Seated at his desk in the White House, he received daily the great and the humble, and no man or woman came and left without a patient hearing. There were over thirty thousand cases of trial and condemnations by court-martial every year now--only a small portion with the death penalty attached--but all had the right to appeal. They were not slow in finding the road to the loving heart. Stanton, worn out by vain protests against his pardons, sent Attorney General Bates at last. The great lawyer was very stern as he faced his Chief: "I regret to say it, Mr. President, but you are not fit to be trusted with the pardoning power, sir!" A smile played about the corner of the big kindly mouth as he glanced over his spectacles at his Attorney General: "It's my private opinion, Bates, that you're just as pigeon-hearted as I am!" Judge Advocate General Holt was sent to labor with him and insist that he enforce the law imposing the death penalty. "Your reasons are good, Holt," he answered kindly, "but I can't promise to do it. You see, so many of my boys have to be shot anyhow. I don't want to add another one to that lot if I can help it----" He paused and went on whimsically: "I don't see how it's going to make a man better to shoot him, anyhow--give them another trial." In spite of all Holt's protests he steadfastly refused to sanction any death warrant against a man for cowardice under fire. "Many a man," he calmly argued, "who honestly tries to do his duty is overcome by fear greater than his will--I'm not at all sure how I'd act if Minie balls were whistling and those big shells shrieking in my ears. How can a poor man help it if his legs just carry him away?" All these he marked "leg cases," put them in a separate pigeon hole and always suspended their sentence. He would smile gently as he filed each death warrant away: "It would frighten that poor devil too terribly to shoot him. They shan't do it." On one he wrote: "Let him fight again--maybe the enemy will shoot him--I won't." Betty Winter came with two cases. The first was a mother to plead for her boy sentenced to die for sleeping at his post on guard. "You see, sir," the mother pleaded, "he'd been on watch once that night and had done his duty faithfully. He volunteered to take a sick comrade's place. He was so tired he fell asleep. He was always a big-hearted, generous boy--you won't let them shoot him?" "No, I won't," was the quick response. The mother laughed aloud through her tears and threw her arms around Betty's neck. The President bent over the paper and wrote across its back: "Pardoned. This life is too precious to be lost." Betty waited until the crowd had passed out and he was alone with Colonel Nicolay. She hurried to his desk with her second case which she had kept outside in the corridor until the time to enter.