Part 31 (2/2)
”Heaven bless you for protecting a poor old man! I have been a runner for the whites for many years, but I have never met a man like you. I will tell my boy of this. Your name is Lincoln?”
”Yes--Abraham Lincoln, though the name matters nothing.”
CHAPTER XIX.
THE FOREST COLLEGE.
”Well, how time flies, and the clock of the year does go round! Here's the elder again! It's a bright day that brings ye here, though I shouldn't let ye sleep in the prophet's chamber, if I had one, 'cause ye ain't any prophet at all. But ye are right welcome just the same. Where is yer Indian boy?”
”He's gone to his own people, Aunt Olive.”
”To whet his tommyhawk, I make no doubt. Oh, elder, how ye have been deceived in people! Ye believe that every one is as good as one can be, or can be grafted to bear sweet fruit, but, hoe-down-hoe, elder, 'taint so. Yer Aunt Indiana knows how desperately wicked is the human heart. If ye don't do others, others will do ye, and this world is a warfare. Come in; I've got somethin' new to tell ye. It's about the Linkens' Abe.”
The Tunker entered the cheerful cabin in the sunny clearing of the timber.
”I've been savin' up the news to tell ye when ye came. Abe's been to war!”
”He has not been hurt, has he?”
”_Hurt!_ No, he hasn't been hurt. A great Indian fighter he proved! The men were all laughin' about it. He'll live to fight another day, as the sayin' goes, and so will the enemy. Well, I always thought that there was no need of killin' people. Let them alone, and they will all die themselves; and as for the enemy, let them alone, and they will come home waggin' their tails behind them, as the ditty says. Well, I must tell ye. Abe's been to war. He didn't see the enemy, nor fight, nor nothin'. But a wild Indian came right into his camp, and the soldiers started up to kill him, and what do ye suppose Abe did?”
”I think he did what he thought to be right.”
”He let him go! There! what do you think of that? He just went to fightin' his own company to save the Indian. There's a warrior for ye!
And that wasn't all. He talked in such a way that he frightened his own men, and he just gave the Indian some bread and cheese, and let him off.
And the Indian went off blessin' him. Abe will never make a soldier or handle armies much, after all yer prophecies. Such a soldier as that ought to be rewarded a pinfeather.”
”His conduct was after the Galilean teaching--was it not?--and produced the result of making the Indian a friend. Was not that a good thing to do? Who was the Indian?”
”It was old Main-Pogue. He was uncle, or somethin', to that boy who used to travel about with you, teachin' you the language--Waubeno; the old interpreter for General Ca.s.s's men. He'll go off and tell Waubeno. I wonder if Main-Pogue knew who it was that saved him, and if he will tell Waubeno that?”
”Lincoln did a n.o.ble act.”
”Oh, elder, ye've got a good heart, but ye're weak in yer upper story.
That ain't all I've got to tell ye. Abe has failed, after all yer prophecies, too. He and another man went to keepin' store up in New Salem, and he let his partner cheat him, and they _failed_; and now he's just workin' to pay up his debts, and his partner's too.”
”And his partner's too? That shows that he saved an honest purpose out of losses. The greatest of all losses is a loss of integrity of purpose.
I'm glad to hear that he has not lost that.”
”Oh, elder, ye've allus somethin' good to say of that boy. But I'm not agin him. He's Tom Linken's son, just as I told ye; and he'll never come to anythin' good. He all runs to books and gabble, and goes 'round repeatin' poetry, which is only the lies of crazy folks. I haven't any use for poetry, except hymns. But he's had real trouble of late, besides these things, and I'm sorry for that. He's lost the girl what he was goin' to marry. She was a beautiful girl, and her death made him so downhearted that they had to shut him up and watch him to keep him from committin' suicide. They say that he has very melancholy spells. He can't help that, I don't suppose. His mother what sleeps over yonder under the timber was melancholy. How are all the schools that you set to goin' on the Wabash?”
”They are all growing, good woman, and it fills my heart with delight to see them grow. They are all growing like gardens for the good of this great country. It does my heart good, and makes my soul happy, to start these Christian schools. It's my mission. And I try to start them right--character first, true views of things next, and books last; but the teaching of young children to think and act right spiritually is the highest education of all. This is best done by telling stories, and so I travel and travel telling stories to schools. You do not see my plan, but it is the true seed that I am planting, and it will bear fruit when I am gone to a better world than this.”
”Oh, ye mean well,” said Aunt Olive, ”but ye don't know more than some whole families--pardon my plainness of speech. I don't doubt that ye are doin' some good, after a fas.h.i.+on; but don't prophesy--yer prophecies in regard to Abe have failed already. He'll never command the American army, nor run the nation, nor keep store. Yer Aunt Indiana can read character, and her prophecies have proved true so far.”
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