house of a dirty grayish brown, too high for its
length and breadth, with tall shutters of the same color, and a picket
fence on top of the retaining wall which lifted the yard above the plank
walk. It was an ugly house, surely. But an ugly house may look beautiful
when surrounded by such heavy trees as this was. Their shade was
the most inviting thing Stephen had seen. A boy of sixteen or so was
swinging on the gate, plainly a very mischievous boy, with a round,
laughing, sunburned face and bright eyes. In front of the gate was a
shabby carriage with top and side curtains, hitched to a big bay horse.

"Can you tell me where Mr. Lincoln lives?" inquired Stephen.

"Well, I guess," said the boy. "I'm his son, and he lives right here
when he's at home. But that hasn't been often lately."

"Where is he?" asked Stephen, beginning to realize the purport of his
conversations with citizens.

Young Mr. Lincoln mentioned the name of a small town in the northern
part of the state, where he said his father would stop that night. He
told Stephen that he looked wilted, invited him into the house to have
a glass of lemonade, and to join him and another boy in a fishing
excursion with the big bay horse. Stephen told young Mr. Lincoln that he
should have to take the first train after his father.

"Jimmy!" exclaimed the other, enviously, "then you'll hear the Freeport
debate."

Now it has been said that the day was scorching hot. And when Stephen
had got back to the wooden station, and had waited an hour for the
Bloomington express, his anxiety to hear the Freeport debate was not
as keen as it might have been. Late in the afternoon he changed at
Bloomington to the Illinois Central Railroad: The sun fell down behind
the cardboard edge of the prairie, the train rattled on into the north,
wrapped in its dust and Smoke, and presently became a long comet,
roaring red, to match that other comet which flashed in the sky.

By this time it may be said that our friend was heartily sick of his
mission, He tried to doze; but two men, a farmer and a clerk, got in
at a way station, and sat behind him. They began to talk about this man
Lincoln.

"Shucks," said the clerk, "think of him opposing the Little Giant."

"He's right smart, Sam," said the farmer. "He's got a way of sayin'
things that's clear. We boys can foller him. But Steve Douglas, he only
mixes you up."

His companion guffawed.

"Because why?" he shouted. "Because you ain't ha