He stopped, and the tears were wet upon Virginia's lashes. She could not have spoken then.
Mr. Lincoln went over to his desk and sat down before it. Then he began to write, slouched forward, one knee resting on the floor, his lips moving at the same time. When he got up again he seemed taller than ever.
"There!" he said, "I guess that will fix it. I'll have that sent to
Sherman. I have already spoken to him about the matter."
They did not thank him. It was beyond them both. He turned to Stephen with that quizzical look on his face he had so often seen him wear.
"Steve," he said, "I'll tell you a story. The other night Harlan was here making a speech to a crowd out of the window, and my boy Tad was sitting behind him.
"'What shall we do with the Rebels?' said Harlan to the crowd.
"'Hang 'em!' cried the people. "'No,' says Tad, 'hang on to 'em.'
"And the boy was right. That is what we intend to do,—hang on to 'em. And, Steve," said Mr. Lincoln, putting his hand again on Virginia's shoulder, "if you have the sense I think you have, you'll hang on, too."
For an instant he stood smiling at their blushes,—he to whom the power was given to set apart his cares and his troubles and partake of the happiness of others. For of such was his happiness.
Then the President drew out his watch. "Bless me!" he said, "I am ten minutes behind my appointment at the Department. Miss Virginia, you may care to thank the Major for the little service he has done you. You can do so undisturbed here. Make yourselves at home."