"It sure was good of your pa to give me this chance," said Abe. "I've seen some sights I wish I hadn't, but the trip has done me good. Sort of stretched my eyes and ears! Stretched me all over—inside, I mean." He laughed. "I don't need any stretching on the outside."
Allen looked at his tall friend. They had been together most of the time. They had talked with the same people, visited the same places, seen the same sights. Already Allen was beginning to forget them. Now that he was almost home, it was as if he had never been away. But Abe seemed different. Somehow he had changed.
"I can't figure it out," Allen told him. "You don't seem the same."
"Maybe I'm not," said Abe. "I keep thinking about some of the things I saw."
13
The Lincolns were leaving Pigeon Creek. One day a letter had arrived from John Hanks, a cousin, who had gone to Illinois to live. The soil was richer there, the letter said. Why didn't Tom come, too, and bring his family? He would find it easier to make a living. Even the name of the river near John's home had a pleasant sound. It was called the Sangamon—an Indian word meaning "plenty to eat."
"We're going," Tom decided. "I'm going to sell this farm and buy another. Do you want to come with us, Abe?"