"Yes, I do. My spiritual sense tells me so."
"Yer spiritual sense! Elder, ye ought to go to school. Ye are nothin' but a child yerself. And let me advise ye never to have anythin' more to do with that there Indian boy. Fishes don't swim on rocks, nor hawks go to live in a cage. An Indian is an Indian, and, mark my words, that boy will have yer scalp some day. He will, now—he will. I saw it in his eye."
The Tunker journeyed toward the new town of Springfield, Illinois, along the fragrant timber and over the blooming prairies. Everywhere were to be seen the white prairie schooner and the little village of people that followed it.
Springfield was but a promising village at this time, in a very fertile land. Probably no one ever thought that it would become a capital city of an empire of population, the hub of that great wheel of destiny rimmed by the Wabash, the Mississippi, Rock River, and the Lake; and still less did any one ever dream that it would be the legislative influence of that tall, laughing, sad-faced boy, Lincoln, who would produce this result.
Jasper preached at Springfield, and visited the log school-house, and told stories to the little school. He then started to walk to New Salem, a distance of some eighteen or twenty miles.
It was a pleasant country, and all things seemed teeming with life, for it was now the high tide of the year. The prairies were billows of flowers, and the timber was shady and cool, carpeted with mosses, tangled with vines, with its tops bright with sunshine and happy with the songs of birds.
About half-way between the two towns Jasper saw some lofty trees, giants of the forest, that spread out their branches like roofs of some ancient temple. There were birds' nests made of sticks in their tops, and a cool stream ran under them. He sought the place for rest.
As he entered the great shadow, he saw a tall young man seated on a log, absorbed in reading a book. He approached him, and recognized him as young Lincoln.
"I am glad to meet you here, in this beautiful place," he said.