He bent and shouldered the heavy box that Mary had packed with small, paper-wrapped bundles. “Oh, Papa, let me call somebody! You shouldn’t carry that,” protested Robert. “Little enough to do for those boys.” Lincoln bent under the burden. “It will mean more to them if I fetch it to them personally.” “Ridiculous!” fumed Mary. “It’s beneath your dignity to lug that heavy box.” “Put my hat on, Mary, and put it on tight so I won’t knock it off.” He ignored her protest calmly. She jammed the high hat down over his rough hair, the bony knobs of his head. “You—the President of the United States!” she exploded. “With a house full of help and you lug that heavy thing!” “He who would be greatest among you, let him seek out the lowest place,” quoted Lincoln, solemnly and a bit inaccurately. “Not near so heavy as a good stout oak rail and I’ve shouldered many of them in my day. Come along, Bob.” “At least let me help carry, sir,” argued Robert as they went down the stairs. “Don’t touch it or you’ll get it unbalanced and spill all Company K’s Christmas. Little enough, but I had John Hay fetch me a roll of greenbacks. I’ll give every man a dollar. A dollar is a right substantial present, Bob, when you’re marching and fighting for thirteen dollars a month and what you can eat, when you get a chance to eat.” “I would do it gladly,” insisted Robert. “All I ask is a chance.” “I know, son. Maybe we can talk your mother around by spring. I did some better in the Black Hawk War.” Lincoln went on, stepping heavily down the outer steps and across the rutted yard. “They paid me eighty-five dollars for ninety days fighting in that war but part of the time I ranked a captain. We had to shoot hogs to eat, though, and then fight the farmers that owned ’em. Swampy country, too. Like Grant’s army fought over around Vicksburg.” “But you captured Black Hawk.” “The regular Army said they did that. I got put in the guardhouse for two days for firing a pistol in camp and they made me carry a wooden sword after that. Discipline. You couldn’t make any worse record in the army, Bob, than your father did before you.” “You couldn’t call that a real war, Papa,” Robert said. “It was real enough to the men who got their scalps peeled off. I helped bury twelve of them. Now, look at that lieutenant! Sending an escort up here on the double and putting all those boys in line at attention, when I just came out here on a friendly visit.” “Even Tad!” laughed Robert. “Even the confounded goat!” The goat wore his military hat and Tad was holding him grimly into line by his horns. Lincoln let the two soldiers who came trotting up help him ease the box down to the ground. “At ease, men,” he ordered. “This is old Father Christmas, not the commander in chief. File by, one at a time, and get your Christmas cheer.”