“I can see yer curls.  Come out from behind that tree—­you piece o’ Scotch goods!” Abe shouted.

Only silence followed his demand.

“Come on,” Abe persisted.  “There’s a good-looking boy here and I want to introduce you.”

“Ask him to see if he can find me,” said the voice of the girl from a distance.

Abe beckoned to Harry and pointed to the tree behind which he had seen her hiding.  Harry stealthily approached it only to find that she had gone.  He looked about for a moment but could not see her.  Soon they heard a little call, suggesting elfland trumpets, in a distant part of the wood.  It was repeated three or four times; each time fainter and farther.  They saw and heard no more of her that day.

“She’s an odd child and as pretty as a spotted fawn, and about as wild,” said Abe.  “She’s a kind of a first cousin to the bobolink.”

When they were getting ready to go home that afternoon Joe got into a great hurry to see his mother.  It seemed to him that ages had elapsed since he had seen her—­a conviction which led to noisy tears.

Abe knelt before him and comforted the boy.  Then he wrapped him in his jacket and swung him in the air and started for home with Joe astride his neck.

Samson says in his diary:  “His tender play with the little lad gave me another look at the man Lincoln.”

“Some one proposed once that we should call that stream the Minnehaha,” said Abe as he walked along.  “After this Joe and I are going to call it the Minneboohoo.”

The women of the little village had met at a quilting party at ten o’clock with Mrs. Martin Waddell.  There Sarah had had a seat at the frame and heard all the gossip of the countryside.  The nimble fingered Ann Rutledge—­a daughter of the tavern folk—­had sat beside her.  Ann was a slender, good-looking girl of seventeen with blue eyes and a rich crown of auburn hair and a fair skin well browned by the sunlight.  She was the most dexterous needle worker in New Salem.  It was Mrs. Peter Lukins, a very lean, red haired woman with only one eye which missed no matrimonial prospect—­who put the ball in play so to speak.

“Ann, if Honest Abe gits you, you’ll have to spend the first three months makin’ a pair o’ breeches for him.  It’ll be a mile o’ sewin’.”

“I reckon she’d have to spend the rest o’ her life keepin’ the buttons on ’em,” said Mrs. John Cameron.

“Abe doesn’t want me and I don’t want Abe so I reckon some other girl will have to make his breeches,” said Ann.

“My lord! but he’s humbly,” said Mrs. Alexander Ferguson.

“Han’some is that han’some does,” Mrs. Martin Waddell remarked.  “I don’t know anybody that does han’somer.”

“Han’some is that han’some looks I say,” Mrs. Lukins continued with a dreamy look in her eye.

“I like a man that’ll bear inspection—­up an’ a comin’ an’ neat an’ trim as a buck deer,” Mrs. Ferguson confessed.