“My first strong impression of Mr. Lincoln,” says a lady of Springfield,
“was made by one of his kind deeds. I was going with a little friend for
my first trip alone on the railroad cars. It was an epoch of my life.
I had planned for it and dreamed of it for weeks. The day I was to go
came, but as the hour of the train approached, the hackman, through
some neglect, failed to call for my trunk. As the minutes went on,
I realized, in a panic of grief, that I should miss the train. I was
standing by the gate, my hat and gloves on, sobbing as if my heart would
break, when Mr. Lincoln came by.
“‘Why, what’s the matter?’ he asked, and I poured out all my story.
“‘How big’s the trunk? There’s still time, if it isn’t too big.’ And he
pushed through the gate and up to the door. My mother and I took him up
to my room, where my little old-fashioned trunk stood, locked and tied.
‘Oh, ho,’ he cried, ‘wipe your eyes and come on quick.’ And before I
knew what he was going to do, he had shouldered the trunk, was down
stairs, and striding out of the yard. Down the street he went fast as
his long legs could carry him, I trotting behind, drying my tears as I
went. We reached the station in time. Mr. Lincoln put me on the train,
kissed me good-bye, and told me to have a good time. It was just like
him.”