"Don't forget to cover the coals, Ann," her mother had said as she left the room. "Where's the book. I haven't read my poem for a long time," Abe Lincoln said when they were alone. Ann took the book from her table-drawer and found the poem entitled, "Immortality." Lincoln read a few verses. "It doesn't say much about immortality--does it?" Ann asked. "Not much, but it means it, because of course the souls of men and of women do not wither and die like the leaves of the willow and the oak. But I should never have known the meanin'--the full, sure meanin' of the word, nor have entered into the better spirit of the poem, if it had not been for you, Ann Rutledge." "I am glad if I have helped you, but put the book away. Let's tell our fortunes in the fire." Lincoln put the book on the table and stirred up a bed of glowing coals. Then, side by side, they looked into the future. "Look," she said, "at the lines just there. I have a long life-line--so long I must be going to live a hundred years." He laughed. "And yours is long. And right in there there is a wedding--and over there are one, two, three--at least half a dozen children for me." She laughed and stirred the coals again. "This now is your fortune. I see journeys and lots of people. I believe I see the capitol building at Vandalia. Maybe you are going to be a great judge or some state official." She stirred again, but this time she turned and said, "I've always wished, Abraham, that you knew some love-stories." "I do," he answered promptly. "You?" and she opened her blue eyes wide. "Yes--the best in the world." "Where did you get them? You never read story-books." "The best books and the greatest books in the world are full of love-stories. In fact, Ann, if love and love-stories were taken out there wouldn't be anything left for the other fellow to write a book about. "How about Blackstone--couldn't he write a book?" "No. In a world without love there would be no matin' in the springtime and no people to write about." "I didn't mean that. I was talking about just plain love-stories." "So am I. I've read Shakespeare. Did you ever hear his love-story about Antony and Cleopatra? It's one of the greatest love-stories in the world. She went to him in a wonderful, golden barge with purple silk sails and flower-decked maidens dancin' under its Tyrian purple canopies. Little boats swarmed all about it, burnin' incense so that it was wafted on the water in perfumed breezes. This was the ship the fairy Egyptian went to Antony in. Theirs was the love stronger than death. We will read it some time." "I like it--tell me more." "You know the love-stories in the Bible: the one about Ruth and Boaz, a little out of place these times, but good for its day. You know the unruly passion that caused poor old Samson's downfall, a love-affair in which he loved fiercely but not wisely. But the story that to my mind means more than them all, is the story about Jesus and Mary."