way the apron began to shake. When she took it down, they saw that she
was laughing. She was laughing so hard that the tears ran down her
cheeks.
"I reckon I'll have to let you off, Abe," she said. "You'd be a mite too
big for me to handle."
Tom jumped up. "He ain't too big for me. He ain't too big for a
good-sized hickory switch."
Sarah bit her lip, her own brief anger forgotten. "Now, Tom," she
protested.
"You ain't going to talk me out of it this time."
"I--I was aiming to whitewash the ceiling, Pa," said Abe. "Ma said it
needed a fresh coat."
Sarah looked relieved. "That is exactly what he can do. Whitewash the
ceiling."
"He can after I've given him a licking."
Sarah put out her hand. "Sit down, Tom, and finish your 'taters before
they get cold. I figure it this way. Before Abe starts reading that new
book, he can whitewash the ceiling. The walls, too. That ought to learn
him not to cut up any more didos."
Sarah pulled down her mouth, trying to look stern. Tom sat down and
started to eat his potato.
"You're a good one, Sairy," he chuckled. "You sure know how to get work
out of him."
Abe looked at her gratefully. At the same time he was disappointed. He
had been thinking about that book all afternoon.
The next morning Sarah shooed everyone out of the cabin. Abe was down by
the horse trough, mixing the whitewash in a big tub. By the time he
returned, she had a bucket of hot water and a gourdful of soft soap
ready. After washing the inside of the cabin he got busy with the
whitewash. First he did the walls. Then he did the rafters and the
ceiling. He cocked his head, gazing at the muddy footprints.
"They make a right pretty picture, ma'am. Shall I leave them on for
decoration?"
Sarah, seated on a stool by the fireplace, looked up from her sewing.
"Abe, you big scamp. You get that ceiling nice and white, or I'll be
carrying out my threat."
The corners of her mouth were twitching. Abe grinned, glad to be at
peace with her again.
"After I finish here," he asked, "do you have any more chores?"
"No, Abe. I reckon there will be time for you to do some reading. But
first, you finish your whitewashing. Then there's something I want to
talk to you about."
Abe dipped his brush into the whitewash again and again, until he had
covered up the last telltale mark of Johnny's feet. The cabin was bright
and shining when he finished. He pulled another stool up to the
fireplace and sat facing Sarah.
"I wasn't meaning to tell you just yet," she said. "Leastways until I
had a chance to talk to your pa."
"What is it, Mamma?"
"There's a new neighbor come to Pigeon Creek," she said. "Man by the
name of James Swaney. He is farming now, but he is fixing to keep a
school next winter."
Abe jumped up and stood looking down at her. "Do you reckon that Pa--"
"Your pa is worried," Sarah interrupted. "Money-worried. He may have to
sell some of his land. That's why he gets riled so easy--like
yesterday."
Abe flushed.
"I want you to be careful," said Sarah. "Try not to get his dander up."
"I'll try not to."
"Maybe you recollect what I promised you when I first came. I said I'd
ask your pa to let you go to school again. Now I'm a body that believes
in keeping my promises. I just want to wait till he feels good."
Sarah's sewing basket spilled to the floor, as Abe pulled her to her
feet. He put his long arms around her waist and gave her a good bear
hug.
"Abe Lincoln, you're most choking me," she said breathlessly. "Here I
was thinking how grown up you were getting to be. Now you be acting like
a young one again."
Abe kissed her on the cheek.
8
[Illustration]
Abe sat up late, holding his book close to the flickering flames in the
fireplace. As the rain drummed on the roof, his thoughts were far away.
He was with General Washington in a small boat crossing the Delaware
River on a cold Christmas night many years before. He was fighting the
battle of Trenton with a handful of brave American soldiers. They must
have wanted very much to be free, he decided, to be willing to fight so
hard and suffer so much.
"Isn't it getting too dark for you to see?" Sarah called sleepily.
"Yes, Mamma."
Carefully Abe placed the precious little volume between two logs in the
wall of the cabin. This was his bookcase. As he climbed into the loft he
wondered if the book told about the time George Washington became
President. He would have to wait until morning to find out.
He was up early. But his face grew pale when he reached for the book.
During the night the rain had leaked in on it through a crack in the
logs. The pages were wet and stuck together. The binding was warped.
Sally was starting down the path toward the Crawford cabin when Abe
called after her.
"Wait! I'm coming with you."
He thrust the book inside his buckskin shirt. Sally tried to comfort
him, but Abe kept wondering what Mr. Crawford was going to say. He was a
little scared of Josiah. Some of the boys called him "Old Bluenose"
because of the large purple vein on the side of his nose. It made him
look rather cross. He probably would want Abe to pay for the book, and
Abe had no money.
He opened the Crawford gate and marched up to the kitchen door. Josiah,
his wife Elizabeth, and Sammy, their little boy, were having breakfast.
When Abe explained what had happened, Mrs. Crawford patted his shoulder.
He liked her. She was always nice to him, but he knew that her husband
was the one who would decide about the book. Josiah took it in his big
hands and looked at the stained pages.
"Well, Abe," he said slowly, "I won't be hard on you. If you want to
pull fodder three days for me, that ought to pay for the book."
"Starting right now?"
"Yep, starting right now." Josiah was actually smiling. "Then you can
have the book to keep."
Abe caught his breath. What a lucky boy he was! Three days' work and he
could keep the book! He would have a chance to read about George
Washington any time he wanted to.
Never had he worked harder or faster than he did that morning. When the
noon dinner bell rang, he seemed to be walking on air as he followed
Josiah into the cabin. Sally was putting dinner on the table. Abe
slipped up behind her and pulled one of her pigtails. Taken by surprise,
she jumped and dropped a pitcher of cream. The pitcher did not break,
but the cream spilled and spread over the kitchen floor.
[Illustration]
"Abe Lincoln! Look what you made me do!" cried Sally. "I just washed
that floor. And look at that good cream going to waste."
"'Tain't going to waste." Abe pointed to Elizabeth Crawford's cat, which
was lapping up the delicious yellow stream. Then he began to sing:
"Cat's in the cream jar, shoo, shoo, shoo!"
"Stop trying to show off!" said Sally.
She was angry, but Sammy, Elizabeth's little boy, shouted with delight.
That was all the encouragement Abe needed. The fact that he could not
carry a tune did not seem to bother him.
"Cat's in the cream jar, shoo, shoo, shoo!
Cat's in the cream jar, shoo, shoo, shoo!
Skip to my Lou, my darling."
Sally was down on her hands and knees, wiping up the cream. "Stop
singing that silly song, and help me."
Instead, Abe danced a jig. He leaned down and pulled her other pigtail.
[Illustration]
"Sally's in the cream jar, shoo, shoo, shoo."
"That's enough, Abe," said Elizabeth Crawford.
"Skip to my Lou, my darling." He whirled around on his bare feet and
made a sweeping bow. Sally was close to tears.
"Abe, I told you to stop," said Elizabeth Crawford. "You ought to be
ashamed, teasing your sister. If you keep on acting that way, what do
you think is going to become of you?"
"Me?" Abe drew himself up. "What's going to become of me? I'm going to
be President."
Elizabeth looked at him, a lanky barefoot boy with trousers too short.
His shirt was in rags. His black hair was tousled. She sank into a
chair, shaking with laughter. "A pretty President you'd make, now
wouldn't you?"
She had no sooner spoken than she wanted to take back the words. All of
the joy went out of his face. Sally was too angry to notice.
"Maybe you're going to be President," she said. "But first you'd better
learn to behave."
"I--I was just funning, Sally."
Something in his voice made Sally look up. She saw the hurt expression
in his eyes. "I know you were," she said hastily. "I'm not mad any
more."
Abe ate his dinner in silence. He did not seem to be the same boy who
had been cutting up only a few minutes before. Elizabeth kept telling
herself that she should not have laughed at him. He did try to show off
sometimes. But he was a good boy. She thought more of him than of any of
the other young folks in Pigeon Creek. Not for anything would she have
hurt his feelings. When he pushed back his stool, she followed him out
into the yard.
"About your being President," she said. "I wasn't aiming to make fun of
you. I just meant that you--with all your tricks and jokes--"
"I reckon I know what you meant," said Abe quietly. "All the same, Mrs.
Crawford, I don't always mean to delve and grub and such like."
There was a look of determination on his face that she had not seen
before. "I think a heap of you," she went on, "and I don't want to see
you disappointed. It's a fine thing to be ambitious. But don't let
reading about George Washington give you notions that can't come to
anything."
Abe threw back his shoulders. "I aim to study and get ready and then the
chance will come."
He lifted his battered straw hat, and started down the path toward the
field. He walked with dignity. Elizabeth had not realized that he was so
tall.
"I declare," she said, "he really means it!"
Sammy had come up and heard her. "Means what. Mamma?" he asked.
Elizabeth took his hand. "Didn't you know, Sammy? Abe is fixing to be
President some day."
9
[Illustration]
On Sunday morning the Lincolns went to church. All except Sarah. She had
a headache.
"I'll go, Ma," said Abe. "When I come back, I'll tell you what the
preacher said."
Sarah smiled at him fondly. Abe could listen to a sermon, then come home
and repeat it almost word for word. "I'd rather hear you preachify," she
said, "than the preacher himself."
Tom and his family walked single file into the log meeting house and
took their places on one of the long wooden benches. John Carter,
sitting on the bench in front of them, turned and nodded. Carter had
promised to buy the Lincolns' south field. He would have the papers
ready for Tom to sign on Monday. Tom needed the money, but the very
thought of selling any of his land made him grumpy. He twisted and
turned on the hard wooden bench during the long sermon. He hardly heard
a word that the preacher was saying.
Abe leaned forward and listened eagerly. The preacher was a tall, thin
man. He flung his arms about. His voice grew louder and hoarser as the
morning passed. He paused only to catch his breath or when the members
of the congregation shouted, "Amen." After the final hymn, he stood at
the door shaking hands.
"Brother Lincoln," he said, "I want you to meet up with a new neighbor.
This here is Mr. Swaney."
Tom shook hands. Then the preacher introduced Abe.
"Are you the new schoolmaster?" Abe asked.
"I don't figure on starting school till after harvest," Mr. Swaney
replied. "Will you be one of my scholars?"
"I'd sure like to come." Abe glanced at his father.
"I reckon not," said Tom stiffly. "Abe has had as much schooling as he
needs."
Back at the cabin, Sarah had dinner on the table. Tom cheered up as he
and Dennis started "swapping yarns." Both were good storytellers and
each tried to tell a better story than the other.
Abe did not like being left out of the conversation. "Pa," he asked,
"can you answer me a question about something in the Bible?"
"I figure I can answer any question you got sense enough to ask."
Johnny and Mathilda nudged each other. They knew what was coming. One
day when the preacher stopped by, Abe had asked him the same question.
The preacher had been downright flustered when he couldn't answer.
"It's just this, Pa," Abe went on. "Who was the father of Zebedee's
children?"
Tom flushed. "Any uppity young one can ask a question. But can he answer
it? Suppose _you_ tell _me_ who was the father of Zebedee's children?"
"I sort of figured," said Abe, "that Zebedee was."
Everyone was laughing except Tom. Then he laughed, too. Sarah was glad.
Abe had told her that Mr. Swaney was at church. She was going to talk to
her husband that very afternoon about sending the children to school,
and she wanted him to be in a good humor.
"What did the preacher have to say?" she asked.
"Well--" Tom was trying to remember. "What he said sort of got lost in
the way he was saying it. How some of those preachers do hop and skip
about!"
"I like to hear a preacher who acts like he's fighting bees," said Abe.
Sarah nodded. The description fitted the preacher "like his own
moccasin," she said.
"You menfolks wait outside," she added. "Soon as the gals and I get the
dishes done, we'll be out to hear Abe preachify."
[Illustration]
The afternoon was warm. Sarah fanned herself with her apron as she sat
down at one end of a fallen log near the door. The rest of the family
lined up beside her. Abe stood before them, his arms folded, as he
repeated the sermon he had heard that morning. Now and then he paused
and shook his finger in the faces of his congregation. He pounded with
one fist on the palm of his other hand.
"Brethern and sisters," said Abe, "there ain't no chore too big for the
Lord, no chore too small. The Good Book says He knows when a sparrow
falls. Yet He had time to turn this great big wilderness into this here
land where we have our homes. Just think, folks, this Pigeon Creek had
no one but Indians living here a few years back. And today we got cabins
with smoke coming out of the chimneys. We got crops agrowing. We got a
meeting house where we can come together and praise the Lord--"
Abe paused.
"Amen!" said Tom.
"Amen!" said the others.
"Don't forget," Abe went on, "all of this was the Lord's doing. Let us
praise Him for His goodness."
He reached down, plucked a fistful of grass, and mopped his forehead. In
much the same way had the preacher used his bandanna handkerchief. The
Lincoln family rose, sang "Praise God from Whom All Blessings Flow," and
church was over.
The young folks drifted away. Tom stretched out on the grass for his
Sunday afternoon nap.
"Abe tells me that new Mr. Swaney was at church," Sarah said.
Tom opened his eyes. Before he had a chance to go back to sleep, she
spoke again.
"He's fixing to keep a school next winter."
"So I hear," said Tom cautiously.
"He charges seventy-five cents for each scholar. Some schoolmasters
charge a dollar."
"Sounds like a lot of money."
"Several of the neighbors are fixing to send their young ones," Sarah
went on. "Mr. Swaney doesn't ask for cash money. He'll take skins or
farm truck. We can manage that, I reckon."
Tom yawned. "Plumb foolishness, if you ask me. But Johnny and Mathilda
are your young ones. If you want to send them--"
"I want Sally and Abe to go, too," Sarah interrupted. "Abe most of all.
He is the one school will do the most good. He's the one who wants it
most."
Tom sat up. "I can spare the younger ones, but I need Abe. With us
poorer than Job's turkey, you ought to know that."
Sarah listened patiently. "I ain't talking about right now. Mr. Swaney
won't start his school till winter. Farm work will be slack then."
"I can hire Abe out to split rails, even in cold weather," Tom reminded
her. "Maybe I can get some odd jobs as a carpenter, and Abe can help
me."
"Abe ain't no great hand at carpentry."
"He can learn. Why, he's fourteen, Sairy. The idea, a big, strapping boy
like that going to school. I tell you, I won't have it."
"But I promised him."
It was the first time that Tom had ever heard a quaver in his wife's
voice. He looked away uneasily. "If you made a promise you can't keep,
that's your lookout. You might as well stop nagging me, Sairy. My mind
is made up."
To make sure that there would be no more conversation on the subject, he
got up and stalked across the grass. He lay down under another tree, out
of hearing distance. Sarah sat on the log for a long time. Abe came back
and sat down beside her. He could tell, by looking at her, that she had
been talking to his father about letting him go to school. He knew,
without asking any questions, that his father had said no.
Sarah laid her hand on his knee. "Your pa is a good man," she said
loyally. "Maybe he will change his mind."
10
[Illustration]
"Hurry up and eat your breakfast, Abe," said Tom the next morning. "We're
going to cut corn for that skinflint, John Carter."
Sarah passed her husband a plate of hot cornbread. "Why, Tom, it ain't
fitting to talk that way about a neighbor. Before the children, too."
Tom poured a generous helping of sorghum molasses over his bread. "I'm
an honest man. It's fitting that I call Carter what he is, and he's a
skinflint. He is only paying Abe and me ten cents a day."
"Other folks pay you two-bits."
"I ain't got any other work right now. Carter knows I need all the money
I can lay my hands on. The way he beat me down on the price for my south
field."
"I wish you didn't have to sell."
"Wishing won't do any good. I need cash money mighty bad. Remember, this
farm ain't paid for yet."
He got up and walked over to the chest. He picked up the sharp knife he
used for cutting corn. "Get your knife, Abe, and come along."
Abe walked behind his father along the path through the woods. "That Mr.
Swaney was right nice," he said.
Tom grunted.
"He is waiting to start his school until after harvest," Abe went on.
"Nat Grigsby is going. Allen Gentry is going, and he is two years older
than me."
"Allen's pa is a rich man," said Tom gruffly. "Maybe he's got money to
burn, but poor folks like us have to earn our keep."
"But, Pa--"
"I declare, your tongue is loose at both ends today. Can't you stop
plaguing me? First your ma, then you. You ought to see I'm worried."
Abe said nothing more. He pulled a book out of the front of his shirt
and began to read as he strode along the path. Tom looked back over his
shoulder.
"Don't let John Carter catch you with that book."
"I brought it along so I can read while I eat my dinner. I'll put it
away before we get to the Carter place."
"Eddication!" said Tom in disgust "I never had any, and I get along
better'n if I had. Take figuring. If a fellow owes me money, I take a
burnt stick and make a mark on the wall. When he pays me, I take a
dishrag and wipe the mark off. That's better than getting all hot and
bothered trying to figure.
"And writing? I can write my name and that's all the writing I need. But
the most tomfoolery of all is reading. You don't see _me_ waste _my_
time reading any books."
[Illustration]
The path ended at the edge of the woods, and Tom opened the gate into
the Carter cornfield. Row after row of tall corn stretched away in even,
straight lines. Mr. Carter was waiting.
"Ready to sign over that south field, Tom?" he asked. "A lawyer from
Rockport is drawing up the papers. He is riding up with them this
morning. I'll see you at dinner time."
After John Carter had gone back to his cabin, Tom and Abe set to work.
Using their sharp knives, they began cutting the corn close to the
ground. They stood the tall golden stalks on end, tying them together in
neat shocks or bundles. By the time the sun stood directly overhead,
several long rows had been cut and stacked, and John Carter was coming
toward them across the field. It was noon.
Abe laid aside his knife, sat down on the rail fence, and pulled out his
book. He took a piece of cornbread wrapped in a corn husk from his
pocket. As he ate, he read, paying no attention to the conversation
taking place a few feet away.
"Come and sit down, Tom," said Carter.
Tom sat on a tree stump. Carter was being more friendly than usual. He
was carrying a gourd full of ink, which he placed on another stump. He
set down a deerskin bag, which jingled pleasantly with coins. In one
pocket he found a turkey-buzzard pen. From another he brought out an
official-looking paper.
"Here is the deed for the south field," he explained. "Here's a pen.
I'll hold the ink for you. You make your mark right here."
"I don't need to make my mark," said Tom proudly. "I know how to sign my
name."
"Then hurry up and do it. Mrs. Carter has dinner ready, and I got to get
back to the house."
Tom took the paper and looked at it uncertainly. "I don't sign any paper
till I know what I'm signing. I want time to--to go over this careful
like."
He could make out a few of the words, and that was all. But not for
anything would he admit that he could not read it.
"You told me you wanted to sell," said Carter. "I said I would buy. I am
keeping my part of the bargain. I even brought the money with me."
Tom's face grew red. He looked down at the paper in his hand. He glanced
at Abe seated on the fence. A struggle was taking place between pride
and common sense. Common sense won.
"Abe, come here," he called.
Abe went on reading.
Tom raised his voice. "Abe! When I tell you to come, I mean for you to
come."
The boy looked up from his book with a start. "Yes, Pa. Did you want
me?"
"Hustle over here and look at this paper. Carter is in a mighty big
hurry for me to sign something I ain't had a chance to read."
"You have had plenty of time to read it," said Carter. "But if you don't
want to sell, I can call the whole deal off."
Abe reached out a long arm and took the paper. He read it slowly. "Pa,"
he asked, "don't you aim to sell Mr. Carter just the south field?"
"You know I'm selling him just the south field," said Tom.
"Then don't sign this."
Carter picked up the money bag clanking with coins. He tossed it into
the air and caught it neatly. Tom looked at it. He wanted that money! He
looked at Abe.
"Why shouldn't I sign?" he asked.
"If you do, you'll be selling Mr. Carter most of your farm."
John Carter was furious. "Don't try to tell me a country jake like you
can read! That paper says the south field, as plain as the nose on your
face."
"It says that and a sight more, Mr. Carter," Abe drawled. "It says the
north field, too. It says the east and the west fields. There wouldn't
be much farm left for Pa, except the part our cabin is setting on."
A dispute between men in Pigeon Creek usually ended in a fight. Tom
Lincoln doubled up his fists. "Put them up, Carter."
The two men rolled over and over in a confused tangle of arms and legs.
Now Tom Lincoln was on top. Now it was John Carter. "Go it, Pa," Abe
shouted from the fence. "Don't let that old skinflint get you down."
After a few minutes. Carter lay on his back gasping for breath.
"Nuf!" he cried, and Tom let him scramble to his feet.
Carter began brushing himself off. "It ain't fitting to fight a
neighbor," he whined, "just because of a mistake."
"Mistake nothing!" Tom snorted. "Somebody lied, and it wasn't Abe."
"I'll have a new paper made out, if you like," said Carter.
Tom looked at him with scorn. "You ain't got enough money to buy my
south field. But I'll thank you for the ten cents you owe us. Abe and I
each did a half day's work."
[Illustration]
Tom's right eye was swelling, and by the time he reached home it was
closed. The bump on the side of his head was the size of a hen's egg.
There was a long scratch down his cheek.
Sarah was kneeling before the fireplace, raking ashes over the potatoes
that she had put in to bake. She jumped up in alarm.
"What's the matter? What happened?" she asked.
"It was like Pa said," Abe told her. "Mr. Carter is a skinflint."
Sarah took Tom by the arm and made him sit down on a stool. She touched
the swollen eye with gentle fingers.
"It don't hurt much," he said.
"I reckon Mr. Carter hurts more," Abe spoke up again. "He has two black
eyes."
Tom slapped his thigh and roared with laughter. "He sure does. But if it
hadn't been for Abe--"
He stopped, embarrassed. Sarah was soaking a cloth in a basin of cold
water. She laid it on his eye.
"What started it all?"
"You tell them, Abe," said Tom.
"That Mr. Carter ain't as smart as he thinks he is," Abe explained. "He
had a paper for Pa to sign and tried to make out it was for just the
south field. And do you know what, Mamma? When Pa asked me to read it,
why, it was for almost our whole farm."
"You don't mean to tell me!" said Sarah.
"Carter said he'd have a new paper made out. But I told him," Tom added
with a touch of pride, "I could do without his money."
"Good for you!" Sarah said, beaming. "Don't you fret. We'll squeak
through somehow. But what if you had signed that paper? The farm would
have been sold right out from under us. I reckon we can feel mighty
proud of Abe."
"Well," Tom admitted, "it didn't hurt that he knew how to read. When did
you say Mr. Swaney aims to start his school?"