NANCY
(relenting).
But when Francois plays the fiddle you can't think of anything else, eh?
AMY
(as they group themselves in fire-glow).
Sit over here, Nancy. Isn't the corn splendid?
LINCOLN
(from where he is sitting).
Any news, Tom? How's the wolf-hunting getting on? Anybody got one?
TOM.
I heard in the store to-night that Hugh Foster had killed one. It may be only a rumor. You're not fond of hunting, are you, Abe?
LINCOLN.
Oh, I try at it once in a while, Tom, but I'm not very keen. You boys get more out of it than I do.