11
After a few weeks at Master Swaney's school, Abe had to stop and go towork again. When he was seventeen, he had a chance to attend anotherschool kept by Azel Dorsey. Nearly every Friday afternoon there werespecial exercises and the scholars spoke pieces. For the final programon the last day of school, the boys had built a platform outside the logschoolhouse. Parents, brothers and sisters, and friends found seats onfallen logs and on the grass. They listened proudly as, one by one, thechildren came forward and each recited a poem or a speech.
Master Dorsey walked to the front of the platform. He held up his handfor silence. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "we come to the lastnumber on our program. Twenty-five years ago Thomas Jefferson becamePresident of these United States. We shall now hear the speech he madethat day. Abraham Lincoln will recite it for us."
Sarah Lincoln, from under her pink sunbonnet, stole a glance at Tom. "Ihope that Abe does well," she whispered.
Abe did do well. He forgot that he was growing too fast, that his handswere too big, and that his trousers were too short. For a few minutes hemade his audience forget it. Master Dorsey seemed to swell with pride.If that boy lives, he thought, he is going to be a noted man some day.Elizabeth Crawford, sitting in the front row, remembered what he hadsaid about being President. If she closed her eyes, she could almostimagine that Thomas Jefferson was speaking. When Abe finished and madean awkward bow, she joined in the hearty burst of applause.
"Do you know where he got that piece?" she asked her husband in a lowvoice. "From _The Kentucky Preceptor_, one of the books you loaned him.It makes a body feel good to think we helped him. Look at Mrs. Lincoln!She couldn't be more pleased if Abe was her own son."
Sarah waited to walk home with him. "I was mighty proud of you today,"she said. "Why, what's the matter? You look mighty down-in-the-mouth fora boy who spoke his piece so well on the last day."
"I was thinking that this is the last day," he answered. "The last dayI'll ever go to school, most likely."
"Well, you're seventeen now."
"Yes, I'm seventeen, and I ain't had a year's schooling all told. Ican't even talk proper. I forget and say 'ain't' though I know itain't--I mean isn't right."
"It seems to me you're educating yourself with all those books youread," said Sarah cheerfully.
"I've already read all the books for miles around. Besides, I want tosee places. I can't help it, Ma, I want to get away."
Sarah looked at him fondly. She wished that she could find some way tohelp him.
Abe found ways to help himself. He was never to go to school again, buthe could walk to Rockport to attend trials in the log courthouse. Heliked to listen to the lawyers argue their cases. Sometimes he wouldwrite down what they said on a piece of paper. Now and then he had achance to borrow a book that he had not read before from some newsettler. He read the old books over and over again. He liked to read thenewspapers to which Mr. Gentry, Allen's father, subscribed. The paperstold what was going on in the big world outside of Pigeon Creek.
James Gentry owned the log store at the crossroads, where the littletown, Gentryville, had grown up. His partner, William Jones, was one ofAbe's best friends, and Abe spent nearly every evening at the store. Itbecame the favorite meeting place for the men and boys who lived closeby.
"Howdy, Abe!" Everyone seemed to be saying it at once when he came in.
"The Louisville paper came today," William Jones might add. "Here youare! The fellows have been waiting for you to holler out the news."
Abe sat on the counter, swinging his long legs, as he read the newspaperout loud. The men sat quietly, except when William got up to throwanother log on the fire or to light another candle. Abe read on and on.After he finished the paper, they talked about what he had read. Theyargued about many things from politics to religion. They always wantedto know what Abe thought. Many times they stayed until nearly midnightlistening to him.
* * * * *
One evening, not long after Abe's nineteenth birthday, he walked homefrom the store in great excitement. He had been very sad since hissister Sally had died in January, but tonight he seemed more cheerful.Sarah looked up to find him standing in the doorway.
"What do you think has happened, Ma?" he asked. "I am going to NewOrleans."
"How come, Abe?"
Sarah knew that prosperous farmers sometimes loaded their corn and otherfarm products on big flatboats. These flatboats were floated down theOhio and Mississippi rivers to New Orleans, where the cargoes were sold.But the Lincolns raised only enough for their own use. They never hadanything left over to sell. Nor could they afford to build a flatboatfor the long trip down the rivers.
"How come?" Sarah asked again.
Abe seized her around the waist and danced her across the floor. She wasout of breath but laughing when he let her go.
"Allen Gentry is taking a cargo of farm truck down to New Orleans tosell," he explained. "His pa has hired me to help on the flatboat. Mr.Gentry will pay me eight dollars a month. I reckon Pa will be pleasedabout that."
Abe himself was pleased because he was going to see something of theworld. New Orleans was seven hundred miles away. It was a big andimportant city. Sarah was pleased because this was the chance that Abehad been wanting.
He had grown so tall that she had to throw back her head to look up athim. "I'm right glad for you," she said.