But days went by and no letter came. The fair face of Ann Rutledge took on a worried look, and had it not been for the kindly assistance of the postmaster the gossips might have known more of Ann's correspondence—or lack of it, than they had yet been able to learn.
The strain on Ann, the worst part of it being the secret, which to her was fast coming to seem little short of a crime against her good father and mother, began to tell on her. She laughed little and sang less. She was more seldom seen with the young people.
Mr. and Mrs. Rutledge noticed this, as well as did Abraham Lincoln, and one night, when Ann's face showed that she had been particularly disappointed because of no letter, Abe Lincoln suggested that Ann learn grammar with him out of his highly prized little book. Both Mr. and Mrs. Rutledge accepted the offer as a special favor.
So it happened that Ann and Abe were left together, and with the precious grammar spread on Ann's little work-table they sat down to their task, he on one side, she on the other. The book was not large, and bending over it the mop of coarse, black hair all but touched the crown of fine-spun gold.
"I will be the teacher," Abe Lincoln said after they had looked through the book, which was the only one of the kind in New Salem.
"We will new study the verb 'to love,'" and turning the pages he found the place.
"I love," he said, looking across at Ann.
Her eyes were on the book.
"Next is 'You love'?" He spoke the words as a question with the accent on the "you."