"GIVE US 'DIXIE,' BOYS!" Then he went on outlining a policy of peace and friendship toward the South--showing a spirit far higher and more advanced than that of the listening crowd. On concluding his address and bidding the assembled multitude good night, he turned to the serenading band and shouted joyously: "Give us 'Dixie,' boys; play 'Dixie.' We have a right to that tune now." There was a moment of silence. Some of the people gasped, as they had done when they saw Tad waving the Confederate flag at the window. But the band, loyal even to a mere whim (as they then thought it) of "Father Abraham," started the long-forbidden tune, and the President, bowing, retired, with little Tad, within the White House. Those words, "Give us 'Dixie,' boys," were President Lincoln's last public utterance. As Mr. Lincoln came in through the door after speaking to the crowd, Mrs. Lincoln--who had been, with a group of friends, looking on from within--exclaimed to him: "You must not be so careless. Some one could easily have shot you while you were speaking there--and you know they are threatening your life!" The President smiled at his wife, through a look of inexpressible pain and sadness, and shrugged his great shoulders, but "still he answered not a word." THE SEPARATION OF THE TWO "BOYS" At a late hour Good Friday night, that same week, little Tad came in alone at a basement door of the White House from the National Theater, where he knew the manager, and some of the company, had made a great pet of him. He had often gone there alone or with his tutor. How he had heard the terrible news from Ford's Theater is not known, but he came up the lower stairway with heartrending cries like a wounded animal. Seeing Thomas Pendel, the faithful doorkeeper, he wailed from his breaking heart: "Tom Pen, Tom Pen, they have killed Papa-day! They have killed my Papa-day!" * * * * * After the funeral the little fellow was more lonely than ever. It was hard to have his pony burned up in the stable. It was harder still to lose Brother Willie, his constant companion, and now his mother was desperately ill, and his father had been killed. Tad, of course, could not comprehend why any one could be so cruel and wicked as to wish to murder his darling Papa-day, who loved every one so! He wandered through the empty rooms, aching with loneliness, murmuring softly to himself: "Papa-day, where's my Papa-day. I'm tired--tired of playing alone. I want to play together. Please, Papa-day, come back and play with your little Tad."