"If it was somebody like you are I would. You get petticoat-fever every change of the moon, take it like spring pimples that's always goin' and comin'. But some take it like the smallpox and don't never get over the scars. Abe Lincoln's the kind that will wear the scars." "Bars is the same," Ole Bar ventured. "Most bars is done with their women folks after matin' season. Once in a lifetime you find a pair of bars stickin' together. Nobody but their maker knows what they do it fur. It's the same with men, and Abry Linkhorn, he picked him out one worth stickin' to. "Yeh--nobody blames him for gettin' sweet on Ann Rutledge. But poke up the fire and let's get jolly or this dead talk will stir up the spooks." While they were piling up the fire and stacking up the bottles, someone looked down the road and saw a tall, slightly bent figure approaching in the darkness. "Boys, he's comin'," Kit Parsons announced. "Who--who's coming?" "Abe Lincoln--or his ghost." "Thunder--I hope he's not crazy. I kin manage Yankees and niggers--but crazy ones--ugh!" and Thompson shrugged his shoulders. "Pull in your sorgum-sucker," Ole Bar said shortly, "and don't none of you get nothin' started about his gal." "That's it," said Jack Armstrong. "If he hain't forgot about her let's help him do it. Let's give him a howlin' good time." Then they grew silent, for he was approaching and they wondered. They had not seen him since Ann's death. The fresh flames were throwing fitful lights up into the overhanging brown branches and over the faces of the group, when Lincoln came into the circle of light and, extending his hand here and there, said: "Howdy, boys, howdy." Something like a sigh of relief passed around the group. He didn't seem crazy. He dropped himself in the circle of light. Then for the time they saw his face the effect of which was to bring a respectful silence over the noisy group. The wind rustled slightly and a couple of brown leaves floated down to the fireside. The gray face looked up a moment. Another leaf was falling. They all watched it. "Boys," said Lincoln in a voice they did not know, "the leaves are fallin' early." "Yeh--droppin' early this year." Again there was a pause. Then he said, "I haven't been with you in a long time." "Not in a coon's age--and we're glad to have you, Abe." "I'm glad to be here. I felt as if it would do me good to see you all. And I've brought a poem I want to read if you don't care." "Is it jolly?" "Yeh--something damn jolly is what we want." "No," said Lincoln slowly, "it is not jolly. It's the other kind. But this is my favorite of all poems. May I read it to you?" "Go to it, Abry Linkhorn," Ole Bar said. Abe Lincoln took a book from his pocket, opened it and laid it on his knee. He read as if asking them the question: