uch words, but a man who can make a
business of going to Africa and robbing her of her helpless children and
selling them into bondage--no, sir--he may rot in jail before he shall
have liberty by any act of mine!"

Again the mother's heart sank.

Her hour had come. She must put the issue of life or death to the test,
and as Elsie rose and stepped quickly forward, she followed; nerving
herself for the ordeal.

The President took Elsie's hand familiarly and smiled without rising.
Evidently she was well known to him.

"Will you hear the prayer of a broken-hearted mother of the South, who has
lost four sons in General Lee's army?" she asked.

Looking quietly past the girl, he caught sight, for the first time, of the
faded dress and the sorrow-shadowed face.

He was on his feet in a moment, extended his hand and led her to a chair.

"Take this seat, Madam, and then tell me in your own way what I can do for
you." In simple words, mighty with the eloquence of a mother's heart, she
told her story and asked for the pardon of her boy, promising his word of
honour and her own that he would never again take up arms against the
Union.

"The war is over now, Mr. Lincoln," she said, "and we have lost all. Can
you conceive the desolation of _my_ heart? My four boys were noble men.
They may have been wrong, but they fought for what they believed to be
right. You, too, have lost a boy."

The President's eyes grew dim.

"Yes, a beautiful boy----" he said simply.

"Well, mine are all gone but this baby. One of them sleeps in an unmarked
grave at Gettysburg. One died in a Northern prison. One fell at
Chancellorsville, one in the Wilderness, and this, my baby, before
Petersburg. Perhaps I've loved him too much, this last one--he's only a
child yet----"

"You shall have your boy, my dear Madam," the President said simply,
seating himself and writing a brief order to the Secretary of War.

The mother drew near his desk, softly crying. Through her tears she said:

"My heart is heavy, Mr. Lincoln, when I think of all the hard and bitter
things we have heard of you."

"Well, give my love to the people of South Carolina when you go home, and
tell them that I am their President, and that I have never forgotten this
fact in the darkest hours of this awful war; and I am going to do
everything in my power to help them." "You will never regret this generous
act," the mother cried with gratitude.

"I reckon not," he answered. "I'll t