pockets and his chin upon his breast looking solemnly into the fire.

"Thank you, Abe," he said in a low voice. "Something unusual has happened
and I'm just a little scared."

"Why?" Abe asked.

"For fear somebody will spoil it with another hog story. I'm a little
afraid of anything I can say. I would venture this, that the man Webster
is a prophet. In his Plymouth address he hears receding into never
returning distance the clank of chains and all the horrid din of slavery.
It will come true."

"Do you think so?" Abe asked.

"Surely--there are so many of us who hate it. These Yankees hate it and
they and their children are scattering all over the midlands. Their
spirit will guide the West. The love of Liberty is the salt of their
blood and the marrow of their bones. Liberty means freedom for all. Wait
until these babies, coming out here by the wagon load, have grown to
manhood. Slavery will have to reckon with them."

"I hate it too," said Abe. "Down the Mississippi I have seen men and
women sold like oxen. If I live I'm going to hit that thing on the head
some day."

"Do you still want to be a lawyer?" Kelso asked.

"Yes, but sometimes I think I'd make a better blacksmith," said Abe.