Under a big sycamore tree, half a mile from the house, the neighbors dug the grave for the mother of Abraham Lincoln. And there they buried her in silence and in great sorrow.
In all that new country there was no church; and no minister could be found to speak words of comfort and hope to the grieving ones around the grave.
But the boy remembered a preacher whom they had known in Kentucky. The name of this preacher was David Elkin. If he would only come!
And so, after all was over, the lad sat down and wrote a letter to David Elkin. Abraham was only a child nine years old, but he believed that the good man would remember his mother, and come.
It was no easy task to write a letter. Paper and ink were not things of common use, as they are with us. A pen had to be made from the quill of a goose.
But at last the letter was finished and sent to Kentucky. How it was carried I do not know, for the mails were few in those days, and postage was very high.
II.
| upright | forded | funeral | months |
| justice | earliest | sympathy | hymns |
| reward | preached | reverence | duty |
Months passed. The leaves were again on the trees. The wild flowers were blossoming in the woods. At last the preacher came.
He had ridden a hundred miles on horseback. He had forded rivers and traveled through pathless woods. He had dared the dangers of the wild forest. And all in answer to the lad's letter.