The wind rustled slightly and a couple of brown leaves floated down to the fireside. The gray face looked up a moment. Another leaf was falling. They all watched it.
"Boys," said Lincoln in a voice they did not know, "the leaves are fallin' early."
"Yeh—droppin' early this year."
Again there was a pause. Then he said, "I haven't been with you in a long time."
"Not in a coon's age—and we're glad to have you, Abe."
"I'm glad to be here. I felt as if it would do me good to see you all. And I've brought a poem I want to read if you don't care."
"Is it jolly?"
"Yeh—something damn jolly is what we want."
"No," said Lincoln slowly, "it is not jolly. It's the other kind. But this is my favorite of all poems. May I read it to you?"
"Go to it, Abry Linkhorn," Ole Bar said.