his hand. A few questions and ready answers told him all; and no father
could have cared more tenderly for his only child than he for our little
Blossom.

She was on her way to Washington, to ask President Lincoln for her
brother's life. She had stolen away, leaving only a note to tell her
father where and why she had gone. She had brought Bennie's letter with
her; no good, kind heart, like the President's, could refuse to be
melted by it. The next morning they reached New York, and the conductor
hurried her on to Washington. Every minute, now, might be the means of
saving her brother's life. And so, in an incredibly short time, Blossom
reached the Capital, and hastened immediately to the White House.

The President had but just seated himself to his morning's task, of
overlooking and signing important papers, when, without one word of
announcement, the door softly opened, and Blossom, with downcast eyes,
and folded hands, stood before him.

"Well, my child," he said, in his pleasant, cheerful tones, "what do you
want so bright and early in the morning?"

"Bennie's life, please, sir," faltered Blossom.

"Bennie? Who is Bennie?"

"My brother, sir. They are going to shoot him for sleeping at his post."

"Oh, yes," and Mr. Lincoln ran his eye over the papers before him. "I
remember! It was a fatal sleep. You see, child, it was at a time of
special danger. Thousands of lives might have been lost for his culpable
negligence."

"So my father said," replied Blossom, gravely; "but poor Bennie was so
tired, sir, and Jemmie so weak. He did the work of two, sir, and it was
Jemmie's night, not his; but Jemmie was too tired, and Bennie never
thought about himself, that he was tired, too."

"What is this you say, child? Come here; I do not understand," and the
kind man caught eagerly, as ever, at what seemed to be a justification
of an offense.

Blossom went to him; he put his hand tenderly on her shoulder, and
turned up the pale, anxious face toward his. How tall he seemed, and he
was President of the United States, too! A dim thought of this kind
passed for a moment through Blossom's mind; but she told her simple and
straightforward story, and handed Mr. Lincoln Bennie's letter to read.

He read it carefully; then, taking up his pen, wrote a few hasty lines,
and rang his bell.

Blossom heard this order given: "SEND THIS DISPATCH AT ONCE."

The President then turned to the girl and said: "Go home, my child, and
tel