he old thing is neither fish nor flesh,
anyhow. Too big mouthed for a candle and folks are going to use coal
oil more and more, anyhow. I can be off tomorrow."

"Tomorrow's Thanksgiving, Jason."

"I'll be glad to forget it," grumbled Jason. "What have we to be
thankful for?"

His mother looked at him a little curiously, but she said nothing. Jason
caught the expression in her eyes.

"Don't look at me that way, mother," he burst forth angrily, "I can't
forgive father, with his big brain and body for doing so little for you
and me. I can't forgive him for what he dragged us through--those
donation parties! He had no right to put me through what he did that
year at High Hill. And what did he get out of his life? They lay him
away with the remark that he had a gift of prayer! And his widow may
starve, for all of them."

"Jason, be silent," cried his mother. She had risen and stood facing
him, her face deathly white. "Not one word against your father. Because
you never could appreciate him, you needn't belittle him now. Not one
word," as Jason would have spoken. "He was my husband and I loved him,
God knows. O Ethan, Ethan, how shall I finish my span of years alone!"
she broke down utterly.

Jason put his arms about her. "Mother, I didn't mean to hurt you. Truly
I didn't. It's only that--" he stopped and set his lips tightly while he
petted her in silence.

"I pray, Jason," said his mother, finally, "that you will never have a
grief or a punishment great enough to soften your heart."

Jason did not answer. He went up to see Mr. Inchpin that night, and the
following day started back East again.

[Illustration]

IV

MR. LINCOLN

[Illustration]

IV

MR. LINCOLN

Three times a week during the year that followed, Jason's mother saddled
Pilgrim and rode him to the post office after the shrieks of the whistle
had warned her that the tri-weekly packet had come and gone. Four times
during the year she heard from Jason.

"April 3, 1862.

"DEAR MOTHER:

"I am very well indeed, and hope that you are not overworking.
Things are not going very well here. Everybody is hard pressed
because of the war and Dr. Edwards simply can't make any
collections. We get a good many soldiers who are sent home half
cured and, of course, we get nothing at all from them--don't want
to, in fact. Is there any way we could raise just a little money?
Not a cent that you've earned, un