k
dinner with a farmer in Sangamon county.

Years afterward, when Mr. Lincoln had become President, a soldier
came to call on him at the White House. At the first glance the Chief
Executive said: "Yes, I remember; you used to live on the Danville
road. I took dinner with you when I was running for the Legislature.
I recollect that we stood talking out at the barnyard gate while I
sharpened my jackknife."

"Y-a-a-s," drawled the soldier, "you did. But say, wherever did you put
that whetstone? I looked for it a dozen times, but I never could find
it after the day you used it. We allowed as how mabby you took it 'long
with you."

"No," said Lincoln, looking serious and pushing away a lot of documents
of state from the desk in front of him. "No, I put it on top of that
gatepost--that high one."

"Well!" exclaimed the visitor, "mabby you did. Couldn't anybody else
have put it there, and none of us ever thought of looking there for it."

The soldier was then on his way home, and when he got there the first
thing he did was to look for the whetstone. And sure enough, there it
was, just where Lincoln had laid it fifteen years before. The honest
fellow wrote a letter to the Chief Magistrate, telling him that the
whetstone had been found, and would never be lost again.

SETTLED OUT OF COURT.

When Abe Lincoln used to be drifting around the country, practicing law
in Fulton and Menard counties, Illinois, an old fellow met him going
to Lewiston, riding a horse which, while it was a serviceable enough
animal, was not of the kind to be truthfully called a fine saddler. It
was a weatherbeaten nag, patient and plodding, and it toiled along
with Abe--and Abe's books, tucked away in saddle-bags, lay heavy on the
horse's flank.

"Hello, Uncle Tommy," said Abe.

"Hello, Abe," responded Uncle Tommy. "I'm powerful glad to see ye, Abe,
fer I'm gwyne to have sumthin' fer ye at Lewiston co't, I reckon."

"How's that, Uncle Tommy?" said Abe.

"Well, Jim Adams, his land runs 'long o' mine, he's pesterin' me a heap
an' I got to get the law on Jim, I reckon."

"Uncle Tommy, you haven't had any fights with Jim, have you?"

"No."

"He's a fair to middling neighbor, isn't he?"

"Only tollable, Abe."

"He's been a neighbor of yours for a long time, hasn't he?"

"Nigh on to fifteen year."

"Part of the time you get along all right, don't you?"

"I reckon we do, Abe."

"Well, now, Uncle Tommy, you see this horse of mine?