father. How sad
his face as he kissed me farewell! And he said to me: 'Carl, if ever
your new Vaterland, the good Republic, be in danger, sacrifice all.
I have spent my years in bondage, and I say to you that life without
liberty is not worth the living.' Three months I was gone, and he was
dead, without that for which he had striven so bravely. He never knew
what it is to have an abundance of meat. He never knew from one day to
the other when he would have to embrace me, all he owned, and march away
to prison, because he was a patriot." Richter's voice had fallen low,
but now he raised it. "Do you think, my friend," he cried, "do you think
that I would not die willingly for this new country if the time should
come. Yes, and there are a million like me, once German, now American,
who will give their lives to preserve this Union. For without it the
world is not fit to live in."

Stephen had food for thought as he walked northward through the strange
streets on that summer evening. Here indeed was a force not to be
reckoned, and which few had taken into account.

CHAPTER II. ABRAHAM LINCOLN

It is sometimes instructive to look back and see hour Destiny gave us a
kick here, and Fate a shove there, that sent us in the right direction
at the proper time. And when Stephen Brice looks backward now, he laughs
to think that he did not suspect the Judge of being an ally of the
two who are mentioned above. The sum total of Mr. Whipple's words and
advices to him that summer had been these. Stephen was dressed more
carefully than usual, in view of a visit to Bellefontaine Road.
Whereupon the Judge demanded whether he were contemplating marriage.
Without waiting for a reply he pointed to a rope and a slab of limestone
on the pavement below, and waved his hand unmistakably toward the
Mississippi.

Miss Russell was of the opinion that Mr. Whipple had once been crossed
in love.

But we are to speak more particularly of a put-up job, although Stephen
did not know this at the time.

Towards five o'clock of a certain afternoon in August of that year,
1858, Mr. Whipple emerged from his den. Instead of turning to the right,
he strode straight to Stephen's table. His communications were always a
trifle startling. This was no exception.

"Mr. Brice," said he, "you are to take the six forty-five train on the
St. Louis, Alton, and Chicago road tomorrow morning for Springfield,
Illinois."

"Yes sir."

"Arriving at Springfield,