“Mr. President,” the lieutenant jerked erect, saluted anxiously, “we brought this—for Private Thomas Lincoln—for his Christmas, sir. It’s not the same one. Some of the boys chipped in and bought it off a Negro, sir—but we thought might be it would do—for the boy for his Christmas.”
Like a fish Tad was out of his father’s arms, nightshirt flying, bare feet oblivious of the cold stone step.
“A nanny goat!” he shrieked in delight. “Papa, it’s a nanny goat! My very own nanny goat!”
“Mr. President, your pardon sir, it’s kind of dirty, sir, but we’ll wash it good in the morning. And though it ain’t the same one,” pleaded the corporal, “we thought maybe it would do—for Christmas.”
“She licked my hand. She likes me!” Tad squirmed in ecstasy. “Most of anything I wanted me a nanny goat!”
“It appears,” stated Abraham Lincoln, “to be a very superior goat. Thank the boys, Tad, and let them take your nanny down to the stables and feed her. She looks a bit gaunt to me. See that she gets a good feed, Corporal, if you please. Now, back to bed, Private Lincoln. Your nanny will still be here, all cleaned up and beautiful for you, in the morning.”
Very reluctantly, with many farewell pats and hand lickings, Tad was at last persuaded to mount the stairs again in his father’s arms.
Down below, the drums had ceased but Abraham Lincoln thought wearily of all the hands he must shake again before he could lie down to rest in this wide bed.
He tucked the covers tenderly over the happy child. Tad’s eyes were starry. No more tears. All sadness forgotten. Wonderful, to be a child. Abraham Lincoln sighed as he closed the door.
“Papa!” called Tad.