“I reckon so,” answered Phillip. “But I’ve heard my father say that Abraham Lincoln was a good man and a brave one, and that if he could have had his way the North and South would never have gone to war. But you can’t hardly expect us to—to think about Lincoln just the way you do up here, can you?”
“No,” answered John gravely. “Only don’t be behind us in forgiveness, Ryerson.”
“Do you think we are?” asked Phillip in surprise.
“A little, maybe.”
“But, sir, we lost!”
“True.”
“And not only that,” continued Phillip earnestly, “but we suffered the most. The war left us almost ruined and mighty discouraged. I reckon if we had it to do over we’d do it differently; I mean we’d look things in the face and get down to work without wasting time in regretting. But then we didn’t know how; we had never been taught to do things for ourselves, you know. You took our labourers away from us and made them think they didn’t need to do a thing. And farms just went to ruin, and farmers with them. It was mighty hard, sir!” He paused and looked with sudden shyness at John. “Anyhow, that’s what my father used to say.”
“And he was just about right,” John concurred. “Well, it was a miserable business, Ryerson, but it had to come; at least, that’s what my father says,” he added smilingly. “By the way, ‘Ryerson’s’ a bit formal, and I think I’ll call you Phillip if you don’t mind.”
“I’d rather you called me Phil; most everybody does.”
“All right. And my name’s John, but never Jack. I’ve always detested ‘Jack’ for some reason or other. And if you can manage to leave out the ‘sir’ I’d like it better.”