It was all over in half a minute, and then Abe he leaned forward, and shook the blood off his eye-lashes, and looked straight out of that eye for the first time since he was born. And the first words he said were:
“Thank the Lord! She’s mine!”
About that time Ephe he crawled outdoors, sick as a dog; and Abe spoke up, says he:
“Now for the other eye, doctor.”
“Oh,” says the doctor, “we’d better take another day for that.”
“All right,” says Abe; “if your hands are tired of cuttin’, you can make another job of it. My face ain’t tired of bein’ cut, I can tell you.”
“Well, if you’re game, I am.”
So, if you’ll believe me, they just set to work and operated on the other eye, Abe holding his own head, as he said he would, and the squire holding the spreader. And when it was all done, the doctor was for putting a bandage on to keep things quiet till the wounds all healed up, but Abe just begged for one sight of himself, and he stood up and walked over to the clock and looked in the glass, and says he:
“So that’s the way I look, is it? Shouldn’t have known my own face—never saw it before. How long must I keep the bandage on, doctor?”
“Oh, if the eyes ain’t very sore when you wake up in the morning, you can take it off, if you’ll be careful.”