"Of course--but, Abraham--this is the coldest night of the winter! Mother!" Ann called rather excitedly, "come here!" Mrs. Rutledge entered with a yellow bowl in which she was beating buckwheat batter to put by the fire to rise for breakfast cakes. "Mother!" exclaimed Ann. "Abraham says he is going to Muddy Point." Mrs. Rutledge turned and stared at Abe Lincoln a moment as if to make sure he were there. Then she said, "Are you joking, Abraham?" "No, indeed--I'm goin'. Old Kelly's wife is sick and the children are hungry. I got it straight, and I can't sit by this warm fire so comfortable and think of them sufferin', I've got to go." "But, Abraham Lincoln, there is not another person in New Salem, not a living soul of them, that would do it such a night as this." Abe Lincoln laughed. Then he said, "That's all the more reason I must go. Will you send a basket?" "To be sure--but it's an awful cold night and you haven't any long-coat." "I'll walk fast enough to keep warm," he assured her. "If folks waited until all signs were right for doin' these little things, they'd never get done. We only pass this way but once, you know. Any good thing we can do we must do as we go--we don't come back." Mrs. Rutledge stood looking at the tall, ungainly youth. For a moment his face seemed to be beautiful as the firelight fell on its strong lines. Then without a word she returned to the kitchen. In a moment she called Ann to come and help her. Abe went out, too, and together they fixed a basket and covered it well so that it would not be frozen when delivered. Abe Lincoln was not warmly clad for cold weather. Ann thought of this as he stood before the fire holding his big square muffler. "This will keep me warm," he said, wrapping it about his throat. "You haven't any gun," Ann said. "Wolves killed three of William Green's pigs yesterday, and last week there was a great big catamount at Honey Grove." "Do you remember what I did to Armstrong? I did a catamount that same way once. I always carry my weapons. God fastened them to me so tight I can't leave them." Ann and her mother laughed. Abe Lincoln went out into the cold; and they heard the sharp crunching of the snow under his quick footsteps. "I'm going to spin to-night, Mother," Ann said. "You don't care if I put the kettle on and make Abraham something hot to drink when he comes home, do you?" "A very good idea," Mrs. Rutledge said. After she had done some mending she put the water pail by the fire, hung a roll of pork sausage on the wall, and, after having taken other precautions to insure a good warm breakfast when everything would be frozen up the next morning, she went to bed, and Ann was left to spin and to think. Never was Ann Rutledge long alone that she was not singing. So now, as her wheel turned in the firelight, she began to sing a glad song full of life and hope and joy crowded into the words and melody of the old tune, "O, how I love Jesus!"