"Who—who's coming?"
"Abe Lincoln—or his ghost."
"Thunder—I hope he's not crazy. I kin manage Yankees and niggers—but crazy ones—ugh!" and Thompson shrugged his shoulders.
"Pull in your sorgum-sucker," Ole Bar said shortly, "and don't none of you get nothin' started about his gal."
"That's it," said Jack Armstrong. "If he hain't forgot about her let's help him do it. Let's give him a howlin' good time."
Then they grew silent, for he was approaching and they wondered. They had not seen him since Ann's death.
The fresh flames were throwing fitful lights up into the overhanging brown branches and over the faces of the group, when Lincoln came into the circle of light and, extending his hand here and there, said: "Howdy, boys, howdy."
Something like a sigh of relief passed around the group. He didn't seem crazy.
He dropped himself in the circle of light. Then for the time they saw his face the effect of which was to bring a respectful silence over the noisy group.