Abe Lincoln Gets His Chance - Frances Cavanah (mobile ebook reader .txt) 📗
- Author: Frances Cavanah
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Sarah smiled into his eager eyes. "Now isn't that nice?"
He showed her the book. It belonged to David Turnham, the constable. Mr. Turnham had said that Abe might borrow it for several days, if he promised to be careful.
"What is it about?" Sarah asked.
"It has the laws of Indiana in it, and it tells how the government of our country was started." Abe's voice took on a new tone of excitement. "It has the Declaration of Independence in it and the Constitution, too."
He pulled a stool up to the fire and began to read. There was no sound in the little cabin except the steady click-click of Sarah's knitting needles. She glanced at him now and then. This tall, awkward boy had become very dear to her. As dear as her own children, perhaps even dearer, but he was harder to understand. No matter how much he learned, he wanted to learn more. He was always hungry, hungry for knowledge—not hungry for bacon and cornbread the way Johnny was. The idea made her chuckle.
Abe did not hear. He laid the book on his knee and stared into the flames. His lips were moving, although he made no sound.
"What are you saying to yourself?" Sarah asked. "You look so far away."
"Why, Mamma." Abe looked up with a start. "I was just recollecting some of the words out of the Declaration of Independence. It says all men are created equal."
"You don't mean to tell me!" Sarah was pleased because Abe was.
"I'm going to learn as much of the Declaration as I can by heart, before I take the book back," he said. "That way I can always keep the words."
"I declare," said Sarah, "you grow new ideas inside your head as fast as you add inches on top of it."
7Abe went right on adding inches. By the time he was fourteen he was as tall as his father. Sally was working as a hired girl that summer for Mr. and Mrs. Josiah Crawford. Abe worked for them off and on. One afternoon he finished his chores early, and Mrs. Crawford sent him home. Abe was glad. Josiah had lent him a new book—a life of George Washington—and he wanted to start reading it.
When he reached the Lincoln cabin, he found Betsy and Mathilda waiting outside for their mother. She stood before the mirror in the cabin putting on her sunbonnet.
"Your pa and Dennis have gone squirrel hunting," she said, as she tied the strings in a neat bow beneath her chin. "The gals and I are going to visit a new neighbor. Will you keep an eye on Johnny and put some 'taters on to boil for supper?"
"Oh, Ma, not potatoes again?"
"They will be right tasty with a mess of squirrel. Before you put the 'taters on—"
Abe patted the book inside his shirt front. "I can read?" he asked.
"You can, after you go down to the horse trough and wash your head."
"Wash my head? How come?" Abe wailed.
"Take a look at that ceiling, and you'll know how come. See that dark spot? Your head made that. You're getting so tall you bump into the ceiling every time you climb into the loft."
Abe rolled his eyes upward. "If some of that learning I've got cooped up in my head starts leaking out, how can I help it?"
Sarah refused to be put off by any of his foolishness. "When you track dirt into the house, I can wash the floor," she said. "But I can't get to the ceiling so easy. It needs a new coat of whitewash, but there's no use in doing it if your head ain't clean."
"All right," said Abe meekly.
"Take a gourdful of soap with you," said Sarah. "And mind you, no reading until you finish washing your hair."
He grumbled under his breath as he walked down to the horse trough. With a new book waiting to be read, washing his hair seemed a waste of time. But if that was what Sarah wanted, he would do it. He lathered his head with soap and ducked it into the water. Some of the soap got into his eyes and he began to sputter. He heard a giggle.
"Hey, Johnny, is that you?" he said. "Get a bucket of water—quick!"
Johnny, the eight-year-old stepbrother, was glad to oblige. He poured bucket after bucket of water over Abe's head. Finally all of the soap was rinsed out of his hair. Abe took the tail of his shirt and wiped the soap out of his eyes. Both boys were covered with water. The ground around the horse trough was like a muddy little swamp. Johnny was delighted. He liked to feel the mud squish up between his toes.
"Look at me, Abe," he shouted. "Ain't we having fun?"
Abe took his young stepbrother by the hand. His eyes were twinkling. "I've thought of something else that's fun. Come on, we're going to play a joke on Mamma."
When Sarah returned to the cabin late that afternoon, she noticed that Abe's hair was still damp. He was very quiet as he stood by the fireplace and swung the big kettle outward. He dipped out the potatoes with an iron spoon. Tom and Dennis came in, both somewhat grumpy. They had not brought back a single squirrel.
Only Johnny seemed in good spirits. He whispered in Mathilda's ear. They both began to giggle. By the time the family had gathered around the table, Betsy and Dennis had been let in on the secret, whatever it was. They were red in the face from trying not to laugh.
"Quiet!" said Tom. "Quiet, while I say the blessing."
"We thank thee. Lord—" he began.
Tom usually gave thanks for each kind of food on the table. But today there was only a dish of dried-up potatoes. "We thank Thee, Lord," he went on, "for all these blessings."
"Mighty poor blessings," said Abe.
The girls giggled again. Dennis threw back his head and roared. Johnny was laughing so hard that he fell off his stool. He lay on the floor, rolling and shrieking.
"I wish you young ones would stop carrying on," said Sarah, "and tell me what you're carrying on about."
"Oh, Mamma, can't you see?" said Betsy. "Look up."
Sarah gasped. Marching across the cabin ceiling were the muddy marks of two bare feet.
"Don't they look like Johnny's feet?" Mathilda asked.
"Johnny Johnston, you come right here," said Sarah sternly.
Johnny picked himself up from the rag rug before the fireplace. He went over and stood before his mother. His blue eyes danced. This was one scolding that he looked forward to.
"Now tell me the truth. What do you mean by—"
Sarah paused. She could hardly scold her son for walking on the ceiling.
Johnny had been told exactly what to say. "I got my feet all muddy down at the horse trough," he explained. "Then I walked on the ceiling."
"You walked on the ceiling? Johnny Johnston, you know it's wicked to lie."
"I'm not lying. Those are my footprints."
Sarah looked again. The footprints were too small to belong to anyone but Johnny. She looked at Abe. He seemed to have taken a sudden liking for boiled potatoes and kept his eyes on his plate.
"Abe Lincoln, is this some of your tomfoolery?"
"I—I reckon so."
"But how—"
"It was easy," Johnny interrupted. "I held my legs stiff and Abe held me upside down, and I walked."
Abe stood up, pushing back his stool. He glanced toward the door.
Sarah was not often angry. When she was, she reminded her children of a mother hen ruffling its feathers. "Well, Abe, have you got anything to say for yourself?"
Abe shook his head. Suddenly his joke did not seem quite so funny.
"I declare!" said Sarah. "A big boy like you! You ought to be spanked."
The children looked at tall, lanky Abe towering over their mother. They burst out laughing again. "Mamma's going to spank Abe!" they chanted. "Mamma's going to spank Abe."
Dennis brought both hands down on the table with a loud whack. "That's a good one, that is," he roared.
Sarah threw her apron over her head. The children watched the peculiar 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
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