Every one in the little village came to the house warming.

"There is nothing in America so beautiful as 'this here kind o' thing'
when the firelight shines upon it," said Kelso who often indulged in the
vernacular of the real ladder climbers.

"Well, of course, it isn't like Boston or New York," Sarah answered.

"Thank God!" Kelso exclaimed. "New York hurts my feelings, so many of its
buildings are of grand design and small proportions. Mrs. Traylor, you
are lucky to have this beautiful island in an ocean of music. There is
music in the look and sound of these meadows--bird music, wind music,
the level music of Felician David's Desert. Perhaps you don't know about
that and really it doesn't matter. Traylor, tune up your fiddle."

Samson began to play, stopping often to give the hand of welcome to a
guest. The people of New Salem were in their best clothes. The women wore
dresses of new calico--save Mrs. Dr. Allen, who wore a black silk dress
which had come with her from her late home in Lexington. Bim Kelso came
in a dress of red muslin trimmed with white lace. Ann Rutledge also wore
a red dress and came with Abe. The latter was rather grotesque in his new
linsey trousers, of a better length than the former pair, but still too
short.

"It isn't fair to blame the trousers or the tailor," he had said when he
had tried them on. "My legs are so long that the imagination of the
tailor is sure to fall short if the cloth don't. Next time I'll have 'em
made to measure with a ten-foot pole instead of a yardstick. If they're
too long I can roll 'em up and let out a link or two when they shrink.
Ever since I was a boy I have been troubled with shrinking pants."