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.

“In General Joseph Johnston’s army,” she replied, trying to be patient.  “But now,” she gulped, “now he has been arrested as a spy by General Sherman’s army.”

“That’s too bad,” answered Mr. Lincoln.

“And—­and they are going to shoot him.”

“That’s worse,” said Mr. Lincoln, gravely.  “But I expect he deserves it.”

“Oh, no, he doesn’t,” she cried.  “You don’t know how brave he is!  He floated down the Mississippi on a log, out of Vicksburg, and brought back thousands and thousands of percussion caps.  He rowed across the river when the Yankee fleet was going down, and set fire to De Soto so that they could see to shoot.”

“Well,” said Mr. Lincoln, “that’s a good starter.”  Then he looked thoughtful.

“Miss Carvel,” said he, “that argument reminds me of a story about a man I used to know in the old days in Illinois.  His name was McNeil, and he was a lawyer.

“One day he was defending a prisoner for assault and battery before Judge Drake.

“’Judge, says McNeil, ’you oughtn’t to lock this man up.  It was a fair fight, and he’s the best man in the state in a fair fight.  And, what’s more, he’s never been licked in a fair fight in his life.’

“‘And if your honor does lock me up,’ the prisoner put in, ’I’ll give your honor a thunderin’ big lickin’ when I get out.’

“The Judge took off his coat.

“‘Gentlemen,’ said he, ’it’s a powerful queer argument, but the Court will admit it on its merits.  The prisoner will please to step out on the grass.’”

This time Virginia contrived merely to smile.  She was striving against something, she knew not what.  Her breath was coming deeply, and she was dangerously near to tears.  Why?  She could not tell.  She had come into this man’s presence despising herself for having to ask him a favor.  The sight of his face she had ridiculed.  Now she could not look into it without an odd sensation.  What was in it?  Sorrow?  Yes, that was nearest it.