As if he had forgotten everything else, Abe Lincoln now turned his attention to her. He looked long and earnestly. "Ann--Ann--is it true?" "What?" she said with some surprise. "That you are mine." "What a strange question." "I am afraid sometimes that it is too good to be true. I have never known such happiness--such riches--such enlargement of my soul as since I have known you. Many men have claimed to get to God through his Son. I am findin' my way through one of his daughters." "No--no--I am only God's little girl--his little schoolgirl, and just beginning to learn. Sometimes I cannot understand it from the preachers, but here God teaches me quite easily." "God's little girl," he repeated. "Well, I need not be jealous of Him. He will give me a square deal. He'll not take you away from me." "Oh, Abraham," she said, rising hurriedly, "I am going to--to----," and she sneezed. "You are catching cold," he said, stooping to pick up the vine leaves that had fallen from her head. "What did I let you sit on that damp stone for? I don't know the first thing about takin' care of a woman." "You will have plenty of time to learn," she laughed, holding out her hands for the wreath. "I should like to keep this always, but it will wither." "Let us leave the Queen's crown on her throne," and he took the wreath from her and put it on the stone where she had been sitting. Then, with his strong arms to help her, they left the quiet place, climbed the bluff and hurried home across lots to the Rutledge farm. CHAPTER XXX THE END OF JUNE It was June. On the farm the young corn shimmered in long, green rows. In the corners of fences and along the edges of the woods, wild roses were blooming. Abe Lincoln and Ann had sent messages back and forth but he had seen her only once since the May party, until the month of June was drawing to a close, when he took time to go out to the farm for an all-night visit. He found her apparently well and happy, though she was taking cough syrup. "Ann caught cold at the May party," Mrs. Rutledge said. "It's nothing much, only we don't want her throat to get sore so she cannot sing." After the early supper Ann and Abraham went out for a walk. "Don't let her stay out too long," Mrs. Rutledge counseled. "Night air and cough syrup don't get on well together." To them both it was a strangely pleasant walk, for they were both working to the same end; and this night they talked about what the future had in store for them when they should live their lives together. "By another June we will have our own home," he said. "I have never had a home. I had a mother with the sort of love without which there can never be a home. But it was not in her power to make our dwellin'-place much better than the homes mother animals provide. Our home will never be grand but there will be no other home like it in all the world."