claiming it for his.
Well, they argued and argued, and the upshot was that Jim convinced the
neighbour that the hog was Jim's, and the neighbour convinced Jim that
the hog was the neighbour's, and neither of them would touch that hog,
and they were worse friends than ever."

Mr. Curtin rose and apologised to his companion. He had to see a man
about a buggy and must leave Mr. Stanton to find his way back alone.

"Don't worry, George," said the long man. "I'm going round your way and
I'll see your friend home." As Mr. Stanton professed himself ready for
bed, the little party by the stove broke up. Lincoln fetched from
a corner a dilapidated carpet-bag full of papers, and an old green
umbrella, handle-less, tied with string about the middle, and having his
name sewn inside in straggling letters cut out of white muslin. He and
Stanton went out-of-doors into the raw autumn night.

The town lay very quiet in a thin fog made luminous by a full moon. The
long man walked with his feet turned a little inwards, accommodating
his gait to the shorter stride of his companion. Mr. Stanton, having
recovered from his momentary annoyance, was curious about this odd
member of his own profession. Was it possible that in the whirligig of
time a future could lie before one so uncouth and rustical? A democracy
was an unaccountable thing, and these rude westerners might have to be
reckoned with.

"You are ambitious of a political career, Mr. Lincoln?" he asked.

The other looked down with his shy crooked smile, and the Ohio lawyer
suddenly realised that the man had his own attractiveness.

"Why, no, sir. I shouldn't like to say I was ambitious. I've no call to
be, for the Almighty hasn't blessed me with any special gifts. You're
different. It would be a shame to you if you didn't look high,
for you're a young man with all the world before you. I'm getting
middle-aged and I haven't done anything to be proud of yet, and I reckon
I won't get the chance, and if I did I couldn't take advantage of it.
I'm pretty fond of the old country, and if she wants me, why, she's only
got to say so and I'll do what she tells me. But I don't see any clear
road I want to travel. ..."

He broke off suddenly, and Stanton, looking up at him, saw that his face
had changed utterly. The patient humorous look had gone and it was like
a tragic mask, drawn and strained with suffering. They were passing by a
little town cemetery and, as if by some instinct, had halt