“I declare,” said Sarah, “you grow new ideas inside your head as fast as you add inches on top of it.”

7

[Illustration]

Abe 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.

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