TOM.

Yes, you know they say that rails split by moonlight bring folks good fortune. Not that Abe needs good fortune--he's lucky at everything he puts his hand to. He can shoulder an ax and swing it better than any one I ever saw, and as for his books--there's no one who can beat him.

POLLY.

He's always at them--even after a hard day's work.

TOM.

There's nothing he won't read if he can get his hands on it, and at spelling he's head of his cla.s.s every time.

AMY (amused).

You'd think he was a hero, Tom, the way you talk.

TOM (eyes a-light).

Well, sometimes he does seem like a hero to me, he's so strong and clever and kind. At school people are always coming to him with their disputes, and out of school, too. Even the Indians respect his knowledge. And with it all he can see a joke as soon as anybody, and isn't a bit puffed up. And then I like him, because even though he's quiet and it takes a long time for him to get angry, when he _does_ get angry it's on the right side. I think some day he'll be a great lawyer.

Come, Amy, what do you think he'll be?

AMY (mischievously).

Well, as you think he knows so much--almost as much as Mr. Andrew Crawford--I think perhaps he'll be a teacher.

TOM.

What do you think he'll be, Polly?

POLLY (absorbed in examining corn-popper, tongs, etc.).

I don't know. Oh, see! He's mended the tongs. I saw him working at it the other day. (Facing about, laughing.) I'll tell you what I think he'll be--he'll be a _mender_! (To Amy.) Look out, Amy, that's Abe's precious snow-shovel. Dear knows why he has it out this early.

AMY.

Because paper is expensive, goosey. By the light of some pine cones he can figure on this, and then sc.r.a.pe it off again.

TOM (admiringly).

n.o.body but Abe would think of such a thing. I tell you the day will come when we'll be proud we knew him.

AMY (gaily).

Bravo, Tom! You'll be making speeches soon, or lead in our next debate.

ABRAHAM LINCOLN (speaking from outer doorway, ax on shoulder, a gaunt, rawboned, kindly-eyed lad).

Who said _debate--?_

AMY (jumping up with a burst of delighted laughter).

There he is now! (To Lincoln.) If any word would bring you, that one would, I know!

POLLY.

Nancy isn't here. She said we were to wait. Go on with your supper, Abe, and don't mind us. I know you're hungry.

LINCOLN.

Thank you, I will. (Puts by ax and goes towards table.) Hungry! I feel half-starved! And my muscles are as stiff as boards. (Turns.) Here, Tom, I'm a fine host--neglecting my guests! There's the corn-popper, and (diving hand into cupboard and bringing out a bag) there's the corn!

NANCY (appearing in the outer door with Francois Durand, and little John Henry).

And here's Nancy with a bag of salt, just in time. I'm glad you all waited for me. Come to the fire, Francois.

FRANCOIS (shyly to all, as they kindly make way for him).

Bon soir! Bon soir!

NANCY (rattling on).

B-rrrrr! It's chilly. It's nice to be in by the fire. How's your supper, Abe? I fixed it for you.

LINCOLN (genially).

It's fine, Nancy, thank you. (Goes back to table and half-smiles, dryly-humorous.) And the best thing about it is that there's enough of it! (To John.) Well, John, how are you?

JOHN (drawling, wide-eyed, childlike).

Did you see any _bears_ in the woods?

LINCOLN (with a twinkle, solemnly imitating him).

No, I didn't see any bea-r-s in the woods; but I brought home some nuts for you! (Gives them.)

[Francois, under pantomimic urging from the group around the fire, has taken up his fiddle, tunes it, and from a mere ghost of an air breaks into a gay tune. Little John Henry takes the corn-popper, swaying it in time to the music, while the rest, with the exception of Lincoln, do a step or so of an old-fashioned reel. Lincoln watches them as he eats.

John watches them also, to the detriment of the corn-popping.

NANCY (pausing in dance, with little shriek of dismay).

Oh, mercy! The corn! I smell it burning!

ALL (gathering about her, and thus hiding corn-popper from view of audience).

Is it burnt? No! Yes! No! Oh, it's saved. (Lincoln, who has risen, goes back to his supper.)

JOHN.

I didn't mean to!

NANCY (relenting).

But when Francois plays the fiddle you can't think of anything else, eh?

AMY (as they group themselves in fire-glow).

Sit over here, Nancy. Isn't the corn splendid?

LINCOLN (from where he is sitting).

Any news, Tom? How's the wolf-hunting getting on? Anybody got one?

TOM.

I heard in the store to-night that Hugh Foster had killed one. It may be only a rumor. You're not fond of hunting, are you, Abe?

LINCOLN.

Oh, I try at it once in a while, Tom, but I'm not very keen. You boys get more out of it than I do.

TOM.

Remember the racc.o.o.n hunt we had last summer?

LINCOLN.

Yes, I remember. (Facing about.) To tell you the truth, Tom, I don't mind if things have to be killed outright; but I hate to see them in cages. I like to see 'em _free_.

TOM.

I know you do, Abe.