“Well, Abe,” he said slowly, “I won’t be hard on you.  If you want to pull fodder three days for me, that ought to pay for the book.”

“Starting right now?”

“Yep, starting right now.”  Josiah was actually smiling.  “Then you can have the book to keep.”

Abe caught his breath.  What a lucky boy he was!  Three days’ work and he could keep the book!  He would have a chance to read about George Washington any time he wanted to.

Never had he worked harder or faster than he did that morning.  When the noon dinner bell rang, he seemed to be walking on air as he followed Josiah into the cabin.  Sally was putting dinner on the table.  Abe slipped up behind her and pulled one of her pigtails.  Taken by surprise, she jumped and dropped a pitcher of cream.  The pitcher did not break, but the cream spilled and spread over the kitchen floor.

[Illustration]

“Abe Lincoln!  Look what you made me do!” cried Sally.  “I just washed that floor.  And look at that good cream going to waste.”

“’Tain’t going to waste.”  Abe pointed to Elizabeth Crawford’s cat, which was lapping up the delicious yellow stream.  Then he began to sing:  “Cat’s in the cream jar, shoo, shoo, shoo!”

“Stop trying to show off!” said Sally.

She was angry, but Sammy, Elizabeth’s little boy, shouted with delight.  That was all the encouragement Abe needed.  The fact that he could not carry a tune did not seem to bother him.

  “Cat’s in the cream jar, shoo, shoo, shoo! 
   Cat’s in the cream jar, shoo, shoo, shoo! 
     Skip to my Lou, my darling.”

Sally was down on her hands and knees, wiping up the cream.  “Stop singing that silly song, and help me.”

Instead, Abe danced a jig.  He leaned down and pulled her other pigtail.

[Illustration]

“Sally’s in the cream jar, shoo, shoo, shoo.”

“That’s enough, Abe,” said Elizabeth Crawford.

“Skip to my Lou, my darling.”  He whirled around on his bare feet and made a sweeping bow.  Sally was close to tears.

“Abe, I told you to stop,” said Elizabeth Crawford.  “You ought to be ashamed, teasing your sister.  If you keep on acting that way, what do you think is going to become of you?”

“Me?” Abe drew himself up.  “What’s going to become of me?  I’m going to be President.”

Elizabeth looked at him, a lanky barefoot boy with trousers too short.  His shirt was in rags.  His black hair was tousled.  She sank into a chair, shaking with laughter.  “A pretty President you’d make, now wouldn’t you?”

She had no sooner spoken than she wanted to take back the words.  All of the joy went out of his face.  Sally was too angry to notice.

“Maybe you’re going to be President,” she said.  “But first you’d better learn to behave.”

“I—­I was just funning, Sally.”

Something in his voice made Sally look up.  She saw the hurt expression in his eyes.  “I know you were,” she said hastily.  “I’m not mad any more.”