One leafy afternoon in May, Jasper and Waubeno came to Aunt Olive's, at Pigeon Creek. Southern Indiana is a glory of sunshine and flowers at this season of the year, and their journey had been a very pleasant one.

They had met emigrants on the Ohio, and had seen the white sail of the prairie schooner in all of the forest ways.

"The world seems moving to the west," said Jasper, "as in the white Indian's dream. There is need of my work more and more. Every child that I can teach to read will make better this new empire that is being sifted out of the lands. Every school that I can found is likely to become a college, and I am glad to be a wanderer in the wilderness for the sake of my fellow-men."

In the open door, under the leafing vines, stood Aunt Indiana, in cap, wig, and spectacles. She arched her elbow over all to shade her eyes.

"The old Tunker, as I live, come again, and brought his Indian boy with him!" said she. "Well, you are welcome to Pigeon Creek. You left a sight of good thoughts here when you were here before. You're a good pitcher, if you are a little cracked, with the handle all one side. Come in, and welcome. Take a chair and sit down—

as the poet sings."

"I am well, and am glad to be toiling for the bread that does not fail in the wilderness. How are the people of Pigeon Creek—how are my good friends the Lincolns?"

"The Linkens? Well, Tom Linken makes out to hold together after a fashion—all dreams and expectations. 'The thing that hath been is,' the Scriptur' says, and Thomas Linken is—just as he always was, and always will be to the end of the chapter. He's got to the p'int after which there is no more to be told, long ago. The life of such as he repeats itself over and over, like a buzzin' spinnin'-wheel. And Miss Linken, she is as patient as ever; 'tis her mission just to be patient with old Tom."

"And Abraham?"

"That boy Abe—the one that we prophesied about! Well, elder, I do hate to say, 'cause it makes you out to be no prophet, and you mean well, goin' about tryin' to get a little larnin' into the skulls of the people in this new country; but that boy promises pretty slim, though I ain't nothin' to say agin' him. In the first place, he's grown up to be a giant, all legs and ears, mouth and eyes. Why, he is the tallest young man in this part of Indiana!

"Then, his head's off. He goes about readin' books, just as he did when you were here last—this book, and that book, and the other book; and then he all runs to talk, which some folks takes for wisdom. He tells stories that makes everybody laugh, and he seems very chipper and happy, but they do say that he has melancholy spells, and is all down in the mouth at times. But he's good-hearted, and speaks the truth, and helps poor folks, and there's many a wuss one than Abraham Linken now. They didn't invite him to the great weddin' of the Grigsbys, cos he's so homely, and hadn't anythin' to wear but leather breeches, and they only come down a little below his knees. Queer-lookin' he'd 'a' been to a weddin'!

"He felt orful bad at not bein' invited, and made some poetry about 'em. When I feel poetic I talk prose, and give people as good as they send. I don't write no poetry.

"You are welcome to stay here, elder. You needn't go to the Linkens'. I have a prophet's chamber in my house—though you ain't a prophet—and you can always sleep there, and your Indian boy can lay down in the kitchen; and I can cook, elder—now you know that—and I won't ask ye to cobble; your time is too valuable for that."

Jasper, who was not greatly influenced by Aunt Indiana's unfavorable views of her poor neighbor, went to see Thomas Lincoln. Waubeno went with him. Here the young Indian met with a hearty greeting from both Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln.

"I am glad that you have come again," said poor Mrs. Lincoln to Jasper. "You comforted me and encouraged me when you were here last. I want to talk with you. Abe has all grown up, and wants to make a new start in life; and I wish to see him started right. There's so much in gettin' started right; a right start is all the way, sometimes. We don't travel twice over the same years. I want you to talk with him. You have seen this world, and we haven't, but you kind o' brought the world to us when you were here last. Elder, you don't know how much good you are doin'."

"Where is Abraham?" asked Jasper.

"He's gone to the store for the evenin'. He's been keepin' store for Jones, in Gentryville, and he spends his evenin's there. There ain't many places to go to around here, and Abe he's turned the store into a kind of debatin' club. He speaks pieces there. There's goin' to be a debate there to-night. He's great on debatin'. I do hope you'll go. The subject of the debate to-night is, 'Which has the greater cause for complaint, the negro or the Indian?'"

"I'm goin' over to the store to-night myself, elder," said Thomas Lincoln. "You must go along with me and hear Abraham talk, and then come back and spend the night here. The old woman has been hopin' that you would come. It pleased her mightily, what you said good about Abraham when you was here last. She sets her eyes by Abraham, and he does by her. Abraham and I don't get along none too well. The fact is, he all runs to books, and is kind o' queer. He takes after his mother's folks—they all had houses in the air, and lived in 'em. Abe might make somethin'; there's somethin' in him, if larnin' don't spile him. I have to warn him against larnin' all the time, but it all goes agin the grain, and I declare sometimes I do get all out of patience, and clean discouraged. Why, elder, he even takes a book out when he goes to shuck corn, and he composes poetry on the wooden shovel, and planes it out with my plane, and wears the shovel all up. There, now, look there!—could you stand it?"

Thomas Lincoln took up a large wooden fire-shovel, and held it before the eyes of the Tunker. On the great bowl of the shovel were penned some lines in coal.

"What does that read, elder?—I can't tell. I ain't got no larnin' to spare. What does it read, elder?"

Jasper scanned the writing on the surface of the back of the shovel. The writing was clear and plain. Mrs. Lincoln came and looked over his shoulder.

"Writ it himself, likely as not," said she. "Abe writes poetry; he can't help it sometimes—it's a gift. Read it, elder."

Jasper read slowly:

"He didn't finish it, did he, elder? I think it is real pooty—don't you?"

Mrs. Lincoln turned her broad, earnest face toward the Tunker.

"Real pooty, ain't it?"

"Yes," said Jasper. "He'll be likely to do some great work in life, and leave it unfinished. It comes to me so."

"Don't say so, elder. His father don't praise him much, but he's real good to me, and I hope no evil will ever happen to him. I set lots of store by Abe. I don't know any difference between him and my own son. His poor, dead mother, that lies out there all alone under the trees, knows that I have done by him as if he were my own. You know, the guardian angels of children see the face of the Father, and I kind o' think that she is his guardian; and if she is, now, I hain't anything to reflect upon."

"Only you're spilin' him—that's all," said Mr. Lincoln. "Some women are so good that they are not good for anything, and between me and Sarah and his poor, dead mother, Abraham has never had the discipline that he ought to have had. But Andrew Crawford, the schoolmaster, and Josiah Crawford, the farmer, did their duty by him. Come, elder, let us go up to Jones's store, and talk politics a while. Jones, he's a Jackson man. He sets great store by Abe, and thinks, like you and Sarah, that the boy will make somethin' some day. Well, I hope he will—can't tell."

Mr. Jones's store was the popular resort of Gentryville. Says one of the old pioneers, Dougherty: "Lincoln drove a team, and sold goods for Jones. Jones told me that Lincoln read all of his books, and I remember the History of the United States as one. Jones afterward said to me that Lincoln would make a great man one of these days—had said so long before to other people, and so as far back as 1828 and 1829."

The store was full of men and boys when Thomas Lincoln and Jasper and Waubeno arrived. Dennis Hanks was there, and the Grigsbys. Josiah Crawford, who had made Abraham pull fodder for three days for allowing a book that he had lent him to get wet one rainy night, was seated on a barrel. His nose was very long, and he had a high forehead, and wide look across the forehead. He looked very wise and thought himself a Solomon.

The men and boys all seemed to be glad to see the Tunker, and they greeted Waubeno kindly, though curiously, and plied him with civil questions about Black Hawk.

There was to be a debate that evening, and Mr. Jones called the men to order, and each one mounted a barrel and lit his pipe—or all except Abraham and Waubeno, who did not smoke, but who stood near each other, almost side by side.

"Abraham," said Thomas Lincoln, "you'll have to argue the p'int for the Indian well to-night, or—there he is!"—pointing to Waubeno—"he'll answer ye."

The debate went slowly at first, then grew exciting. When Abraham Lincoln's turn came to speak, all the store grew still. The subject of the debate was, as Thomas Lincoln had said: "Which has the greater cause for complaint, the Indian or the negro?"

Abraham Lincoln claimed the Indian was more wronged than the negro, and his homely face glowed as with a strange fire as he pictured the red man's wrongs. He towered above the men like a giant, and moved his arms as though they possessed some invisible power.

Waubeno fixed his eyes on him, and felt the force and thrust of his every word.

"If I were a negro," said Lincoln, "I would hope that some redeemer and deliverer would arise, like Moses of old. But if I were an Indian, what would I have to hope for, if I fell under the avarice of the white man? Let the past answer that."

"Let the heavens answer that," said Waubeno, "or let their gates be ever closed."

Thomas Lincoln started.

"Waubeno, you have come from Black Hawk. He slays men, and we know him. An Indian killed my father."

"An Indian killed your father—and what did you do?"

"My brother Mordecai avenged his death, and caused many Indians to bite the dust."

"White brother," said Waubeno, "a white man killed my father. What ought I to do?"

The men held their pipes in silence.

"My father was an innocent man," said the pioneer.

"My father was an honorable warrior," said Waubeno, "and defended his own rights—rights as dear to him as your father's, or yours, or mine. What ought I to do?" He turned to young Lincoln. "What would you do?"

"I hold that in all things right is might, and I defend the right of an Indian as I would the rights of a white man, but I never would shed any man's blood for avarice or malice. Waubeno, I would defend you in a cause of right against the world. I would rather have the approval of Heaven than the praise of all mankind."

"Brother," said Waubeno, "I believe that you speak true, but I do not know. If I only knew that you spoke true, I would not do as Mordecai did. I would forgive the white man."

The candles smoked, and the men talked long into the night. At last Thomas Lincoln and Jasper and Waubeno went home, where Mrs. Lincoln was awaiting them. They expected Abraham to follow them. They sat up that night late, and talked about the prairie country, and the prospects of the emigrants to Illinois.

"Now you had better go to rest," said Sarah Lincoln. "I will sit up until Abe comes. I do not see why he is so late to-night, when the Tunker is here, too, and the Indian boy."

"He's with the Grigsbys, I guess," said Mr. Lincoln.

The two men went to their beds, and Waubeno laid down on a mat on the floor. Hour after hour passed, and Mrs. Lincoln went again and again to the door and listened, but Abraham did not return. It was midnight when she laid down, but even then it was to listen, and not to sleep.

In the morning Abraham returned. His eyes were sunken and his cheeks were white.

"Get me some coffee, mother," he said. "I have not slept a wink to-night."

"Why, where have you been, Abraham?"

"Watchin'—watchin' with a frozen drunken man. I found him on the road, and carried him to Dennis's on my back. He seemed to be dead, but I rubbed him all night long, and he breathed again."

"Why did you not get some one to help you?"

"The boys all left me. They said that old Holmes was not worth revivin', even if he had any life left in him; that it would be better for himself and everybody if he were left to perish."

"Holmes! Did you carry that man on your back, Abraham?"

"Yes. I could not leave him by the road. He is a human being, and I did by him as I would have him do by me if I lost my moral senses. They told me to leave him to his fate, but I couldn't, mother. I couldn't."

Waubeno gazed on the young giant as he drank his coffee, and sank into a deep slumber on a mat in the room. He watched him as he slept.

When he woke, Jasper said to him:

"Abraham, I wish you to know this Indian boy. I think there is a native nobility in him. Do you remember Johnnie Kongapod's story, at which the people all used to laugh?"

"Yes, elder."

"Abraham Lincoln, I can believe that story was true. I have faith in men. You do. Your faith will make you great."