommy crawled into it with the squirrel still hid inside his shirt. Sinking into the warmth of the featherbed, he whispered to his new pet. "I'll call you Hickory, 'cause of what happened today. But I'll never whop you, Hickory. You air my onliest friend, I reckon. Iff en Pa whales me tomorrer, what say you an me go off an live wild in the woods together?" Tommy dreamed that night of dark woods full of snakes and bears. In the morning he opened his eyes to find Pa leaning over him. For a wonder, Pa wasn't mad. "Rise an shine, son. Here's a new friend for you. Abe, this is my Tommy. Tommy, this here is Abe Lincoln." A BE AND TOMMY TOOK A liking to each other right away. When his pa went to talk with Old Man Brown, Tommy held up the covers and showed Abe the squirrel. "Hit shore is purty," said Abe. "I like wild things." "Here, hold him for me while I git my britches on." "I don't like to see wild things kept in. People an wild things oughta be free to do an go when they've a mind to. Iffen this was my squir'l, I'd turn him loose." "Aw, shucks, Abe. Gimme back Hickory. Pa's a-hollerin for us." The boys found both their pas in the store. "This bein Sat'day," Tom Lincoln was saying, "hit's the best day to drum up men for the logrollin. Ever'body for miles around comes to town to do their tradin. Whoever you won't find here in the store will be over at the saloon, a-swappin yarns an gittin soaked." He introduced Isaac to everyone present, saying, "Isaac here is a purty fine feller an a friend of mine. He's jest took up new land over west a 17 i little ways from here. What say we go over Monday mornin, bright an early, an help him git started?" Half a dozen men promised to come, and one old fellow named Josh Hart told Isaac, "Reckon I'm too old to do much work, but I'll come over an boss the job. You know if you ain't got a boss, these fellers'll loaf. But by jiggers, 111 keep 'em busy." Old Man Brown offered to ask everyone else who came into the store that day, and so after a while Tom and Isaac and the two boys went on down the road to the blacksmith shop. There, after swapping jokes awhile, Tom recruited three or four more helpers. Then he led the way to the saloon. "You young'uns git on back to the store," Isaac told the boys. "Well come fetch you when we're ready to leave town." Both boys were disappointed; they had figured on hang- ing around the saloon and listening to the talk. With their fathers' eyes on them, though, there was nothing they could do but walk back to Brown's. They settled themselves on the steps of the porch to listen to the talk there. "Here comes Old Wiley Willis," said Abe. "He don't look so old to me," said Tommy. "Ever 'body calls him Old Wiley 'cause he wears that long beard. He's alius in a bad way, like now." Old Wiley swayed up the steps. "Lord A'mighty, boys, you got no call to look at me thataway. I hain't drunk. I'm a man alius knows when to stop." Then, to the men on the porch, "Howdy, all. I'm tol'able, myself. Truth is, I oughta be dead this minute an gone to glory, but I keep puttin off goin; I'm better acquainted here." He zigzagged toward the door and went inside. In a minute he came out again, munching on a nickel's worth of cheese and crackers, and sat down near the boys. y 18 "By jacks/' he announced, Tm gonna learn some kinda trade. I'm tarred of kissin people's tails to git a odd job here an a odd job there." Old Josh Hart spat over the porch rail expressively, "You wouldn't never work steady at no trade, Wiley— jest long enough to git the money for more whiskey. Then you'd go lay drunk somewheres." Old Wiley put on a look of injured dignity. "That dogged old idiot kin lie faster'n a turkey kin gobble grasshoppers." When he had finished the last of his cheese and crackers, he become melancholy, and speaking more to himself than to anyone else, began to talk about the old settlers. Most of his talk was just rambling, but for a minute he sounded as if he were preaching a sermon or reciting poetry. "They come along afore us an went on, scatterin an rejoinin an separatin again, goin outa mem'ry like the rushin waters of a river." Now he began to talk about his mother, who was "gone to glory," and tears flowed from his eyes. "Iff en she was alive, I wouldn't git drunk like this. That old battle-ax of a stepma that Pap brung home— I hadda leave home account of her. Hadda leave to keep from killin her." At about this time Tom Lincoln and Isaac rode up. Each boy mounted behind his pa. "Isaac, you'uns will stay with us till yore house is ready," Tom said. "I'm mighty obliged, Tom, but I don't aim to ride a free horse to death. Tomorrow we'll move on over to our own place. Lindy an the gals kin sleep in the wagon, an me an the boys kin sleep out for a spell." Tom wasn't going to hear of such a thing, but Isaac told him, "I know Lindy, an she'll like hit better thataway. Bein in the famTy way, she'd ruther be where nobody but her own folks kin see her." At the Lincoln place, Nancy and Melinda came out to 19 i meet their menfolks in the dooryard. Abe had been silent and thoughtful all the way home, and now, while his pa's horse was still moving, he slid off over the horse's rump and ran over to his ma. He hugged her tight and kissed her. "I'm goin over the hill right away, Ma, to git you some game. Maybe a wild turkey." He hugged her again. "Land's sake, Abe," said Nancy, "what's come over you that all of a sudden you're so fond of me?" "I seen Old Wiley Willis a-cryin over his dead ma," Abe told her, "an I got homesick for you an yore good cookin. Old Wiley ran away from home when his pa brung home a stepma. I'd do the same, Ma, if Pa brung some other woman here to take yore place." Nancy laughed. "Well, don't fret. I hain't a-fixin to die an give him the chanst." "You better not," Abe told her seriously, "cause if you died, I'd go git drunk jest like Old Wiley." "Then I hope yore pa'd whop the daylights outen you." Nancy turned to Melinda. "For all his foolishness, my Abe is a real good boy. See my bran' new ash hopper, right over yander? Abe built hit for me, with his pa's help. He was after me to make some hom'ny, an I told him, To make hom'ny, I got to have lye, an to make lye, I got to have ashes.' Our old ash hopper had plumb rotted to pieces. Well, Abe got after his pa, an they set to work an made that new one. Then he said, 'Now make the hom'ny, Ma. Betcha I kin eat the whole batch at one settin.' He purty near did, too." "Fine job," said Isaac. "Bet Lindy would admire to have a ash hopper like that there." "I shore would." "Ill come over to yore place, Miz Garrison," Abe told her, "an teach Tommy an yore husbin how to make one." The grownups smiled. i 20 Next day, when Isaac yoked up the oxen, Abe begged to be allowed to go along with the Garrisons to their new place. They were glad to have him, and his ma and pa con- sented. Tommy especially was happy to have Abe along, not only for his company, but also for his help with the stock. As a matter of fact, Tommy took advantage of Abe. That same old cow that had a mind of her own kept straying off into the fields and woods, and of course all the other animals wanted to follow her. Time and time again Abe chased that cow. Tommy had pointed out that he was younger and got tired easily. But at last the time came when good-natured Abe decided he had had enough. "Tommy, don't that cow belong to you'uns? She shore hain't my pa's or mine. Iffen you don't want the wagon to go off an leave her, go git her yore own self. I'm tarred." Tommy sulked. "Abe Lincoln, I plumb despise you," he complained. But Abe was unmoved, and from then on Tommy had to do his share. "Look, Lindy," said Isaac, pointing, "I figger to put the cabin yander on that little rise. Iffen I cut down a few trees, we'll have a real purty view." Melinda's eyes were glowing. "Don't cut down too many, Pa. I love trees." "We kin plant that clear stretch in taters right away." "My pa says you done right to take up this here land," Abe told them. "He says hit'll be worth somethin one of these days." Tommy, still in a sullen mood, made a face at Abe. Abe chuckled. "Now, that's a baby trick for shore." "Don't you dast call me no baby! I'm near as old as you, and I got more sense than you got, you old mossback!" Abe burst out laughing. That made Tommy so mad that for a minute he was hopping up and down, but then Melinda 21 i began to pass out slabs of salt pork and cornbread. As soon as he had had something to eat, Tommy felt better, and in no time he and Abe were good friends again, both laughing and cutting up. Even though this was the Lord's day, there was plenty of work that wouldn't wait. Isaac quickly knocked together a plank table beside the wagon, under the trees. Tommy and Abe carried water from the spring, and then gathered rocks and built an outdoor oven. Before dawn next day, Isaac roused them out of their blankets to help tend the stock. Then everyone gathered around the new table. Breakfast was hardly over when people began arriving for the logrolling. "Lawsy me, all them men," Melinda cried. "Maybe iffen I put on my old blue dress, they won't notice so plain." She scurried inside the wagon. Tom Lincoln soon arrived, with Nancy riding behind him. "Howdy, folks. By gum, looks like the whole country has turned out." All day the woods were full of the noises of axes and saws. By nightfall the logs were all rolled in, ready for the building to begin. Next day Tom Lincoln and one or two others returned to help with the house-raising. Tom, who was especially good at carpentering— in fact, he made a busi- ness of it— was generous with his time. By the end of the week, the cabin was ready for the family to move in; the roof was on and the floor in. It was a neat cabin, with a big fire- place which would keep the Garrison boys busy fetching wood. Abe got permission to stay on with the Garrisons to help with the job of chinking the cracks between the logs. With the wagon and oxen, Isaac brought a load of good clay from some distance away. Abe and Tom carried water and helped i 22 mix the mud in a trough; then they worked hard at the chinking so that when the winter winds came, the cabin would be snug. All this time, Hickory's leg had been healing. At night he had shared Tommy's blankets, and during the day, if Tommy had been working and hadn't been able to carry the squirrel around with him, Hickory had pretty much stayed put wherever Tommy had set him down. But one day at dinnertime, Hickory was not to be found. "Hickory! Hey, Hickory!" Tommy called. "Abe, Hickory's done dumb a tree, an I can't find him nowheres. Come help me look." For hours Tommy ran around, calling, peering up every tree. He was broken-hearted. Abe obligingly took part in the search, but he told his friend, "Betcha Hickory's gone home to his ma. A squirl is better off livin wild, Tommy. You oughtn't to want him back." "I reckon I'll jest hafta ketch me another squirl," Tommy mourned. "You got queer notions, Abe." a r NE DAY IN EARLY OCTOBER Tommy came home with a piece of sad news. "Old Abe was down in the mouth today cause his ma's away from home. Old Man Sparrows an his wife was both took sick, an Miz Lincoln is over at their place takin keer of em. "Shore she is/' said Melinda. "Tom and Betsy Sparrows air the same as her ma an pa to Nancy. Both took down at onst, you say?" "Wonder what ails 'em," said Isaac. "They's been a lotta talk at the store about how many people air a-comin down with the milk fever." "You mean humans kin git it, besides cows?" Tommy asked. "Yep. Hit's a terrible thing." "Looks like the good Lord is a-sendin new sicknesses upon us in this sinful age," said Melinda. "We better all pray harder than we been doin." A few days later Abe rode over to say that the old couple i 24 had passed away, and that Tom Lincoln would appreciate Isaac's help in making the coffins. Other neighbors would dig the graves while the womenfolk were helping Nancy to wash the bodies and lay them out. While they were working on the coffins, Tom confided his worries to Isaac. "Hit hain't been a good thing for Nancy to be here so long." Tom bit off a chew of tobacco, and for a moment looked off into the distance without speaking, then went on. "At first we didn't know for shore what ailed the old folks. They kep a-gittin worse, spite of all Doc Kitchen could do. I took notice he tried ever'thing he had in his saddlebags. But hit seemed like nothin wouldn't help. Then I up an ast him, 'Doc, what kinda sickness is this?' Doc hemmed an hawed, didn't wanta say, but I made him spit it out. He says, 'Tom, I'll tell you what I think: I think hit's the milk sickness. They jest hain't nothin been found yet to cure hit. I've done ever'- thing I knowed to do, but I'm afeard Tom an Betsy hain't got long to live." "The milk sickness!" Isaac exclaimed in dismay. "That's catchin, hain't hit?" "That's jest what I ast the doc. I says, 'Now look here, Doc, tell me the truth. Hain't hit catchin?' He says yes, an he was afeard for Nancy." Tom spit, and again was silent for a minute. Then he said, "Warn't nothin I could say to Nancy. The Sparrowses never had no childern of their own, an when Nancy was a baby, they took her to raise, an loved her like their own. They was the only ma an pa she ever knowed. She stayed right at the bedside an nursed 'em to the end. Doc Kitchen says to make her take a good purge and some bitterroot tea when she gits home." "Maybe that'll ward the sickness off," Isaac said hope- fully. 25 / Hauling the coffins up through the woods on a sled, the neighbors buried Tom and Betsy Sparrows on the crest of the hill. Isaac had told Melinda what Tom had told him, and at the burying Melinda noticed that Nancy didn't look too well. "I'm jest tarred," Nancy insisted. "Ill be all right soon as I git some rest/' Isaac and Tom talked about swapping some hogs, and the Lincolns promised to visit the Garrisons. "We'll come real soon," said Nancy, "maybe Sat'day." They didn't come Saturday, though, and another week went by with no sign of them. Tom Lincoln hadn't come over to talk about the deal with the hogs, and Tommy hadn't run across Abe anywhere. "Lindy," said Isaac, "we hain't seen hide nor hair of the Lincolns for quite a spell. We better go over to their place. Might be sickness there." On second thought, though, he changed his mind. "Iffen hit's the milk sickness, you oughta be keerful. You hain't got long to go with that young un." "I hain't, for a fack," she agreed. "I kin feel hit a-kickin like a mule. I shore don't want a come down sick an have a cryin baby on my hands to boot." She began to pray, raising her arms heavenward. "O Lord, help us poor mortals here below. Send us a cure for the new sickness that's takin so many of our people. An please, God, spare this here fam'ly from this terrible curse." That night the Garrisons made a prayer circle and begged God to have mercy on Nancy Lincoln. "Lord, spare her for her little fam'ly," Isaac prayed. "She's a young woman yet, an her children need her. Lord, help us all in these dark days of trouble, an we'll praise Yore name." Next morning Melinda said, "Isaac, we jest gotta go over there. Iffen Nancy's took down, the neighbors!! all be skeered to go in the house, an somebody hasta help." / 26 "You air right, Lindy. I'll yoke up the oxens right now." "No, wait a spell. I want a churn 'fore we go. The milk's soured jest right, an I could take Nancy some good sweet butter." "Well, hurry. We don't wanta git there jest at mealtime." Tommy went out promptly to feed his pet coon that he and Joe had caught a few days before. A little later he came tearing back to the house, all out of breath. "Pa, that critter is actin funny." "Shucks, son, hit's jest tarred of bein cooped up." "Well, I left Old Mister Coon a plenty to eat, so's it would hold him till I git back." "You hain't a-goin, Tommy." "You an Joe will stay home an take keer of the chores," Melinda told him. "Jack an the twins kin come with Pa an me an the gals. That away they won't be so much fightin this time while I'm gone." "Aw, Ma! Please let Joe an me go, too! S'posin Abe or his pa has come down sick. We'd come in handy to git in wood." "Well, all right then. But no fightin, you hear me?" Melinda shooed the chickens out of the house before she shut the door. Then the whole family climbed into the wagon. On the way to the Lincoln place Isaac remarked on the beautiful colors of the autumn leaves. "Yes," said Melinda, "hit looks like the good Lord is makin the whole world pretty to comfort us poor mortals and help us forgit our trials an tribulations." As they approached the Lincoln cabin, Tommy spoke up. "Look, Ma, you can't see a livin soul. Somethin shore is wrong." Melinda hastily got down from the wagon seat. "Now, iflFen they's somethin catchin, I don't want you young'uns a-comin in the house. Youuns stay here by the wagon, out 27 1 in the fresh air. Eunie, you hold Betsy by the hand." She hurried into the cabin, with Isaac close behind her. Sarah sat on the edge of the bed, holding her ma's hand, while Abe and Tom, both looking tired and worried, sat on stools close by. Poor Nancy was gasping for breath and plainly burning up with fever. "Lord, what a pity!" Melinda exclaimed, going to the bedside. At the sight of her, Nancy smiled and seemed to perk up a little. Tm shore glad you come, Lindy," she managed to say between gasps. "You'uns take off yore things an set down." "Nancy brung some fresh butter," said Isaac, trying to sound cheerful. "Nothin would do her but to churn hit 'fore she come, so's she could bring you some." In a lower tone he asked Tom, "How long has she been ailin?" "More n a week now. I wanted to send Abe to fetch Lindy, but ever day Nancy 'd say, 'Oh, I'll be better in the mornin. I jest need to rest a spell/ But she kep on a-gittin dizzy spells, an ever day she's been a-gittin weaker." Neither Isaac nor Melinda asked whether Doc Kitchen had been sent for and if so, what he'd had to say, for both knew as well as Tom did that Doc Kitchen couldn't help here. And that was a thing nobody wanted to talk about out loud. While Melinda and Sarah were trying to give Nancy a sip of cool water, Abe suddenly got up and ran out the door. Once outside, he began to cry like a baby. Tommy came and stood beside him. "Abe, maybe shell git well now. Ma'll know jest what to do for her." "Tommy, you don't know how it is. Jest let yore ma git as sick as mine is, an you'll think of all the things you coulda done for her an didn't do." Sarah had come out to get fresh water, and had heard. i 28 "Abe, don't talk thataway," she begged. "You been a good boy. Tommy knows how you alius got in the wood and made the fars, an how you alius brung home game when Ma ast you to." "Shore I do," said Tommy. "You been good to yore ma. You got no call to feel ashamed." "You jest don't know. When you know you air lfble to lose yore ma, you begin to study. So many things I coulda done different . . ." Just then Melinda came to the door. "Abe, you an Sarah come inside. Yore ma wants you." The boy and girl hurried inside, and Tom stood back to let them kneel beside their mother. Everyone could see that she was rapidly getting worse; the hand which she held out for Abe to hold felt as hot as fire. Nancy knew better than anyone that her time was run- ning short. "Abe, Sarah," she gasped, "I want you two to be good childern an mind yore pa. Abe, read yore Bible reg'lar, an take good keer of Sarah." "I will, Ma, I will!" "When the time comes, childern, we'll all meet on the other shore." Now Nancy's eyes turned to Melinda. "Lindy, you air a good, religious woman. I'm right proud that you moved here amongst us." Melinda wiped her eyes, and Abe and Sarah tried to hold back their sobs while they all waited for Nancy to gather the strength to go on. At last she said, "Abe is a boy, an he's old enough now so's he kin purty near take keer of himself. But Sarah— will you kinda look after her, Lindy?" "You know I will, Nancy." "Now I wanta talk to Tom." The others stood back to let him kneel beside her. She patted his hand, looking at him fondly with eyes that the fever had made bright as stars. 29 i "I'd like to stay a little longer, Tom. I ao hate lo leave you an the childern. But hit's God's will." At first Tom couldn't speak, and buried his face in the quilt. After a minute he raised his head and begged, "O God, please let us keep her a while longer. I need her so, an the childern need her. Please, God, don't take her away!" But now her hand on his was limp. Melinda turned to Abe and Sarah and said, "She's gone. Try not to grieve too much. She's gone to a better land than this." Sarah screamed. Melinda took the girl in her arms and admonished her. "Now, now, yore ma wouldn't want you to take on like this." Abe was not there to be comforted; he had run off blindly into the woods. Isaac touched Tom on the shoulder and led him outside, where out of habit, not really knowing what he was doing, Tom picked up a chunk of wood and started whittling. Tommy was sent to give the neighbors the sad news, while Joe took the younger Garrisons back home. After a while Isaac felt he'd better arouse Tom from his deep study. "Tom, hit's about time we started on the coffin." "I know. Hit's got to be done. But Lord, how I hate to do it!" He looked around for Abe and found the boy stand- ing silent beside him. "Abe, you whittle the pegs, so's they'll be ready when we need 'em." Isaac and Melinda stayed overnight, and sometime dur- ing the evening Dennis Hanks, a cousin of Nancy's, ap- peared. Like Tom, with whom he had worked on various cabins, Dennis was a carpenter, and between them they made the coffin as fine a job as anybody could have wanted to see. When it was done, and when Melinda had washed Nancy and combed her hair and dressed her in her best dress, Dennis and Isaac lifted Nancy into it. Early in the morning the neighbors began to arrive.