mes passengers standing by the rail waved to the boys.

Each day of their journey brought gentler breezes, warmer weather.
Cottonwood and magnolia trees grew on the low swampy banks of both
shores. The boys passed cotton fields, where gangs of Negro slaves were
at work. Some of them were singing as they bent to pick the snowy white
balls of cotton. A snatch of song came floating over the water:

"Oh, brother, don't get weary,
Oh, brother, don't get weary,
Oh, brother, don't get weary,
We're waiting for the Lord."

[Illustration]

Abe leaned on his oar to listen. A few minutes later he pointed to a big
house with tall white pillars in the middle of a beautiful garden.

"Nice little cabin those folks have," he said drily. "Don't recollect
seeing anything like that up in Pigeon Creek."

"Why, Abe, you haven't seen anything yet. Just wait till you get to New
Orleans."

This was Allen's second trip, and he was eager to show Abe the sights. A
few days later they were walking along the New Orleans waterfront. Ships
from many different countries were tied up at the wharves. Negro slaves
were rolling bales of cotton onto a steamboat. Other Negroes, toting
huge baskets on their heads, passed by. Sailors from many lands,
speaking strange tongues, rubbed elbows with fur trappers dressed in
buckskins from the far Northwest. A cotton planter in a white suit
glanced at the two youths from Pigeon Creek. He seemed amused. Abe
looked down at his homespun blue jeans. He had not realized that all
young men did not wear them.

"Reckon we do look different from some of the folks down here," he said,
as he and Allen turned into a narrow street.

Here there were more people--always more people. The public square was
crowded. Abe gazed in awe at the Cathedral. This tall Spanish church,
with its two graceful towers, was so different from the log meeting
house that the Lincolns attended.

Nor was there anything back in Pigeon Creek like the tall plaster houses
faded by time and weather into warm tones of pink and lavender and
yellow. The balconies, or porches, on the upper floors had wrought iron
railings, of such delicate design that they looked like iron lace.

Once the boys paused before a wrought iron gate. At the end of a long
passageway they could see a courtyard where flowers bloomed and a
fountain splashed in the sunshine. Abe turned to watch a handsome
carriage roll by over the cobblestones. He looked down the