THOMAS LINCOLN'S STORY.
"My father," began the old story-teller, "came to Kentucky from Virginia. His name was Abraham Lincoln. I have always thought that was a good, solid name—a worthy name—and so I gave it to my boy here, and hope that he will never bring any disgrace upon it. I never can be much in this world; Abe may.
"This was in Daniel Boone's day. On our way to Kentucky we began to hear terrible stories of the Indian attacks on the new settlers. In 1780, the year that we emigrated from Virginia, there were many murders of the settlers by the Indians, which were followed by the battle of Lower Blue Licks, in which Boone's son was wounded.
"I have heard my mother and the old settlers talk over that battle. When Daniel Boone found that his son was wounded, he tried to carry him away. There was a river near, and he lifted the boy upon his back and hurried toward it. As he came to the river, the boy grew heavy.
"'Father, I believe that I am dying,' said the boy.
"'We will be across the river soon,' said Boone. 'Hold on.'
"The boy clung to his father's neck with stiffening arms. While they were crossing the river the son died. Oh, it was a sight for pity—now, wasn't it, preacher? Boone in the river, with the dead body of his boy on his back. Our country has known few scenes like that. How that father must 'a' felt! You furriners little know these things.
"The Indians swam after him. He laid down the body of his son on the ground and struck into the forest.
"It was in this war that Boone's little daughter was carried away by the Indians. I must tell ye. I love to talk of old times.
"She was at play with two other little girls outside of the stockade at Boonesborough, on the Kentucky River. There was a canoe on the bank.