arity for all," was the
rule of his life in the backwoods as well as in the National Capital.

And "the Boys in Gray" were his "boys," too, but they didn't understand,
so they had wandered away--they were a little wayward, but he would win
them back. The great chivalrous South has learned, since those bitter,
ruinous days, that Abraham Lincoln was the best friend the South then
had in the North. Tad had seen his father show great tenderness to all
the "boys" he met in the gray uniform, but the President had few
opportunities to show his tenderness to the South--though there was a
secret pigeonhole in his desk stuffed full of threats of assassination.
He was not afraid of death--indeed, he was glad to die if it would do
his "boys" and the country any good. But it hurt him deep in his heart
to know that some of his beloved children misunderstood him so that they
were willing to kill him!

It was no one's bullet which made Abraham Lincoln a martyr. All his life
he had shown the spirit of love which was willing to give his very life
if it could save or help others.

All these things little Tad could not have explained, but they were
inbred into the deep understanding of the big father and the small son
who were living in the White House as boys together.

MR. LINCOLN'S LAST SPEECH AND HOW TAD HELPED

A few days after the war ended at Appomattox, a great crowd came to the
White House to serenade the President. It was Tuesday evening, April 11,
1865. Mr. Lincoln had written a short address for the occasion. The
times were so out of joint and every word was so important that the
President could not trust himself to speak off-hand.

A friend stepped out on the northern portico with him to hold the candle
by which Mr. Lincoln was to read his speech. Little Tad was with his
father, as usual, and when the President had finished reading a page of
his manuscript he let it flutter down, like a leaf, or a big white
butterfly, for Tad to catch. When the pages came too slowly the boy
pulled his father's coat-tail, piping up in a muffled, excited tone:

"Give me 'nother paper, Papa-day."

To the few in the front of the crowd who witnessed this little by-play
it seemed ridiculous that the President of the United States should
allow any child to behave like that and hamper him while delivering a
great address which would wield a national, if not world-wide influence.
But little Tad did not trouble his father in the least. It was