The child then told him there were “eight all told.” Then, with one of his bright smiles the kind man asked for eight slips of pa-per and pen and ink. He wrote his name so that each child might have it to take home with her. There was a lit-tle girl, that same au-tumn, whose home was on the shores of Lake E-rie. She had a por-trait of Lin-coln and a pic-ture of the log-cab-in which he helped build for his fa-ther in 1830. She had great pride in Mr. Lin-coln, and it was her wish that he should look as well as he could. So she asked her moth-er if she might write a note to Mr. Lin-coln and ask him if he would let his beard grow, for she thought this would make his face more pleas-ing. The moth-er thought this plan of her child was strange, but know-ing that she was a strong Re-pub-li-can, said there could be no harm in writ-ing such a let-ter. So the let-ter was writ-ten and sent to “Hon. A-bra-ham Lin-coln, Esq., Spring-field, Il-li-nois.” This young girl, whose name was Grace Be-dell, told Mr. Lin-coln how old she was, and that she thought he would look bet-ter, and so that scores more folks would like him, if he “would let his whis-kers grow.” She said, too, that she liked the “rail fence, in the pic-ture, a-round that cab-in that he helped his fa-ther make.” Then she asked that if he were too bus-y to an-swer her let-ter that he would let his own lit-tle girl re-ply for him. Mr. Lin-coln was in his State-house room when that let-ter, with scores of oth-ers, came in. He could but smile at the child’s wish, but he took the time to an-swer at once, in a brief note which be-gan, “Miss Grace Be-dell: My dear lit-tle Miss.” He told her of the re-ceipt of her “ver-y a-gree-a-ble let-ter.” He said he was “sor-ry to say that he had no lit-tle daugh-ter,” but that he “had three sons, one sev-en-teen, one nine, and one sev-en years of age.” He said he had nev-er worn whis-kers, and asked if folks would not think it sil-ly to be-gin, then, to wear them. The note closed with; “Your ver-y sin-cere well-wish-er, A. Lin-coln.” CHAPTER VIII. IN THE PRESIDENTIAL CHAIR; THE CIVIL WAR BEGINS. One of the last things that A-bra-ham Lin-coln did ere he said good-bye to his Spring-field home was to go down to see the good old step-moth-er who did so much for him when he was a poor, sad boy. Proud in-deed, was she of the lad she had reared with so much care, but she felt that there were hard days to come to him. She told him that she feared she should not see him a-gain. She said “They will kill you; I know they will.” Lin-coln tried to cheer her, and told her they would not do that. But she clung to him with tears, and a break-ing heart. “We must trust in the Lord, and all will be well,” said the good man as he bade his step-moth-er a ten-der fare-well and went a-way.