“Miss Carvel,” said the President, looking at her intently, “I have rarely been so flattered in my life.  I—­I hope I have not disappointed you.”

Virginia was justly angry.

“Oh, you haven’t,” she cried, her eyes flashing, “because I am what you would call a Rebel.”

The mirth in the dark corners of his eyes disturbed her more and more.  And then she saw that the President was laughing.

“And have you a better name for it, Miss Carvel?” he asked.  “Because I am searching for a better name—­just now.”

She was silent—­sternly silent.  And she tapped her foot on the carpet.  What manner of man was this?  “Won’t you sit down?” said the President, kindly.  “You must be tired after your journey.”  And he put forth a chair.

“No, thank you,” said Virginia; “I think that I can say what I have come to say better standing.”

“Well,” said Mr. Lincoln, “that’s not strange.  I’m that way, too.  The words seem to come out better.  That reminds me of a story they tell about General Buck Tanner.  Ever heard of Buck, Miss Carvel?  No?  Well, Buck was a character.  He got his title in the Mormon war.  One day the boys asked him over to the square to make a speech.  The General was a little uneasy.

“‘I’m all right when I get standing up, Liza,’ he said to his wife.  Then the words come right along.  Only trouble is they come too cussed fast.  How’m I going to stop ’em when I want to?’

“‘Well, I du declare, Buck,’ said she, ’I gave you credit for some sense.  All you’ve got to do is to set down.  That’ll end it, I reckon.’

“So the General went over to the square and talked for about an hour and a half, and then a Chicago man shouted to him to dry up.  The General looked pained.

“‘Boys,’ said he, ’it’s jest every bit as bad for me as it is for you.  You’ll have to hand up a chair, boys, because I’m never going to get shet of this goldarned speech any anther way.’”

Mr. Lincoln had told this so comically that Virginia was forced to laugh, and she immediately hated herself.  A man who could joke at such a time certainly could not feel the cares and responsibilities of his office.  He should have been a comedian.  And yet this was the President who had conducted the war, whose generals had conquered the Confederacy.  And she was come to ask him a favor.  Virginia swallowed her pride.

“Mr. Lincoln,” she began, “I have come to talk to you about my cousin, Colonel Clarence Colfax.”

“I shall be happy to talk to you about your cousin, Colonel Colfax, Miss Carvel.  Is he your third or fourth cousin?”

“He is my first cousin,” she retorted.

“Is he in the city?” asked Mr. Lincoln, innocently.  “Why didn’t he come with you?”

“Oh, haven’t you heard?” she cried.  “He is Clarence Colfax, of St. Louis, now a Colonel in the army of the Confederate States.”

“Which army?” asked Mr. Lincoln.  Virginia tossed her head in exasperation.