John McNeil kissed Ann Rutledge that evening and was most attentive to her, and the women were saying that the two had fallen in love with each other.

“See how she looks at him,” one of them whispered.

“Well, it’s just the way he looks at her,” the other answered.

At the first pause in the merriment Kelso stood on a chair, and then silence fell upon the little company.

“My good neighbors,” he began, “we are here to rejoice that new friends have come to us and that a new home is born in our midst.  We bid them welcome.  They are big boned, big hearted folks.  No man has grown large who has not at one time or another had his feet in the soil and felt its magic power going up into his blood and bone and sinew.  Here is a wonderful soil and the inspiration of wide horizons; here are broad and fertile fields.  Where the corn grows high you can grow statesmen.  It may be that out of one of these little cabins a man will come to carry the torch of Liberty and Justice so high that its light will shine into every dark place.  So let no one despise the cabin—­humble as it is.  Samson and Sarah Traylor, I welcome and congratulate you.  Whatever may come, you can find no better friends than these, and of this you may be sure, no child of the prairies will ever go about with a hand organ and a monkey.  Our friend, Honest Abe, is one of the few rich men in this neighborhood.  Among his assets are Kirkham’s Grammar, The Pilgrim’s Progress, the Lives of Washington and Henry Clay, Hamlet’s Soliloquy, Othello’s Speech to the Senate, Marc Antony’s address and a part of Webster’s reply to Hayne.  A man came along the other day and sold him a barrel of rubbish for two bits.  In it he found a volume of Blackstone’s Commentaries.  Old Blackstone challenged him to a wrestle and Abe has grappled with him.  I reckon he’ll take his measure as easily as he took Jack Armstrong’s.  Lately he has got possession of a noble asset.  It is the Cotter’s Saturday Night, by Robert Burns.  I propose to ask him to let us share his enjoyment of this treasure.”

Abe, who had been sitting with his legs doubled beneath him on a buffalo skin, between Joe and Betsey Traylor, rose and said: 

“Mr. Kelso’s remarks, especially the part which applied to me, remind me of the story of the prosperous grocer of Joliet.  One Saturday night he and his boys were busy selling sausage.  Suddenly in came a man with whom he had quarreled and laid two dead cats on the counter.

“‘There,’ said he, ’this makes seven to-day.  I’ll call Monday and get my money.’

“We were doing a good business here making fun.  It seems a pity to ruin it and throw suspicion on the quality of the goods by throwing a cat on the counter.  I’ll only throw one cat.  It is entitled: 

  MY SISTER SUE

 “Say, boys, I guess ‘at none o’ you
  Has ever seen my sister Sue,
  She kin rassle an’ turn han’springs kerflop,
  But Jimmy Crimps!—­ye should see her hop! 
        Yes, sir!