ly joy. The picture was deeply engraved in his
memory; it haunted him. And with it came a soreness, a discomfort of
mind which had haunted him as well in the hours between--the chagrin
of the failure of his speech. During the day he had gently but
decisively put aside all reference to it from those about him; he had
glanced at the head-lines in the newspapers with a sarcastic smile;
the Chief Executive must he flattered, of course; newspaper notices
meant nothing. He knew well that he had made many successful speeches;
no man of his shrewdness could be ignorant that again and again he
had carried an audience by storm; yet he had no high idea of his own
speech-making, and yesterday's affair had shaken his confidence more.
He remembered sadly that, even for the President, no hand, no voice
had been lifted in applause.

"It must have been pretty poor stuff," he said half aloud; "yet I
thought it was a fair little composition. I meant to do well by them."

His long strides had carried him into the outskirts of the city, and
suddenly, at a corner, from behind a hedge, a young boy of fifteen
years or so came rushing toward him and tripped and stumbled against
him, and Lincoln kept him from falling with a quick, vigorous arm. The
lad righted himself and tossed back his thick, light hair and stared
haughtily, and the President, regarding him, saw that his blue eyes
were blind with tears.

"Do you want all of the public highway? Can't a gentleman from the
South even walk in the streets without--without--" and the broken
sentence ended in a sob.

The anger and the insolence of the lad were nothing to the man who
towered above him--to that broad mind this was but a child in trouble.
"My boy, the fellow that's interfering with your walking is down
inside of you," he said gently, and with that the astonished youngster
opened his wet eyes wide and laughed--a choking, childish laugh that
pulled at the older man's heart-strings. "That's better, sonny," he
said, and patted the slim shoulder. "Now tell me what's wrong with the
world. Maybe I might help straighten it."

"Wrong, wrong!" the child raved; "everything's wrong," and launched
into a mad tirade against the government from the President down.

Lincoln listened patiently, and when the lad paused for breath, "Go
ahead," he said good-naturedly. "Every little helps."

With that the youngster was silent and drew himself up with stiff
dignity, offended yet fascinated; unable to