“Wait for me here, Lige,” she said.

She swept in alone, and the door closed softly after her.  The room was a big one, and there were maps on the table, with pins sticking in them.  She saw that much, and then—!

Could this fantastically tall, stooping figure before her be that of the President of the United States?  She stopped, as from the shock he gave her.  The lean, yellow face with the mask-like lines all up and down, the unkempt, tousled hair, the beard—­why, he was a hundred times more ridiculous than his caricatures.  He might have stood for many of the poor white trash farmers she had seen in Kentucky—­save for the long black coat.

“Is—­is this Mr. Lincoln?” she asked, her breath taken away.

He bowed and smiled down at her.  Somehow that smile changed his face a little.

“I guess I’ll have to own up,” he answered.

“My name is Virginia Carvel,” she said.  “I have come all the way from St. Louis to see you.”

“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.’”