"Mr. President, Betsy Ann Dougherty is a good woman. She lived in my county and did my washing for a long time. Her husband went off and joined the rebel army, and I wish you would give her a protection paper." The solemnity of this appeal struck Mr. Lincoln as uncommonly ridiculous.
The two men looked at each other—the Governor desperately in earnest, and the President masking his humor behind the gravest exterior. At last Mr. Lincoln asked, with inimitable gravity, "Was Betsy Ann a good washerwoman?" "Oh, yes, sir, she was, indeed."
"Was your Betsy Ann an obliging woman?" "Yes, she was certainly very kind," responded the Governor, soberly.
"Could she do other things than wash?" continued Mr. Lincoln with the same portentous gravity.
"Oh, yes; she was very kind—very."
"Where is Betsy Ann?"
"She is now in New York, and wants to come back to Missouri, but she is afraid of banishment."
"Is anybody meddling with her?"
"No; but she is afraid to come back unless you will give her a protection paper."
Thereupon Mr. Lincoln wrote on a visiting card the following: