There was no unnecessary change in his simple manners and unpretentious
method of living. Friends and neighbors came, and he was glad to see
them. He answered the door-bell himself and accompanied visitors to the
door. Some of his friends, desiring to save his strength in these
little matters, procured a negro valet, Thomas by name. But Abraham
continued to do most of the duties that by right belonged to Thomas.

Some one sent him a silk hat, that he might go to Washington with head-
gear equal to the occasion. A farmer's wife knit him a pair of yarn
stockings. Hundreds of such attentions, kind in intent, grotesque in
appearance, he received with that kindness which is the soul of
courtesy. There was a woman at whose modest farmhouse he had once dined
on a bowl of bread and milk, because he had arrived after everything
else had been eaten up. She came into Springfield to renew her
apologies and to remind him that he had said that that repast was "good
enough for the President." While he commanded the respect of Bryant,
Schurz, Boutwell, and such, he was at the same time the idol of the
plain people, whom he always loved. He once said he thought the Lord
particularly loved plain people, for he had made so many of them.

Shortly after his nomination he was present at a party in Chicago. A
little girl approached timidly. He asked, encouragingly, if he could do
anything for her. She replied that she wanted his name. He looked about
and said, "But here are other little girls--they will feel badly if I
give my name only to you." She said there were eight of them in all.
"Then," said he, "get me eight sheets of paper, and a pen and ink, and
I will see what I can do for you." The materials were brought, and in
the crowded drawing-room he sat down, wrote a sentence and his name on
each sheet of paper. Thus he made eight little girls happy.