“Mr. President, I hope Tad don’t run off again,” worried one soldier. “We try not to take our eyes off him when he’s out here with us. Could be some Rebel sympathizers hangin’ round that would think it was a smart move to catch up Tad and hold him. Know you’d be mighty near be willing to surrender Washington to get that boy back, your pardon, sir, for speaking so bold.” Panic stiffened Abraham Lincoln’s long body. He broke into a long-legged trot back toward the tents, the escort panting after him. Robert emerged, pale-faced, from one tent and, with a dozen soldiers charging after him, hurried into another. He came out again, his hands outspread, helplessly. “He’s hiding somewhere, Papa,” he said. “We can’t find him.” “Spread out, men!” shouted the lieutenant. “Comb the area. Six of you guard the President. Corporal Barnes, form a guard detail.” The corporal hustled Robert into the middle of the protecting group, who faced outward bayonets alerted. Robert was angry and full of expostulations. “I don’t have to be guarded like a prisoner,” he protested. “I want to go and help search for Tad.” “Private Bullitt, here, has just made a rather startling suggestion, Bob,” said Lincoln worriedly. “He thinks that if some Rebel sympathizer should catch up Tad and hold him I might be pressured into surrendering Washington to get the boy back. And it might be,” he added sadly, “that I would be weak enough to do it!” “You never would! You couldn’t—with honor!” explained Robert. “But it would be a mighty tough decision, sir. Is that,” he asked sharply, “why you won’t let me go into the Army? For fear I might be captured and held as a hostage to force some concessions out of you? I want to tell you, sir, that if I can get into the Army—and no matter how I’m treated there or what happens to me, I’ll be a United States soldier, Mr. Lincoln—you can forget that I ever was your son.” “Very nobly said, son,” Lincoln patted his shoulder. “I’ll try to abide by your decision if the occasion ever arises. But Tad is my son. A little helpless boy. A boy I’m mighty fond of, and they know it!” “If I may speak plainly again, sir,” said Robert, “he needs his breeches tanned. And you are the one who ought to do it.” “He couldn’t have gone far,” fretted Lincoln. “It’s beginning to snow again.” He moved across the yard, his escort keeping rigidly in formation on either side. “Tad!” he shouted. “You, Tad—come back here!” “He wanted to be a soldier, Mr. President,” put in one of the soldiers. “Tad was bound he was a soldier.” “All my boys,” said Lincoln, “wanting to be soldiers!” There was a shout presently from beyond the fenced in confines of the yard. Men started running. “They’ve seen him,” cried Robert relieved. “The ornery little devil!” He began to run himself, and Lincoln trotted too, almost outstripping his guards. “There he is!” exclaimed a soldier. “Up on that scaffolding again!”