ld come bounding to his side.
In the warm bright days, he and Tad would sometimes play in the yard
with these goats, for an hour at a time. One Saturday afternoon I went
to the White House to dress Mrs. Lincoln. I had nearly completed my task
when the President came in. It was a bright day, and walking to the
window, he looked down into the yard, smiled, and, turning to me, asked:

"Madam Elizabeth, you are fond of pets, are you not?"

"O yes, sir," I answered.

"Well, come here and look at my two goats. I believe they are the
kindest and best goats in the world. See how they sniff the clear air,
and skip and play in the sunshine. Whew! what a jump," he exclaimed as
one of the goats made a lofty spring. "Madam Elizabeth, did you ever
before see such an active goat?" Musing a moment, he continued: "He
feeds on my bounty, and jumps with joy. Do you think we could call him a
bounty-jumper? But I flatter the bounty-jumper. My goat is far above
him. I would rather wear his horns and hairy coat through life, than
demean myself to the level of the man who plunders the national treasury
in the name of patriotism. The man who enlists into the service for a
consideration, and deserts the moment he receives his money but to
repeat the play, is bad enough; but the men who manipulate the grand
machine and who simply make the bounty-jumper their agent in an
outrageous fraud are far worse. They are beneath the worms that crawl in
the dark hidden places of earth."

His lips curled with haughty scorn, and a cloud was gathering on his
brow. Only a moment the shadow rested on his face. Just then both goats
looked up at the window and shook their heads as if they would say "How
d'ye do, old friend?"

"See, Madam Elizabeth," exclaimed the President in a tone of enthusiasm,
"my pets recognize me. How earnestly they look! There they go again;
what jolly fun!" and he laughed outright as the goats bounded swiftly to
the other side of the yard. Just then Mrs. Lincoln called out, "Come,
Lizabeth; if I get ready to go down this evening I must finish dressing
myself, or you must stop staring at those silly goats."

Mrs. Lincoln was not fond of pets, and she could not understand how Mr.
Lincoln could take so much delight in his goats. After Willie's death,
she could not bear the sight of anything he loved, not even a flower.
Costly bouquets were presented to her, but she turned from them with a
shudder, and either placed them in a room where s