himself to death trying to make a president out of his pa's
gin'ral."

"You never told me how you lost your son," said mother, feeling
so badly she wiped one of my eyes full of oil.

"Law now, didn't I?" inquired Mrs. Freshett. "Well mebby that is
bekase I ain't had a chance to tell you much of anythin', your
bein' always so busy like, an' me not wantin' to wear out my
welcome. It was like this: All endurin' the war Henry an' me
did the best we could without pa at home, but by the time it was
over, Henry was most a man. Seemed as if when he got home, his
pa was all tired out and glad to set down an' rest, but Henry was
afire to be up an' goin'. His pa filled him so full o' Grant, it
was runnin' out of his ears. Come the second run the Gin'ral
made, peered like Henry set out to 'lect him all by hisself. He
wore every horse on the place out, ridin' to rallies. Sometimes
he was gone three days at a stretch. He'd git one place an' hear
of a rally on ten miles or so furder, an' blest if he didn't ride
plum acrost the state 'fore he got through with one trip. He set
out in July, and he rid right straight through to November, nigh
onto every day of his life. He got white, an' thin, an' narvous,
from loss of sleep an' lack of food, an' his pa got restless,
said Henry was takin' the 'lection more serious 'an he ever took
the war. Last few days before votin' was cold an' raw an' Henry
rid constant. 'Lection day he couldn't vote, for he lacked a
year of bein' o' age, an' he rid in with a hard chill, an' white
as a ghost, an' he says: `Ma,' says he, `I've 'lected Grant, but
I'm all tuckered out. Put me to bed an' kiver me warm.'"