“So would I,” said Sarah.
Mrs. Lincoln laughed. “I know something that both of you would rather do,” she said. “You would much rather listen to your father tell some of his stories.”
Sarah and Abe didn’t know what to say. They did love to hear Father tell stories.
Mother laughed again. “That’s all right, children,” she said. “There isn’t anyone who can tell stories as well as your father. The neighbors all say that, and you know they visit us sometimes just to hear him.”
“I know they do,” said Sarah proudly.
“I’m going to tell stories, too, when I’m a man,” said Abe.
Just then the door was opened quickly, and in came Father Thomas Lincoln with a gust of wind and rain. He was dripping wet—his clothes, his coonskin cap, his deerskin moccasins.
“This is a bad storm,” he said. “I can’t work in the field, and I can’t work in the woods. I can’t even hunt or fish.”
“It will give you a chance to rest,” said Mrs. Lincoln. “Sarah, take your father’s wet cap. Abe, take his moccasins.”
Sarah hung the dripping cap on a peg in the wall across the room from the fireplace. Abe put the dripping moccasins in a corner that was not too near the fireplace.
Mr. Lincoln was pleased. “I see you children know how to take care of skins as well as little Indians do,” he said.
He sat on the fireside bench and soon his wet clothes began to dry.
“Would you like to hear a story, children?” he asked.
“Yes! Yes!” cried Sarah and Abe.
“Bring up your stools and I’ll tell you a true story. It’s about your Grandfather Abraham Lincoln.”
“That’s my name, too,” said Abe.
“You were named for him,” said Mr. Lincoln, “and I hope you will grow up to be as brave a man as he was.”
“Wasn’t he afraid of anything?” Abe asked.
“Nothing,” said Father, “not even Indians. He was a soldier in the Indian War.”
“Did he wear a blue coat with brass buttons?” asked Sarah.
“Indeed he did,” Father said. “He was the captain of his company, and he helped to drive the Indians out of these woods.”
“Never forget that, children,” said Mother, “and always be good to soldiers.”
“What could I do for a soldier?” Abe asked.
“You could show respect by taking off your cap when you meet one,” said Father.
“You could get him a drink of water,” said Mother, “and give him some food.”
“What do soldiers eat?” Sarah asked.
“Anything they can get,” said Father, “and plenty of that.”
Mother laughed. The children laughed. Then Father said, “Abe, throw a log on the fire, and I’ll tell you the story.”
FATHER’S STORY
Now Abe was only seven years old, but he lifted a log and put it in the fireplace.
“Isn’t Abe strong!” said Sarah.
“I like to be strong,” Abe said. “I can help Father in the field.”
Father nodded. “Just as I helped my father when I was a little boy. In fact, that is part of my story. You see, children, my father was a farmer, just as I am. Only he owned more land and horses and cows than I do.”
“We own horses,” said Abe.
“We own cows,” said Sarah, “and calves.”
“Not half as many as my father had,” said Mr. Lincoln, “and he owned more than two thousand acres of land.”
“He must have been rich,” said Sarah.
“No, Sarah, he wasn’t rich. He worked in his fields every day, and my brothers and I worked with him. One spring morning when I was about six years old, he took me to a cornfield that was close to the woods.”
“Were there Indians in the woods?” asked Abe.
“There had been, but Father thought they would never return. The soldiers had built a fort near our farm, so we felt quite safe.
“Father stood there and looked over the field. ‘Too many weeds,’ he said. ‘We’ll pull them, Thomas.’ He stooped over, but he didn’t pull a single weed. Something terrible happened!”
“What? What?” cried Sarah and Abe.
“I heard a shot. I saw my father fall. He didn’t speak again. He was dead.”
“Indians!” said Abe.
“Indians!” said Sarah.
“Yes,” said Father, “Indians. They were hiding in the woods, waiting for Father to come to the cornfield.”
“Poor Grandfather,” said Sarah.
“They killed one of the best men in the country,” said Mr. Lincoln. “And that wasn’t all, children. They tried to get me.”
“You!” cried the children.
“An Indian ran out of the woods and seized me. He began to drag me out of the field.”
“Oh! Oh!” cried Sarah and Abe.
“I was frightened nearly to death. I thought I would never see my mother again.”
“Poor little boy,” said Mrs. Lincoln.
“We were now at the edge of the field. Another step or two and the Indian would have me in the woods. But again something happened! I heard another shot and I saw the Indian fall. He didn’t speak or move. He was dead.”
“Who shot him?” asked Abe.
“My oldest brother, and he was only twelve. He shot from our cabin door.”
“But he might have hit you instead of the Indian!” said Abe. “The Indian had hold of you when your brother fired.”
“He had to take the chance,” said Mr. Lincoln. “My second brother had run to the fort for the soldiers. My mother could see other Indians in the woods, and she was afraid I wouldn’t reach the cabin alive.
“By that time the soldiers had come. They drove the Indians out of the woods and they never returned.”
“I’m sorry about Grandfather,” said Abe, “but I’m glad that Indian didn’t get you.”
SARAH AND ABE GO FISHING
“MOTHER,” ASKED ABE, “do you need any more wood?”
“No, Abe,” said Mrs. Lincoln, “you have brought all I need today.”
“Do you need any more water?”
Mrs. Lincoln looked at the water buckets. “Why, they are full!” she said. “You must have worked pretty fast, Abe.”
“I’d like to go fishing, Mother.”
“You have earned it, my dear boy. You may go and you may stay all afternoon.”
“I want to go, too,” said Sarah.
“No,” said Mother, “you aren’t old enough.”
“I’m older than Abe,” said Sarah. “I’m two years older.”
“But Abe is larger and stronger, and he knows how to take care of himself.”
“I’ll take care of her,” said Abe. “I won’t let her go near the deep water.”
“Very well, then. Go along, children.”
The children ran all the way to the creek. They had no fishing poles or lines or hooks, but they knew just what to do. They found a place where the creek was shallow. They stooped over and held their hands in the water.
“Don’t let them slip through your hands,” said Abe. “Fish are slippery.”
Then they waited and waited and waited. Their arms ached and their necks and backs ached, but still they stooped and waited.
“Let’s go home,” Sarah said at last.
“Not yet,” said Abe. “You can play on the bank, Sarah.”
And Abe went on fishing.
Sarah found some acorns under a great oak tree. So for a long time she was very busy.
She made acorn cups and saucers. She made an acorn sugar bowl and cream pitcher. She made acorn bowls for berries and mush.
Then she played she was drinking sassafras tea from the cups. She used play cream and play sugar. She ate a bowl of play mush and a bowl of play berries.
Now she was tired of playing. “Abe!” she called. “Let’s go home!”
“Not yet,” said Abe. “Wait.”
And Abe went on fishing.
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br /> Sarah looked about for something else to do. Her keen eyes found some wild grapes high on a large vine. The vine grew close by a giant tree and had fastened itself around it. It was almost as strong as the tree and as large around as Abe’s arm.
So up that vine went Sarah, just like a little squirrel. Then she sat in a crook of the vine and ate grapes until she couldn’t eat another one.
“Come on, Abe!” she called at last. “Let’s go home!”
“Not yet,” said Abe. “Wait.”
And Abe went on fishing.
Sarah swung herself to the ground. Nearby was a mother robin feeding a young robin. Sarah thought it would be fun to count the worms it ate. So she sat on a log, leaned against a tree and began to count. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten—”
Sarah’s dark eyes closed. Sarah’s brown head nodded—Sarah was asleep.
And Abe went on fishing.
Sarah didn’t know she went to sleep. She didn’t know how long she slept. But she did know that someone was shaking her. She opened her eyes and there was Abe by her side.
“Look!” he said. “I’ve caught a fish!”
“It isn’t very large,” said Sarah.
“No, but it’s a fish,” said Abe, “and that’s what I was fishing for.”
“You were a long time,” said Sarah.
“I don’t care, I caught it,” said Abe. “Now we’ll go home.”
THE CHILDREN MEET A SOLDIER
Then Sarah and Abe started home. They went through the woods, between the great, great trees. As they walked along the narrow path, they talked and talked and talked.
They weren’t talking about bears or wildcats or snakes.
No indeed! They didn’t even think of bears, and they didn’t think of wildcats or snakes.
They talked about Abe’s fish. It was his first fish, and he had caught it with his hands. He was proud of that, and he had a right to be proud. Sarah had tried to catch a fish with her hands. She knew how hard it was.
“Isn’t your back tired, Abe?” she asked. “You had to lean over the water so long.”
“Yes,” said Abe, “but I don’t care. I was determined to catch a fish.”
“Mother will be glad to have it. She will fry it for our supper.”
Just then they heard a voice. Someone called, “Wait, children!”
The children turned. A strange man was coming toward them. He was smiling and waving his hand.
“I want to talk with you,” he called. “I have been alone in this forest all day, and I’m lonesome.”
Abe’s gray eyes opened wide. The man wore a blue coat with brass buttons!
Abe’s hat came off quickly.
“Oh!” he said. “You are a soldier!”
“Yes,” said the man, “I’m a soldier. I’ve been out fighting Indians.”
“Indians!” gasped Sarah. “Do you think they will come to our cabin?”
“You needn’t be afraid,” said the man. “They are far away from here.”
“Can’t I get you a drink of clear, cold water?” asked Abe.
“Thank you, but I found a spring on the hill and I drank enough for a week.”
Then the soldier laughed, and Abe and Sarah laughed, too.
“Can’t I get you something to eat?” asked Abe next.
“I wish you could,” said the soldier. “I’m hungry.”
“Can’t you come home with us to supper?” Sarah asked. “Mother would be very glad to have you.”
“So would Father,” Abe said. “His father was a soldier, too.”
“Thank you both, but I must go on. I’ll try to get some supper where I camp for the night. I’ll find some grapes or berries.”
“Take my fish, sir. You could cook it for your supper.”
“No, no, my boy! Why, that’s the only fish you have!”
“Please take it, sir. I want to do something for you.”
“Why?” the man asked.
“Because you are a soldier,” Abe said.
“Bless your kind heart!” the man said. “Yes, I’ll take your fish, and I’ll fry it for my supper. And thanks to you, little boy, many thanks.”
“I want to be kind to all soldiers,” said Abe.
“I hope you will be,” said the man, “always, as long as you live.”
FOREST ADVENTURES
SOMETIMES ABE HAD a little boy to play with now. His name was Austin Gollaher, and he lived with his parents in a log cabin on Knob Creek.
The Gollaher cabin was three miles from the Lincoln cabin, and the road was very rough. It went up a steep hill, down a steep hill, over great roots and rocks and bumps.
So the two families couldn’t visit very often. But whenever Mrs. Gollaher visited Mrs. Lincoln, she took Austin. And whenever Mrs. Lincoln visited Mrs. Gollaher, she took Abe.
Austin was two years older than Abe, but Abe was now so large and strong that he could do everything Austin could.
The boys had great fun together. They played in the woods around their cabins. They played in the creek near their cabins. But deep into the forest, away from the trails, they were never allowed to go.
“You boys must wait until you learn more about the forest,” said Mr. Lincoln. “It is full of danger.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Mr. Gollaher, “there is great danger to all who do not understand the forest’s language.”
“What do you mean?” asked Austin.
“How can a forest have a language?” Abe wanted to know.
“The forest has many sounds and warnings, and you must know what they mean,” said Mr. Gollaher. “When you have learned that, you will know its language.”
“And if you don’t obey its warnings, you may never get out alive,” added Mr. Lincoln.
The boys were obedient. Not once did they run away to play in the deep woods.
Several months passed. Then one day Mr. Lincoln said, “Boys, you are old enough now to study the forest. When do you want to begin your lessons?”
“Now, Father,” said Abe, “if that suits you.”
“Yes,” said Austin, “now, Mr. Lincoln, if you please.”
First, Mr. Lincoln taught them to walk like Indians, without making a noise. They learned to keep away from dry leaves and broken twigs. They learned to pass bushes without breaking off a leaf. They learned to cover their tracks and to follow the tracks of others.
Mr. Lincoln showed them how to hide and how to crawl so quietly that one could scarcely see the grass move.
All this was not learned in one day. The boys practiced weeks and weeks.
At last Mr. Lincoln was satisfied.
“You boys do very well,” he said, “as well as Indian boys of your age.”
LISTENING LESSONS
Then Mr. Lincoln taught the boys to listen to the sounds of the forest. “You must know all the cries and sounds of birds and beasts,” he said. “You must know what they mean.”
He taught them the cries of the eagle and panther, the hiss of the snake and its rattle, the scream of the wildcat, and the different growls of the bear.
It took a long, long time to learn these sounds. It was as hard as arithmetic, but the two boys kept at it, and after a while their ears were as sharp as razors.
When a wild bird called they could answer. They could hoot almost as well as a screech owl.
But when they heard the cry of an eagle, they knew they had to hide. And when they heard a rattle, they ran straight home.
TRACKING LESSONS
From Mr. Gollaher the boys learned the tracks of animals, birds, and snakes. This took a long time, too. But the boys kept at it, and after a while their eyes were as sharp as their ears.
They followed a fox’s track to his den and saw the handsome fellow.
They followed a rabbit’s tracks to her nest and saw the baby rabbits.
They followed deer tracks to a pool and saw the pretty deer drinking.
They followed the tracks of a ground hog and
saw him digging his home.
They followed the tracks of a beaver and saw him cutting a tree.
Some tracks they did not follow.
“Boys,” said Mr. Gollaher, “when you see bear tracks, you must go the other way. And you must never follow the tracks of panthers or wildcats.”
The boys obeyed him. They knew now that it was “Safety First” in the forest.
They learned to notice everything. If a twig was broken they saw it. If the moss was crushed they knew it.
One day they thought they saw a log move. Neither boy thought of running to the log and jumping on it. Neither boy screamed.
No, indeed! They hid behind a tree and watched. Not one word did they speak. Not one sound did they make.
The log moved again, and then something came out of it—a big, black bear!
The two boys ran home, and they ran just as fast as their legs could carry them.
THE CRY IN THE WOODS
One summer day Abe and Austin were playing in the woods. They swung in a strong grapevine swing. They swung up into the blue sky and far out over the wide creek.
It was great fun. They smiled and laughed, and sang and whistled.
Then Austin said, “Let’s play Indian.”
“All right,” said Abe. “Let’s go to the cave. It’s the best place in the world to play Indian.”
They jumped to the ground and started toward the cave.
“You’re right,” said Austin. “That cave is the best place in the world to—”
Just then they heard a strange sound—a cry. Both boys stopped instantly.
“What was that?” whispered Austin.
“It sounded like a baby crying.”
“A baby out here in the woods!” said Austin. “There couldn’t be, Abe.”
“Of course not, Austin. I said it sounded like one.”
Then the boys heard the cry again.
“I can’t understand it,” said Austin.
“It comes from those bushes,” said Abe. “I’m going to see what it is.”
Austin seized Abe’s arm. “Don’t go over there!” he said. “It might be a panther. A panther can cry just like a child.”
“But it might be something that is badly hurt,” said Abe.
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