“‘Is our cause so weak that it will be put in jeopardy by letting a little girl pass through our lines?’ Mr. Lincoln answered patiently. “I don’t know what Mr. Stanton might have said to that, for before he could speak a man in uniform came hurrying in with a dispatch in his hand which he laid on the desk. The messenger himself seemed excited and much pleased, as if he bore good news. The Secretary glanced at it and then jumped to his feet with an exclamation of delight. “‘This is better than we could possibly have expected, Mr. President!’ he cried, handing the paper to Mr. Lincoln. I do not know what it was all about, but it was plainly something which was favorable to the North, and I watched Mr. Lincoln as he took the message, only to see an expression of deep sadness come over his face. Whatever he read on the yellow slip in his hand brought no gladness to his heart. He stood there, forgetting all about us, and gazed out of the window with the look of one who had learned of a great sorrow. “Mr. Stanton watched him for a moment and seemed to grow irritated at his lack of enthusiasm. “‘Are you displeased with the news, Mr. President?’ he asked irritably. “‘My grief is for all those who suffer,’ was the quiet answer and Mr. Lincoln handed back the message to the Secretary who sat down at his desk again. “Then the President turned to me once more and, noting that Mr. Stanton was busying himself with other matters, he led me into an alcove beside a wide window and asked me all about myself; who I was, why I wanted to go South and if I was interested in the war? And I told him the truth, which was that I hadn’t thought very much about it.” “And then I suppose he asked you if you’d read ‘Uncle Tom’s Cabin’ and gave you a copy,” April cut in sarcastically. Dorothea gave a funny little chuckle. “Not exactly, but he did wish to know if I’d read it and what I thought of it. And I said I thought it very long, at which he seemed highly amused and agreed with me heartily. After that, for some time, he looked out of the window evidently thinking deeply, all the while jingling some keys or coins in his pocket, but at length he spoke again. “‘My dear,’ he said, gently, ‘you tell me you are going South on a visit to a little country village. Perhaps, down there, you may escape this war. Maybe before you return it will be all over; but remember that the South is a part of my country as dear to me as is the North. I have ready a Proclamation of Amnesty for the whole South, from Mr. Davis down to the humblest citizen, which shall be published the moment they lay down their arms.’” “The South will not have to beg Mr. Lincoln for mercy!” cried April. “But he seems to have made a Yankee of you, Cousin Dorothea,” she added, a little suspiciously.