With the coming of Christmas there was preparation for much simple gift-giving. Ann Rutledge especially took this holiday time for remembering more folks than any other girl in New Salem. One gift she had worked on with no small amount of pleasure was a gray yarn muffler for Abe Lincoln. "He goes to all the debates and he might get sore throat," Ann explained to her mother when asking her permission to make the gift. "Besides, he hasn't any people and nobody else might remember about him." "You're a good girl to try to save Abe Lincoln's throat for the Debatin' Society," Mrs. Rutledge had said, laughing. "There'd be an awful long stretch of stiff neck if cold got into him." Another of Ann's gifts was a fruit-cake bear made by her own hands for Ole Bar. When she presented Abe Lincoln with his gift, it proved such a pleasant surprise that he was rendered for the moment speechless. At the same time she handed him the cake. "Give it to poor Ole Bar," she had said. "He seems to be all alone in the world, and I'm afraid nobody will think of him." Ole Bar, as Abe Lincoln had been, was too much surprised to find words for adequate expression. The next day, however, he returned to the store and as soon as he got a chance to talk with the clerk alone he said, "Abry Linkhorn, me son Abry, every man what's a man and not a pipe-crower in breeches, mates. The Lord God made 'em that way, same as bars what brushes fur and courts in their own decent way. Fur reasons that no man hasn't been able to pick out of me, I haven't got me no Mollie and haven't no use for wimmin. But all them as isn't crippled nor fools nor too old to tote sticks, gets them one at some time. Now you git Ann Rutledge." "But Ann Rutledge is goin' to be married next year to another man," Abe Lincoln said. "Say, Abry, me son, did you ever hear of a bar standin' back like a holler-headed pip-jack when his Mollie was paradin' round in front of his eyes just because he thought some other bar was goin' to git her next year! If I must speak fer you, you never did. Nature comes fust. Just you git your own Mollie and let the other feller look out fer hisself." "But she's promised, Ole Bar. She has given her honorable word." Ole Bar chewed rapidly a moment. Then he stopped suddenly and said with decision, "Tain't nothin' to that. Wimmin is like bars. The best fighter gits the best female. If you show her what everybody else knows, that you're twice the man that deer-faced penny-grabber of hern is, she's yours, promise or no promise. Git Ann Rutledge. Tain't nobody in forty years has thought of Ole Bar and sent him a present. She'll think of ye, Abry Linkhorn, _think_ of ye. Ain't it worth fightin' fer to have somebody to _think_ of ye? Ain't Ann Rutledge worth fightin' fer?" Abraham admitted she was worth fighting for, and he thought of this the night of the big spelling-match.