The Denison review. [volume] (Denison, Iowa) 1867-current, 1904-03-09
wolves are m the ttmss, ne have to

pAA0eOA VI I4c AOuSu SCuuy. Ills IuLOI
echoed the invitation. "It's Abes re.
cess. Come in. Nancy and Ann Rut-
ledge. and the rest OF YOU"
Half a dozen figures emerged from
the night of the village street, bearing
Nancy Green company, laughing and
half reluctant; and let themselves be
coaxed into sharing long bench which
the boys drew up before the fire. 1t
was like an invasion of swallows. Abe
1aked up all the shayings and blocks
and brought them to the hearth. A
festive spirit filed the place. Nearly
all the girls were bareheaded, in linsey
dresses. They had stepped out of
their homes along the winding road
for the mere pleasure Of being abroad
and free from the tasks at the end of
the day; with the exception of Nancy
Green, and Martha Bell Clary, who had
come from Clary's Grove to stay all
lar group of young people in French
cabin would have cleared the floor
directly for dancing, all the merrier
for having met Unexpectedly. But
| these children of serious Massachusetts,
Tennessee, Carolina, and Kentucky
pioneers held experience meeting in
stead. The state was still so young,
and their knowledge of the wide world
so limited, that they and their elders
! took primitive delight in telling over
their own adventures. The oftener a
story was repeated the more dignity
it acquired.
Talking about wolves" said young
Green, when nobody had said a word
about wolves since the girls entrance,
looking at his sister with sly enjoy.
ment, II was going afoot to the mil!
early one morning last summer, and
met two in the path-a black one and
a gray one. stood still and looked
at them, and they stood still and looked
at me. knew if turned to run they
would pull re down in minute.
Finally I whipped out my jack-knife
! and cut a rosin-weed, and dashed at
them, yelling with all my might. They
were SO SCARED they ran like sheep"
Cor like that wagon that you stopped
before we came to Illinois," retorted his
| sister Nancy. When daddy was going
to move from Car'lina he bought new
| wagon. We children had never seen
such thing, and we climbed the
spokes, and William took toid of the
chair On the tongue. The wagon
started down hill, and everybody let go
but William. The tongue ran into a
tree and broke, and left the chain in
his hand. was going to hold on If it
killed me, mother says he. For If
that wagon had got away, how were
we going to move out to Illinois?"
Speaking about sheep" continued
young Green, as if he had not heard
the wagon story, daddy told Nancy
when she was herding the sheep, that
she must carry bag with her and save
the wool that stuck to the bushes. Our
old eve was tame, and it was easier to
pick the wool off her back than to
hunt through the bushes. So Nancy
picked the old eve, and came home
with full poke two nights hand run
ming. The first night daddy peaised
her; but the second night he found it
out!"
Il wasn't ten years old then" re-
membered Nancy; ''and my conscience
hurt me worse the first night than
daddy's punishment did the second"
"That reminds me, Nancy" said
Lincoln, "of what your mother told me
Sticky did when he was about ten years
old. He brought in some frozen eggs
and raked out the Goals and put the
eggs to thaw on her best pewter platter.
Sh CHI
pewter running all over the hearth she
felt discouraged about him!"
Ann Rutledge laughed, and flung
one of her thick auburn braids behind
| her shoulder.
Haven't you any tale to tell of Abe,
Minter Grayham?"
Minter Grayham, used to having his
name prolonged by the soft southern
drawl with gentle familiarity, smiled
and shook his head. No one around
the cooper's fireplace had a sense of
the degradation of poverty or the
trlviality of any human experience.
Life in New Salem was full of zest
which they brought from Massa-
chusetts, from Kentucky and Tennes-
see and Carolina mountains, and from
good English ancestry; though it was
merely the ordinary pioneer life of a
| young state.
AS Abe cast on more fuel and the
blaze fiared higher, scream like a
rabbits pierced the doorway, and
something writhed over the step on
the puncheon floor. A furious woman.
the vision of witch, with beard grow
ing tufted on her long chin, whacked
the writhing object with a crutch as
hard as she could plant the blows.
Ann Rutledge screamed.
Hold on!:' cried Lincoln in two
CT three long strides. Don't do that"
He received on his arm the last stroke
of the stick, which the woman carried
with her as she ran from him.
"Oh, my dear!" said Ann, brushing
shayings off little girl whom she
helped up from the floor, "are you
| Lurt?'
Sally got me that time!" the child
answered, hopping to balance herself,
and laughing while tears ran down her
4 IL z-lr..