"It's Sunday—"
"I mean what day of the month."
"I don't rightly know, Cousin Nancy."
"I remember now," she went on. "It is the twelfth day of February. February 12, 1809! Little Abe's birthday!"
Outside the wind rose, whistling through the bare branches of the trees. There was a blast of cold air as the door opened. Tom came in, his arms piled high with wood. He knelt on the dirt floor to build up the fire, and the rising flames lit the log walls with a faint red glow.
"Are you glad it's a boy, Tom?" Nancy asked as he lay down beside her. "I am."
"Yes," said Tom, but when she spoke to him again, he did not answer. He was asleep. She could see his tired face in the firelight. Life had been hard for Tom; it was hard for most pioneers. She hoped that their children would have things a little easier. The baby whimpered, and she held him closer.
Denny's voice piped up: "Cousin Nancy, will Abe ever grow to be as big as me?"
"Bigger'n you are now," she told him.
"Will he grow as big as Cousin Tom?"