That, the President said, was "curious and interesting," and he laughed about my "fresh crop," and said something about cutting hay; and I told him I had been invited to meet him Saturday night at Cyrus W. Field's country place, where a dinner party was appointed; and jumping up, hurried away. The light in the hall shone down on the President's pale, high forehead, as he walked toward the stairway leading to his apartments, and I saw him no more.
Something familiar struck me in the appearance of the watchman at the door of the White House, and stopping, I said: "Did you hold this position here in Lincoln's time?"
"Yes," said he, "I did."
"And did you not look after his safety sometimes?"
"I did, indeed," was the answer; "many a time I kept myself between him and the trees there," pointing to them, "as we walked over to the War Department to get the news from the armies. I did not know who might be hidden in the trees, and I would not let him go alone."
"Did it ever occur to you," I asked, "that it would be worth while to have a care that no harm happened here?"
"What, now?"
"Yes, now."
"Oh, it is different now—no war now."
"No," said I, "no war, but people are about who are queer; and there are ugly excitements; think of it."