ns, had his banners end his bunting, too. The
neighborhood of Freeport was stronghold of Northern Democrats, ardent
supporters of the Little Giant if once they could believe that he did
not intend to betray them.

Stephen felt in his bones the coming of a struggle, and was
thrilled. Once he smiled at the thought that he had become an active
partisan--nay, a worshipper--of the uncouth Lincoln. Terrible suspicion
for a Bostonian,--had he been carried away? Was his hero, after all, a
homespun demagogue? Had he been wise in deciding before he had taught
a glimpse of the accomplished Douglas, whose name end fame filled the
land? Stephen did not waver in his allegiance. But in his heart there
lurked a fear of the sophisticated Judge and Senator and man of the
world whom he had not yet seen. In his notebook he had made a copy of
the Question, and young Mr. Hill discovered him pondering in a corner
of the lobby at dinnertime. After dinner they went together to their
candidate's room. They found the doors open and the place packed, and
there was Mr. Lincoln's very tall hat towering above those of the
other politicians pressed around him. Mr. Lincoln took three strides in
Stephen's direction and seized him by the shoulder.

"Why, Steve," said he, "I thought you had got away again." Turning to a
big burly man with a good-natures face, who was standing by, he added.
"Jim, I want you to look out for this young man. Get him a seat on the
stands where he can hear."

Stephen stuck close to Jim. He never knew what the gentleman's last name
was, or whether he had any. It was but a few minutes' walk to the grove
where the speaking was to be. And as they made their way thither Mr.
Lincoln passed them in a Conestoga wagon drawn by six milk-white horses.
Jim informed Stephen that the Little Giant had had a six-horse coach.
The grove was black with people. Hovering about the hem of the crowd
were the sunburned young men in their Sunday best, still clinging fast
to the hands of the young women. Bands blared "Columbia, Gem of the
Ocean." Fakirs planted their stands in the way, selling pain-killers
and ague cures, watermelons and lemonade, Jugglers juggled, and beggars
begged. Jim said that there were sixteen thousand people in that grove.
And he told the truth.

Stephen now trembled for his champion. He tried to think of himself as
fifty years old, with the courage to address sixteen thousand people on
such a day, and quailed. What a man of