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Nan-cy Hanks Lin-coln was 33 years old when she died. Her hus-band, Thom-as, made a cof-fin for her of green lum-ber cut with a whip-saw, and she, with oth-ers, was bur-ied in a small “clear-ing” made in the woods.

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There were no pray-ers or hymns. It was great grief to young A-bra-ham that the good man of God who spoke in the old home was not there to say some words at that time. It was then that the ten-year old child wrote his first let-ter. It was hard work, for he had had small chance to learn that art. But his love for his moth-er led his hand so that he put down the words on pa-per, and a friend took them five scores of miles off. Good Par-son El-kins took the poor note sent from the boy he loved, and, with his heart full of pit-y for the great grief which had come to his old friends, and be-cause of his deep re-gard for the no-ble wom-an who had gone to her rest, he made the long jour-ney, though weeks passed ere he could stand by that grave and say the words A-bra-ham longed to hear.

CHAPTER III.

READING BY THE FIRELIGHT; THE NEW MOTHER; THE FIRST DOLLAR.

With moth-er gone, Sa-rah Lin-coln must keep the house, do the work, sew and cook for fa-ther and broth-er. She was 11 years old. The boy did his part but though he kept a bright fire on the hearth, it was still a sad home when moth-er was not there.

Books came to give a bit of cheer. An a-rith-me-tic was found in some way and al-so a co-py of Æ-sop’s Fa-bles. For a slate a shov-el was used. For a pen-cil a charred stick did the work.

A year went by, and one day Thom-as Lin-coln left home. He soon came back and brought a new wife with him. She was Sa-rah Bush John-ston, an old friend of E-liz-a-beth-town days. She had three chil-dren—John, Sa-rah and Ma-til-da. A kind man took them and their goods in a four-horse cart way to In-di-an-a.

A great change then came to the Lin-coln house. There were three bright girls and three boys who made a deal of noise. A door was hung, a floor laid, a win-dow

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put in. There were new chairs, a bu-reau, feath-er-beds, new clothes, neat ways, good food, lov-ing care, and much to show A-bra-ham that there was still some hope in the world.

The new moth-er was a kind wom-an, and at once took the sad boy to her heart. All his life from that time, he gave praise to this friend in need.

A chance came then for a brief time at school, and this was “made the most of.” Folks said the boy “grew like a weed.” When he was twelve it was said one “could al-most see him grow.” At half a score and five years old he was six feet and four in-ches high. He was well, strong, and kind. He had to work hard. He did most of the work his fa-ther should have done. But in the midst of it all he found time to read. He kept a scrap-book, too, and put in it verse, prose, bits from his-to-ry, “sums,” and all print and writ-ing he wished to keep. At night he would lie flat on the floor and read and “fig-ure” by fire light.

One day some one told A-bra-ham that Mr. Craw-ford, a man whose home was miles off, had a book he ought to read. This was a great book in those days. It was Weems’ “Life of Wash-ing-ton.” The youth set

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off through the woods to ask the loan of it. He got the book and read it with joy. At night he put it in what he thought was a safe place be-tween the logs, but rain came in and wet it, so he went straight to Craw-ford, told the tale, and worked three days at “pull-ing fod-der” to pay for the harm which had come to the book.

THE YOUNG RAIL-SPLITTER.

It was the way in those times in that place for a youth to work till he was a score and one years old for his fa-ther. This young Lin-coln did, work-ing out where he would build fires, chop wood, “tote” wa-ter, tend ba-bies, do all sorts of chores, mow, reap, sow, plough, split rails, and then give what he earned to his fa-ther.

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Though work filled the days, much of the nights were giv-en to books. In rough garb, deer skin shoes, with a blaze of pine knots on the hearth, A-bra-ham read, read, fill-ing his mind with things that were a help to him all his life. He knew how to talk and tell tales, and folks liked to hear him. He led in all out of door sports. He was kind to those not so strong as he was. All were his friends.

The first mon-ey that he thought he might call his own he earned with a boat he had made. It seems that one day as he stood look-ing at it and think-ing if he could do an-y thing to im-prove it, two men drove down to the shore with trunks. They took a glance at some boats they found there, chose Lin-coln’s boat, and asked him if he would take men and trunks out to the steam-er. He said he would. So he got the trunks on the flat-boat, the men sat down on them, and he sculled out to the steam-er.

EARNING THE FIRST DOLLAR.

The men got on board the steam-er, and their young boat-man lift-ed the hea-vy trunks to her deck. Steam was put on, and in an in-stant the craft would be gone. Then the youth sang out that his pas-sen-gers had not yet paid him.

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Each man then took from his pock-et a sil-ver half-dol-lar and threw it on the floor of the flat-boat. Great was the sur-prise of young Lin-coln to think so much mon-ey was his for so lit-tle work. He had thought “two or three bits” would be a-bout right. The coin which came to him then, when off du-ty from his fa-ther’s toil, the youth thought might be his own. It made him feel like a man, and the world then was more bright for him.

A man who kept a store thought he would send a “car-go load,” ba-con, corn meal, and oth-er goods, down to New Or-leans in a large flat-boat. As A-bra-ham was at all times safe and sure, the own-er, Mr. Gen-try, asked him to go with his son and help a-long. They had to trade on the “su-gar-coast,” and one night sev-en black men tried to kill and rob them. Though the young sail-ors got some blows, they at last drove off the ne-groes, “cut ca-ble,” “weighed an-chor,” and left. They went past Nat-chez, an old town set-tled by the French when they took the tract which is now Lou-is-i-an-a. The hou-ses were of a strange form to the boat-men. The words they heard were in a tongue they did not know. They passed large plan-ta-tions, and saw groups

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of huts built for the slaves. At New Or-leans, in the old part of the town where they staid, all things were so odd that it seemed as if they were in a land be-yond the great sea. When they had left their car-go in its right place, they went back to In-di-an-a, and Mr. Gen-try thought they had done well.

A-bra-ham had more to think of when he came home. He had seen so much on his trip that the world was not quite the same to him. Scores of flat-boats were moored at lev-ees, steam-boats went and came, big ships

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were at an-chor in the riv-er. Men were there who sailed far o-ver the seas in search of gold, rich goods, sights of pla-ces, tribes and climes to which Lin-coln had not giv-en much thought. If oth-er men went out in-to the world, why might he not go? Why stay in this dull place and toil for naught? He had come to an age in which there was un-rest. His fa-ther’s wish was that he should push a plane and use a saw all his days. This sort of work did not suit him. Why not strike out? Then the thought came to him that his time was not yet his own. His moth-er’s words spoke to him as they did when he was a small boy at her bed-side for the last time; “Be kind to your fa-ther.”

LINCOLN’S HOME IN GENTRYVILLE.

So A-bra-ham went back to Pig-eon Creek to work and bide his time.

CHAPTER IV.

THE SLAVE SALE. LINCOLN AS SOLDIER, POSTMASTER, SURVEYOR, AND LAWYER.

One day a let-ter came to Thom-as Lin-coln. It bore the post-mark of De-ca-tur, Ill. It said that Il-li-nois was a grand state: “The soil is rich and there are trees of oak, gum, elm, and more sorts, while creeks and riv-ers are plen-ty.” It al-so told that “scores of men had come there from Ken-tuc-ky and oth-er states, and that they would all soon get rich there.”

To Thom-as Lin-coln this was good news. He was glad of a chance to make an-oth-er home. He knew, too, that the same sick-ness which took his first wife from him had come back, and that he must make a quick move if he would save those who were left. This was in March, 1830, when A-bra-ham was a score and one years old. He made up his mind to see his folks to their new home since go they would.

Then came an auc-tion, or, as they called it, a “van-doo.” The corn was sold; the farm, hogs, house goods, all went to those folks who would give the most for them.

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Four ox-en drew a big cart which held half a score and three per-sons, the Hanks, the Halls, and Lin-colns. They had to push on through mud, and cross streams high from fresh-ets. A-bra-ham held the “gad” and kept the beasts at their task. With him the young man took a small stock of thread, pins, and small wares which he sold on the way. When half a score and five days had gone by the trip came to an end. The spot for a home was found when all were safe in Il-li-nois and it was on the north fork of the San-ga-mon Riv-er, ten miles west of the town of De-ca-tur.

The young men went to work and made clear half a score and five a-cres of land and split the rails with which to fence it. There was no one who could swing an axe like A-bra-ham, not one in the whole West. He could now “have his own time” for his 21 years of work for his fa-ther were at an end. The law said he was free. Though he need not now give all that he won by toil to his folks, still he did not let them want. To the end of his life he gave help to his kin, though he was far from rich.

When Spring had gone by, and the warm days of 1830 had come, A-bra-ham Lin-coln left home and set

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off to get a job in that new land. He saw new farms with no fen-ces. He was sure that his axe could cut up logs and fell trees. He was in need of clothes. So he split 400 rails for each yard of “blue jeans” to make him a pair of trou-sers. The name of “rail-split-ter,” came to him. He knew that he could do this work well. All he met would at once like him. It was the same way in the new state as it had been in the last.

There was a man whose name was Of-futt. He saw what young Lin-coln was. He knew he could trust him to do all things. Mr. Of-futt said he must help sail a flat-boat down the Mis-sis-sip-pi riv-er to New Or-leans. He said he would give the new hand fif-ty cents a day. Poor A-bra-ham thought this a large sum. Of-futt said too, that he would give a third share in six-ty dol-lars to each of his three boat-men at the end of the trip. At a saw-mill near San-ga-mon-town the flat-boat was built. Young Lin-coln worked on the boat, and was cook too, for the men.

At last they were off with their load of pork, live hogs, and corn. When the flat-boat ran a-ground at New Sa-lem, and there was great risk that it would be a wreck, Lin-coln found a way to get it off. Folks

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stood on the banks and cheered at the wise plan of the bright boat-man.

THE FLAT-BOAT AND ITS CREW ON THE WAY TO NEW ORLEANS.

When first in New Or-leans, though Lin-coln had seen slaves, he had not known what a slave sale was like. This time he saw one and it made him sick.

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Tears stood in his eyes. He turned from it and said to those with him, “Come a-way, boys! If I ev-er get a chance, some day, to hit that thing,” (here he flung his long arms to-ward that block), “I’ll hit it hard!”

The boat-men made their way home, while Of-futt staid in St. Lou-is to buy goods for a new store that he was to start in New Sa-lem. First A-bra-ham went to see his fa-ther and help him put up a house of hewn logs, the best he had ev-er had.

When Of-futt’s goods came A-bra-ham Lin-coln took his place as clerk. The folks who came to buy soon found out that there was one in that store who would not cheat. The coins at that time were Eng-lish or Span-ish. The clerk was ex-act in fig-ures, but if a chance frac-tion went wrong he would ride miles to make it right.

LINCOLN AS CLERK IN OFFUTT’S STORE.

There were rough men and boys near that store. Lin-coln would not let them say or do things that were low and bad. The time came when he had to whip some of them. He taught them a les-son. His great strength was his own and his friends’ pride.

Days there were when small trade came to the store. Then the young clerk read. One thing he felt he

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must have. That was a gram-mar. He had made up his mind that since he could talk he would learn to use the right words. He took a walk of some miles to get a loan of “Kirk-ham’s Gram-mar.” He had no one to

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teach him, but he gave his mind to the work and did well. Each book of which he heard in New Sa-lem, he asked that he might have for a short time. He found out all that the books taught. Once, deep down in a box of trash, he found two old law books. He was glad then, and said he would not leave them till he got the “juice” from them. Folks in the store thought it strange that the young clerk could like those “dry lines.” They soon said that A-bra-ham Lin-coln had long legs, long arms, and a long head, too. They felt that he knew more than “an-y ten men in the set-tle-ment,” and that he had “ground it out a-lone.” He read the news-pa-pers a-loud to scores of folks who had a wish to know what went on in the land and could not read for them-selves. He read and spoke on the themes of the day, and at last, his friends said that he ought to help make the state laws, since he knew so much, and they felt that he would be sure to plan so that the poor as well as the rich should have a chance. So in March, 1832, it was known that A-bra-ham’s name was brought up as a “can-di-date” for a post in the Il-li-nois State Leg-is-la-ture. Ere the time for e-lec-tion came, that part of the land found men must be sent

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to fight the In-di-ans who were on the war-path. The great chief, Black Hawk, sought to keep the red men’s lands from the white folks, but at last he had to give up, though he did all he could to help his own blood. He was brave and true to his own.

Young men of San-ga-mon went out to fight, with A-bra-ham Lin-coln as cap-tain. They were not much more than an armed mob, poor at drill, and with not much will to mind or-ders or live up to camp rules. Their cap-tain had hard work to gov-ern them, for when he gave a com-mand they were as apt to jeer at it as to mind it. But in time they learned that he meant what he said, and that while it was not his way to be too strict a-bout small things, he would not let them do a grave wrong.

One day a poor old In-di-an strayed in-to the camp. He had a pass from Gen-er-al Cass which said that he was a friend of the whites, but the men had come out to kill red-skins, and not hav-ing yet had a chance to do so, thought they must seize this one. They said the pass was forged, and that the old man was a spy, and should be put to death.

But Cap-tain Lin-coln heard the noise, and came to

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the aid of the old man just in time. He put him-self be-tween his men and their vic-tim, and told them they must not do this thing. They were so full of wrath that Lin-coln’s own life was at risk for a while, but his brave look and firm words at length brought them to terms, and the old sav-age was let go with-out harm.