"I'm really glad to know that there are other circuit-riders than we of the cloth who strike terror to the inmates of the barnyard, but I never before heard any one else accused of it." "I remember, once," began Mr. Lincoln, recrossing his long legs and taking up the penknife again--"I remember, once, when a lot of us were riding over to a neighboring town from Springfield. I had the wrong end of a case, I know, and was feeling pretty chilly along the spine whenever I thought of it. The judge was with the party, and the only way I ever did win that suit was by pretending not to see the chickens hide under the corn-shocks the minute he got off his horse. He'd eat a whole pullet every meal, and he got around so often they all knew him--some by sight and some by hearsay." He drew the map toward him and indicated a spot by holding the point of his knife on it. "There's a strip along here," he began, and Griffith arose and bent over the map, "that I can't make out. That seems to be an opening in the mountains; but----" "No--no," said Griffith, taking up a pencil from the table. "No; the real opening--the road pass-- Let me see; what's the scale of miles here? M-m-m! Four? No-- Why, the road pass is at least five miles farther on." He drew a line. "You see, it's like this. There." He stopped and shook his head. "M-m-m! No, n-o-o; that map's all wrong. It ought to run along there--so. This way. The road--the _wagon_ road--trends along here--so. Then you go across the ridge at an angle here--so. There ought to be a stream here. "O pshaw! this map's-- Where did you get this map? It's no account, at all. Why, according to this, there's at least seven miles left out right here, between-- Why, right here, where they've got those little, insignificant-looking foothills, is one of the most rugged and impassable places in this world! Here, now!" He drew several lines and turned the map. "O pshaw! there's no place left now for the--Here, right a-b-o-u-t h-e-r-e--no, there, right there--is the Bedolph estate--fine old stone house, corn-fields, wheat, orchards--a splendid place. Then, as you go up this way, you pass into a sort of pocket--a little strip pretty well hedged in. You couldn't go with a carriage without making a circuit around here--this way--but a horseman can cut all that off and go--so. See? There is a mill--fine old mill stream--right here--runs this way." Mr. Lincoln had followed every line eagerly, making little vocal sounds of understanding, or putting in a single word to lead Griffith on. Suddenly he said: "You're a good Union man Morton tells me." "I am, indeed, Mr. Lincoln. Nobody in the world could be more sorry than I over the present situation. I----" "How sorry are you?" "What do you mean?" asked Griffith, straightening up. Mr. Lincoln arose at the same time. "How much of a Union man are you?--'nough to help save it? How sorry are you?--sorry enough to act?"