“Again Mr. Lincoln looked down at me, drawing a long face.
“‘You know he’s quite right,’ he murmured, half to himself. ‘The pass privilege has been greatly abused, no doubt of that, and when the Secretary of War puts his foot down there’s no moving him. I suppose we’ll have to go over to the Secretary of State and see what he can do for us.’
“Mr. Stanton snorted.
“‘Mr. President!’ he exploded, ‘is our cause to be jeopardized by the weakness of a man who can’t say “No”?’
“‘Is our cause so weak that it will be put in jeopardy by letting a little girl pass through our lines?’ Mr. Lincoln answered patiently.
“I don’t know what Mr. Stanton might have said to that, for before he could speak a man in uniform came hurrying in with a dispatch in his hand which he laid on the desk. The messenger himself seemed excited and much pleased, as if he bore good news. The Secretary glanced at it and then jumped to his feet with an exclamation of delight.
“‘This is better than we could possibly have expected, Mr. President!’ he cried, handing the paper to Mr. Lincoln. I do not know what it was all about, but it was plainly something which was favorable to the North, and I watched Mr. Lincoln as he took the message, only to see an expression of deep sadness come over his face. Whatever he read on the yellow slip in his hand brought no gladness to his heart. He stood there, forgetting all about us, and gazed out of the window with the look of one who had learned of a great sorrow.
“Mr. Stanton watched him for a moment and seemed to grow irritated at his lack of enthusiasm.
“‘Are you displeased with the news, Mr. President?’ he asked irritably.
“‘My grief is for all those who suffer,’ was the quiet answer and Mr. Lincoln handed back the message to the Secretary who sat down at his desk again.