Once when I was at my Aunt Hannah’s, Judge Davis was there and I sat on his lap.  Years afterward I boasted to Robert Ingersoll that when I wore trousers buttoned to a calico waist I used to sit on the lap of David Davis, and Colonel Ingersoll laughed and said, “Now I know you are a liar, for David Davis didn’t have any lap.”  The only thing about the interview I remember was that the Judge really didn’t have any lap to speak of.

After Judge Davis had gone, Aunt Hannah said, “You must always remember Judge Davis, for he is the man who made Abe Lincoln!”

And when I said, “Why, I thought God made Lincoln,” they all laughed.

After a little pause my inquiring mind caused me to ask, “Who made Judge Davis?” And Uncle Elihu answered, “Abe Lincoln.”

Then they all laughed more than ever.

* * * * *

Many volunteers were being called for.  Neighbors and neighbors’ boys were enlisting—­going to the support of Abe Lincoln.

Then one day my father went away, too.  Many of the neighbors went with us to the station when he took the four-o’clock train, and we all cried, except mother—­she didn’t cry until she got home.  My father had gone to Springfield to enlist as a surgeon.  In three days he came back and told us he had enlisted, and was to be assigned his regiment in a week, and go at once to the front.  He was always a kind man, but during that week when he was waiting to be told where to go, he was very gentle and more kind than ever.  He told me I must be the man of the house while he was away, and take care of my mother and sisters, and not forget to feed the chickens every morning; and I promised.

At the end of the week a big envelope came from Springfield marked in the corner, “Official.”

My mother would not open it, and so it lay on the table until the doctor’s return.  We all looked at it curiously, and my eldest sister gazed on it long with lack-luster eye and then rushed from the room with her check apron over her head.

When my father rode up on horseback I ran to tell him that the envelope had come.

We all stood breathless and watched him break the seals.  He took out the letter and read it silently and passed it to my mother.

I have the letter before me now, and it says:  “The Department is still of the opinion that it does not care to accept men having varicose veins, which make the wearing of bandages necessary.  Your name, however, has been filed and should we be able to use your services, will advise.”

Then we were all very glad about the varicose veins, and I am afraid I went out and boasted to my play-fellows about our family possessions.

It was not so very long after, that there was a Big Meeting in the “timber.”  People came from all over the county to attend it.  The chief speaker was a man by the name of Ingersoll, a colonel in the army, who was back home for just a day or two on furlough.  Folks said he was the greatest orator in Peoria County.