"Howdy, ladies, howdy--howdy!" he said, lifting his hat gallantly. "May I come in? I've heard tell of New Salem quiltin'-bees and I'd like to see how it's done." His welcome was as hearty as his self-invitation, and a few moments later he found himself tucked behind the quilting--frame beside Ann Rutledge who was said to be the best quilter in New Salem. Ann took out her needles, thread, thimble and emery bag. The end of a chalked string was tossed to her and she quickly made a few white lines. "See the pattern, Abe?" Mrs. Cameron asked. "It's a tulip design, red flowers and green leaves. The blue is the pot it's growing in." In a few moments the company was quilting and conversation had again begun. "We was just settin' in to talk about Peter Cartwright and the way he prayed the dancin' out of the legs in this community," Hannah Armstrong explained. "I agree with him," Mrs. Benson said; "I'm down on all huggin', whether settin' or standin' still or movin' about. I haven't brought Phoebe Jane up the huggin' way. If I had, Windy Batts wouldn't have picked her to help him convert the Indians." Abe Lincoln whispered something to Ann about a hugging-match and laughed. "I liked his singing," Mrs. Armstrong said. "I thought I'd cry my eyes out that night he sung 'Down the dark river where the dark willows are weeping night and day.' I never felt so near a grave-yard in my born days. Everybody in the camp was mourning for some loved one." "Wasn't that the same night he got around to eternal punishment and the thundering smell of smoke?" asked Mrs. Rutledge. "I heard it. After they got started they kept going until morning." While the religious question was being discussed Abe Lincoln was watching the nimble fingers of Ann Rutledge as with one hand on the top side and one under the quilt she wove the tiny white stitches on the red and green and blue. Presently the hand of Abe Lincoln disappeared under the quilt. The next minute a look of surprise showed on Ann's face as she whispered, "Turn loose of my hand." "I'm just trying to learn how it 's done," he whispered back. Ann looked about. Nobody was paying any attention to them. She tried to move her hand but it was held as fast as if in a vice. "I'll holler," she said. "No, you won't," he whispered back. Then Ann jerked her hand and for the moment it was free. She bent her slightly flushed face over the quilt and was soon making the white stitches again. But Lincoln's hand was yet under the quilt, and before she had crossed the red tulip she felt her hand again imprisoned. "Let go," she whispered, turning a flushed face to him and trying to work with one hand. "I can't, I've got to hold on to somethin'. I'm afraid of women," was the answer.