“How?” Father asked.
“A low fire, no blaze, and just a little wood at a time.”
“That boy learns in his sleep,” said Father.
They all laughed. Then Abe crawled out of his covers, and Sarah crawled out of hers. They washed at the spring and combed their hair. Then they were ready for breakfast.
Again the Lincoln family sat on the log and ate bacon and corncakes. Then on they went, toward the beautiful Ohio River.
INTO THE WILDERNESS
A ferryboat took the Lincolns, horses and all, across the Ohio River. When they reached the other shore, they were in Indiana. But they were still far from their new home.
Mr. Lincoln hired a big wagon and hitched up his horses. The others threw the bundles in and sat on them. Then off they drove into the wilderness.
Mrs. Lincoln and the children had never seen such a dense forest. There was no end to it.
They had to travel slowly, for the road wasn’t much more than a path. At times Mr. Lincoln had to cut away tree branches so the wagon could pass on.
Of course Abe helped. He knew how to handle an ax because he had helped his father in Kentucky.
The trail was very rough. Sometimes the wagon bumped over big roots. Then the whole family would bounce into the air.
But that didn’t worry the Lincolns. The more they bounced, the more they laughed.
“It’s fun to bounce,” said Abe. “I like it.”
“So do I,” said Sarah.
Now a wide creek had to be crossed. The children watched the water creeping up, closer and closer to the wagon bed, and were frightened.
Mother didn’t seem to like it, either. “Thomas!” she called. “The water will come into the wagon!”
“Oh, that won’t hurt anything,” said Mr. Lincoln. “We can dry everything in the sun.”
“Why, of course we can,” said Mother. “I didn’t think of that.”
“And your feet won’t melt if the water does cover them,” said Father. “You’re neither sugar nor salt.”
“That’s true,” said Mother. “We’ll just play we are wading in the creek, children.”
What fun those two children had then! The water did come into the wagon, up to their ankles, and they could wade sitting still.
After that, they were eager to cross creeks.
So on they went, farther and farther into the great wilderness. On they went, bumping, bouncing, wading, and laughing.
THE LOG CABIN
At last they reached Mr. Lincoln’s land. There was no clearing, no cabin, no shelter of any kind. There was nothing but the dense, dense forest.
The children had no time to be afraid of Indians or wild animals. They had to go to work at once.
Mr. Lincoln and Abe cut down small trees and made a shed with the poles. It wasn’t much of a home, but at least it was a shelter from rain and snow.
Then came the new log cabin. Large trees had to be chopped down and made into logs. The logs had to be cut certain lengths. Large stumps had to be pulled or burned.
It was all hard work, and the weather was cold and wet. All winter long, on every clear day, Abe worked with his father.
Mrs. Lincoln and Sarah had to find the food. Mrs. Lincoln could shoot almost as well as Mr. Lincoln. Sometimes she shot a deer. Sometimes she came back with squirrels or rabbits.
The front of the shed had been left open, and in this opening the Lincolns had their fire. And here they did their cooking.
At last the cabin was almost finished. The floor wasn’t laid and the windows and door weren’t made, but the Lincolns moved in anyway. It was better than the shed. Mother said they could get along for a while, until Father had finished clearing land for a cornfield.
Mother liked the new cabin because it was in such a beautiful place. It stood on a slight elevation in the midst of large forest trees. It was shaded by walnut and hickory trees. Nearby were papaw and sassafras trees.
There were wild grapevines and spice bushes and many kinds of wild berries.
All this delighted Mrs. Lincoln. “Thomas,” she said, “you have chosen a beautiful spot for our home.”
She hung a bearskin over the open doorway and spread deerskins on the dirt floor.
In the evening, after the day’s work was done, the Lincoln family sat before a blazing fire in the large fireplace.
Sometimes Sarah and Abe ate walnuts or hickory nuts. Sometimes they just sat still and listened to Father tell Indian stories until Mother said, “Time for bed, children!”
Then up the pegs in the wall went Abe. He slept in the loft on a pile of sweet-smelling leaves, covered with a thick wool cover. He had no pillow, but he had a bearskin over him and he was warm and happy.
All of the Lincolns were happy together. The cabin was a dear place to them. It was their home, and they loved it.
MOTHER PLANS FOR ABE
Mrs. Lincoln liked the new home in Indiana, except for one thing. There was no school in the Pigeon Creek Settlement, and Nancy Lincoln wanted her children to go to school.
She had gone to school herself when she was a girl, and she could read and write. She had learned to love good books, and she wanted Sarah and Abe to love them.
But what could she do? There wasn’t a school within ten miles.
“Well,” she said, “we will have school here at home, and I will be the schoolmaster.”
The children hadn’t gone to school in Kentucky very long, and they had forgotten all they had learned. So Mrs. Lincoln began with their letters. Then she taught them spelling and reading and a little arithmetic.
She told them Bible stories and read the Bible to them.
She taught them to be honest.
She taught them good manners.
Abe learned to take off his coonskin cap when he entered a cabin. He learned to stand until older persons were seated.
Both children learned to say, “Thank you” and “Good morning” and “Good night.”
Indeed, Sarah and Abe had such good manners that, later on, other settlers liked to have their children visit the Lincolns.
The school went on. Mrs. Lincoln gave the children as much time as she could, but she was too busy to give them as much time as they really needed.
But she found out several things. She found that, while both children were smart and learned quickly, Abe was the one who really loved to study. So she made up her mind to one thing: Abe should go to school.
Mr. Lincoln didn’t agree with her. He had never gone to school himself, and he couldn’t read or write.
“You’ve taught Abe to read and write,” he said. “That’s enough for any boy who is going to work in the fields all his life.”
“No, Thomas, it isn’t enough. Abe is not like other boys. He is more serious, and he asks smart questions about things.”
“He asks too many questions. I tell him to get to work.”
“Because you can’t answer him and neither can I,” said Mrs. Lincoln. “And that’s just the reason he should have a real teacher—someone who can tell him what he wants to know.”
“Well, there isn’t any school near enough, Nancy, so that settles it.”
“No, Thomas, it doesn’t. There is a way: we’ll move near a school.”
“And begin all over again? Build a new cabin and clear new land?”
“Yes,” said that determined young mother, “we’ll begin all over again.”
Just then Abe came into the cabin.
“Abe,” said Mother, “we are talking about sending you to school.”
“You don’t want to go, do you?” asked Father. “You’d rather work in the field, wouldn’t you?”
“No,” said Abe. “I’d rather go to school and work with books.”
“Abe, you shall go to school next winter if I live,” said Nancy Lincoln.
But Nancy Lincoln didn’t live. She died in the fall of 1818.
CHANGES IN THE FAMILY
ONE NIGHT A little girl and two boys sat in
the Lincoln cabin and looked into the fire. They were alone in the cabin. And the great dark forest was like a wall of darkness that shut them in and held them fast.
Abe was now ten and a half, and Sarah was past twelve. The boy who was staying with them was several years older.
For a long time they didn’t say anything. They just sat on stools and looked into the fire. All of them seemed unhappy.
At last Sarah said, “It’s lonesome here.”
“It’s mighty lonesome,” said Abe.
“I guess you miss your mother,” said the older boy kindly.
“Yes, I do, Cousin Dennis,” said Sarah.
“So do I,” said Abe.
“I miss her, too,” said Dennis. “Look how she had me come here and live when my mother died. And she was always good to me, too.”
“She was good to everyone,” said Sarah.
“No one else could be so good,” said Abe.
“I’m glad you are here, Dennis,” said Sarah. “I’m sorry the cabin isn’t as clean as Mother kept it.” She looked at the untidy room.
“You work too hard, Sarah,” said Dennis. “I wish I could help you more.”
“I bring in the water and wood,” said Abe.
“You both do all you can,” Sarah said quickly. “You have too much work yourselves since Father went away.”
“We are trying to finish that rail fence before he gets back,” Dennis said.
“We want to surprise him,” said Abe.
“He said he wouldn’t be gone long, but it’s been a month today,” said Sarah.
“That isn’t long,” said Abe. “He had to walk, and it’s a hundred miles to Knob Creek.”
“And a hundred miles back,” Dennis added with a laugh.
But Sarah didn’t even smile. “Anyway, I think it’s queer he went away and left us alone,” she said.
“It is queer,” said Dennis.
Abe didn’t say anything, but he thought it was queer, too.
Then they stopped talking and looked into the fire again. It burned low.
“It’s time to go to bed,” said Sarah.
“Good night,” said Dennis, and up the pegs he went to the loft.
“Good night,” said Abe, and up he followed Dennis.
Sarah went to bed in the untidy room below. All was quiet in the cabin.
Now the forest began to speak its language of sounds and warnings. An owl hooted, and Sarah hid her head under her quilt.
A wildcat screamed, and Abe crept closer to Dennis in their bed of leaves.
WHAT THE BIG WAGON BROUGHT
Another day went by, and then another and another. Still Mr. Lincoln didn’t return, and the three children were alone.
But they went on with their work, the boys in the woods splitting rails and Sarah in the cabin doing housework.
She tried hard to get good meals for Abe and Dennis, but nothing she cooked was just right. The mush was too thin. The corncakes were too hard. The meat was either burned or raw.
She tried to wash the heavy bedclothes, but she couldn’t lift them. She tried to sew and mend, but the clothes didn’t look right.
She was discouraged. Every day she cried and cried.
Then suddenly everything was changed. One morning a big wagon came through the woods to the Lincoln cabin. The wagon was drawn by four horses!
Out of the cabin rushed Sarah. Out of the woods rushed Dennis and Abe. Out of the wagon jumped Thomas Lincoln!
“Children,” he said. “I have brought you a present from Kentucky. I have brought you a new mother.”
A tall pretty woman jumped from the wagon and ran toward them. She had fair curly hair and the sweetest smile.
“Children!” she cried. “Children!” With that she hugged them and kissed them. She told them they were her children now and she had come to take care of them.
“You will be just like my own children to me,” she said. “You are all about the same age, and you will have a good time together.”
Then this lively lady turned toward the wagon and called, “John! Matilda! Sarah!”
At once the three Johnston children jumped from the wagon and smiled at Abe and Sarah and Dennis.
And Abe and Sarah and Dennis smiled at John and Matilda and Sarah Johnston.
“Now, children,” said Mrs. Lincoln, “please take everything out of the wagon and carry it into the cabin.”
Six happy young people began to unload the big wagon. There were great bundles of featherbeds, pillows, quilts, wool coverlets, sheets, towels, and clothing. The Lincoln children and Dennis were amazed to see so many things.
“The bureau next!” called Mrs. Lincoln. “And do please be careful!”
“My goodness!” said Sarah Lincoln. “A bureau! I never saw one before.”
John, Dennis, and Abe carried it into the cabin. Sarah would have thought they were carrying eggs—they were so careful.
“It’s beautiful,” said Abe.
“It makes the cabin look fine,” said Dennis.
“Wait till you see the chairs,” said Matilda. “They have backs.”
“Backs!” cried Sarah and Abe and Dennis.
They ran to the wagon, and soon six chairs stood in the cabin—six chairs with backs.
“Oh! How beautiful!” cried Sarah Lincoln. “It’s the finest cabin on Pigeon Creek now. Isn’t it, boys?”
“It is,” said Abe.
“It is,” Dennis agreed.
How that new mother worked! Here, there, and everywhere, just like the general of an army. And she had her army working, too.
Clean bedclothes went on the beds. Dishes, knives, forks, and spoons were scoured. Pots and pans were scoured. The table, benches, and stools were scrubbed. Soon everything was so clean it just couldn’t be any cleaner.
Next, Mrs. Lincoln began on Sarah and Abe. Soon they were so clean they just couldn’t be any cleaner.
Then she gave Sarah a pretty new dress. She gave Abe new shirts and trousers. She gave them both new shoes—not moccasins—shoes. She made two sad children so happy they didn’t know themselves.
That night Abe and Dennis slept on a featherbed in the loft. Clean pillows were under their heads and clean quilts covered them. How happy and comfortable they were! How Abe loved this new mother!
And that wasn’t all. Mrs. Sarah Johnston Lincoln told Mr. Thomas Lincoln that she wanted a wooden floor, windows, and a door. And she told him so plainly he couldn’t misunderstand, so he just went to work and made them.
He was really a good carpenter, and now he had three boys to help him. So it wasn’t long until there was a beautiful clean floor and a door and windows.
Never again was that cabin a lonely place. Six children helped with the work. Six children laughed and talked. Six children popped corn, roasted apples, and cracked nuts.
But best of all to Sarah and Abe was to have that kind new mother.
MRS. LINCOLN LOOKS AHEAD
“Thomas,” said Abe’s stepmother, “Abe must go to school.”
“But he knows his letters, Sarah, and he can read and spell a little.”
“Very little,” said Mrs. Lincoln. “He hasn’t been to school since you moved to Indiana, and that was three years ago.”
“There wasn’t any school near enough.”
“There is now, right here on Pigeon Creek. And Abe ought to go. He is eleven years old.”
“Oh, Abe is getting along all right. He can work as well as a man,” said Thomas Lincoln.
“Work isn’t everything, Thomas.”
“It’s enough for Abe. He’ll always be a farm hand. He can’t do anything else.”
“You can’t tell me that, Thomas Lincoln! Abe is smart. He loves books and he remembers everything. He can tell every story he ever heard.”
“I know he can do that,” said Thomas. “He can even tell what the preacher said at meeting.” Then Thomas laughed and laughed.
“What are you laughing at?” asked Sarah.
“Why,”
said Thomas, “yesterday that boy got up on a stump in the cornfield and preached.”
“Preached? You don’t mean to say Abe preached?”
“I do,” said Thomas. “He thought he was alone, but I was in the woods and I hid behind a tree and listened.” Then Mr. Lincoln laughed again.
“Go on! Go on!” said Sarah.
“Well,” said Thomas, “Abe acted exactly like the preacher. He made motions like the preacher. He coughed like the preacher. And he actually preached like him, too.”
“How could he preach?” asked Mrs. Lincoln. “He didn’t have anyone to preach to.”
“He preached to the cornstalks, Sarah. And he preached last Sunday’s sermon!”
“Did he remember it?”
“He remembered it better than I did.”
“Abe is the smartest boy I know,” said Sarah.
“He’s too smart,” said Thomas. “He can imitate the preacher exactly, and he’s funny when he does it. But the preaching has to stop. It takes him away from his work.”
“Thomas, let Abe go to school this winter. He wants to learn. He’ll study hard.”
“I can’t spare him this winter, Sarah. Some land must be cleared for a new field. We need more bread for such a large family.”
“I know we do, Thomas, but the land can be cleared in the spring. Abe can stop school when you are ready for him. You can’t work through the heavy snows, anyway.”
“That’s true,” said Mr. Lincoln. “But I haven’t any money, Sarah. I can’t pay a schoolmaster.”
“I’ll pay him myself,” said Mrs. Lincoln, “with my chicken money.”
“You seem determined, Sarah.”
“I am determined, Thomas. Abe must have a chance to go to school.”
A BUSY ALL-ROUND BOY
THERE WERE NOW several families in the Pigeon Creek neighborhood. Each family had several children, and the parents had decided that it was time to hire a schoolmaster. All the families together could afford to pay one.
So these settlers had built a school. It was a log house with one room.
At one end of this room there was a large fireplace which was filled with blazing logs in the winter. This made that end of the room too warm and left the other end too cold.
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