"Of course, Mother." He gave her the kind of good bear hug he had given her when he was a boy. "I am leaving soon for Washington. Did you think I could go so far away without saying good-by?"
The word spread rapidly that he was there. One after another the neighbors dropped in, until the little room was crowded. As he sat before the fireplace, talking with all who came, Sarah seemed to see, not a man about to become President, but a forlorn-looking little boy. She had loved that little boy from the moment she first saw him. He had always been a good son to her—a better son than her own John.
When the last visitor had gone, she drew her chair closer. It was good to have a few minutes alone together.
"Abe," she told him, "I can say what scarcely one mother in a thousand can say."
He looked at her inquiringly.
"You never gave me a cross word in your life. I reckon your mind and mine, that is—" she laughed, embarrassed, "what little mind I had, seemed to run together."
He reached over and laid a big hand on her knee. She put her wrinkled, work-hardened hand on his.
When the time came to say good-by, she could hardly keep the tears back. "Will I ever see you again?" she asked. "What if something should happen to you, Abe? I feel it in my heart—"
"Now, now, Mother." He held her close. "Trust in the Lord and all will be well."
"God bless you, Abraham."