“Before he could reply we were both surprised to hear a low chuckle of amusement and I turned to meet the gaze of a tall, lanky man, whom, of course, I recognized at once.”
“Abe Lincoln!” ejaculated Harriot scornfully, and Dorothea eyed her younger cousin with a momentary look of surprise.
“You’d never think of calling him that if once you’d seen him,” she went on slowly. “I don’t know quite how to describe him—”
“They say he’s the ugliest man in America,” April interrupted with a laugh of derision.
“Oh, but he isn’t ugly!” Dorothea protested earnestly. “Truly he isn’t. He’s not like any other man I ever saw. I looked up into his face, and it was so sad that my heart just ached and I felt that I wanted to comfort him, only—only there wasn’t any way I could do it, was there? And he was tired, too, dreadfully tired. You could tell from the droop of his body—and his eyes. But all that I noticed later. When I turned round first, he was smiling and watching me with so pleasant a look that I wasn’t at all afraid or embarrassed, as one would have expected.
“‘Well, little girl,’ he said, just as father might have said it, ‘I think you scored on the Secretary of War that time; though indeed we all make the same mistake in this country. But what is it all about?’
“He put his hand on my shoulder and we stood together before Mr. Stanton, who scowled up at us for all the world like an angry schoolmaster at two naughty pupils.
“‘The young lady is the daughter of Mr. Drummond of the British Embassy,’ the Secretary grudgingly explained. ‘She wishes to go to Georgia, and I have just told her that it is impossible.’
“‘Hum!’ murmured Mr. Lincoln, looking down at me with a twinkle in his eye though his face was quite sober. ‘So you think she is too dangerous a person to receive a pass through our lines, Mr. Secretary?’
“‘I intend to issue no more passes, Mr. President,’ Mr. Stanton said bluntly.