s of _Kehilath Anshe Ma'arav_, Chicago's first
synagogue, and one of its most active members. Morris, busy in the
next room with his lessons for the next day, had paid scant attention
to their conversation, until the words, "Mr. Lincoln," and "flag"
caught his ear. Then he closed his geography with a slam, for like
every other nine-year-old boy of his day, he had heard much of the
"rail splitter from Illinois," as his opponents called him, and shared
his state's enthusiasm for the man who had just been elected
president.

"I'm glad we Jews did our part in electing him," said Mr. Kohn. "He
will make a strong president in these uncertain times; perhaps, the
only man who can keep this country out of civil war if the southern
states attempt to secede."

"They'll not fight, especially as Mr. Lincoln has promised not to
interfere with slavery in the states where it now exists," Mr.
Rosenfelt answered easily. He was a stout, cheerful man who refused to
borrow trouble, very unlike Morris's mother who always saw sorrow and
accident for her family hovering in the near future. "With a strong
man like Mr. Lincoln in Washington, we can stop worrying for a while."

"I hope so." Mr. Kohn's voice was a little doubtful. "I hate to
predict trouble, but I do believe that our candidate is going to have
a harder row to plough than any president we ever had since
Washington. I was thinking of that when I had the verses printed on
the flag I am going to send him."

"Oh, are you going to send Mr. Lincoln a flag?" cried Morris,
forgetting he was not supposed to be listening.

His father shook his head and ordered the boy to attend to his
lessons. "His reports are worse every month," he told Mr. Kohn. "Rabbi
Adler tells me he is a good boy, but that doesn't raise his marks in
Hebrew and arithmetic and history, and his mother----"

"But I don't like history about dead people," objected the boy. "Now
Mr. Lincoln's alive--and he's history, too, isn't he?"

"The boy's right," laughed Mr. Kohn. "Come in here, Morris, if your
father'll let you, and I'll tell you all about the flag I'm sending
Mr. Lincoln next week before he leaves his home in Springfield for
Washington." Morris, needing no second invitation, gladly deserted his
books and slipped into the parlor, curling up in one corner of the
horsehair sofa as he attempted to be as little in the way as possible.
For he didn't want his mother, should she happen to come into the
room, to send