And," with a tone of profound melancholy, "they have been strict constructionists only in order to perpetuate slavery. Yet even now if we were to be assailed by a foreign power, every Southern state would march with us in solid phalanx, and help drive the invader out.

"Ah, yes, Sammy, they are patriots all-sincere, brave, glorious-blood of my blood, bone of my bone, sinew of my sinew-and only God knows how much I love them; but now they are gone astray, and their patriotism is no longer that of Washington and Hamilton, Jefferson and Andrew Jackson."

The President-elect's children, joyfully hilarious, rushed in from their play. "Tad," the youngest, he convulsively pressed to his breast, then tossed high above his head, the little fellow coming down into his father's arms with shouts of joy and ripples of laughter. Mrs. Lincoln appeared, was introduced, and announced that supper was ready.

"Come on out, Sammy, and have a snack with us," said the President-elect. "But you'll have to take pot-luck, for," with a merry twinkle in his eyes, "the politicians have about eaten us out of house and home."

CHAPTER VIII

THE SPY A PARTY-AN ANGEL IN WHITE-MARJORIE

THE HE young lawyer was taking leave of the Presidentelect. "Sammy, if war should come, may I count on you? You know New Richmond's pretty stanchly against me."

"Mr. Lincoln," replied the young lawyer, "I fear I'm what you call a 'sectional patriot.' Hence if you ask if I'll fight to compel the South to submit to a government to which, in my humble opinion, it owes no more allegiance than the Thirteen Colonies owed to England after the Declaration of Independence, I must answer-forgive my franknessNever! But to the question, Will I stand by you, by the Federal Government, in the event of the South's invasion of the North ?—my answer of necessity would be an instant and emphatic Yes! For, Mr. Lincoln, as I view it, the North has no more right to invade and coerce the South than the South has to invade and coerce the North-than England had to invade and coerce the American Colonies from '76 to '81. You see, I'm a Democrat of the old school. However, you'll have no need of my insignificant services, for you'll have with you the whole irresistible tide and trend of the times."

Gravely taking the young lawyer's hand, Mr. Lincoln, with a smile, replied: "As the preachers say, Sammy, you're in a state of grace, and you'll-ripen."

The succeeding weeks at New Richmond were uneventful. The roads were muddy, the farmers busy, and the streets

105 were practically deserted. Even Lincoln's Eastern tour and inauguration had scarcely excited a ripple. To be sure, the air was full of rumors: That the Southern Confederacy had gone to pieces; that Lincoln had backed down and yielded up everything; that France and England had recognized the Southern Confederacy; that 100,000 men were marching northward from the Gulf and putting every Abolitionist to the sword; that Lincoln and his entire Cabinet had been assassinated; that Lincoln had sworn that he would end the whole race controversy by compelling every white man to marry a black woman, and vice versa; that Davis had a legion of spies in every Northern neighborhood, and that at a given signal they would rise and massacre everybody that stood by Lincoln; and that even the world was soon to come to an end-but said rumors were short-lived. It was the hush before the storm.

Armentrout was busy sharpening plows and had but little to say.

Hank Gordon was uncommunicative. When asked if he would continue as postmaster under a Black Republican administration, he replied: "By Gawd, Ah'd ruthuh be ul chambuhmaid t' 'n' el'funt th'n t' staiy hyar uh durn daiy lunguh'n Ah hez tuh!"

Mamie, his assistant, giggled. She knew his application for a renewal of his commission as postmaster at New Richmond, endorsed by Drs. Culpepper and Boynton, Hiram Goldbeck, president of the Calhoun Bank; Nic Tutwiler, Voe Bijaw, and several others, had already been forwarded to Washington. There was a rumor that Armentrout was "making a try for it," and for the honor of the town it was felt that no "upstaht blacksmith" should ever be postmaster at New Richmond.

"Nic's triflunuh thun aivuh," Mrs. Tutwiler informed the neighbors. "Baituh gun ut en single hahnus, Ah raickun."

Nic, sunning himself in front of the "hotel," stretched himself and gaped. "Oh, shucks! Nuthin' doin'," emitting with geometrical precision an enormous volume of dark, amber-colored saliva on a frog that was making for a miniature pond in the street, and taking a fresh "chaw o' dawglaig." "Fish boitin' moighty foine, but thet raid-haidid wormun o' moine won' lut meh go. Some folks gut no feelin', daggone ut!'

Felix Palfrey was busy teaching "moo-zik an' zee langwidge.'" Indeed, after a certain memorable evening, he had become the busiest man in New Richmond. And the busier he became the more multitudinous and bewildering were his gestures and grimaces, and the greater his difficulty in "spikin' or comprend-ing yo' zo ver' strenge Anglaise langwidge."

But to all that was transpiring in the outer world he was seemingly utterly oblivious. "W'at ees eet all ab-oot?" he would anxiously inquire of some ultra-Abolitionist. And when his eager informer, kindling with wrath at the mention of Jeff Davis and the Southern Confederacy, had given him the last vestige of knowledge and surmise, the innocent Felix would shake his head, shrug his shoulders, and exclaim, "Eet ees all zo ver' strenge. Je ne comprends pas!"

One day he said to the blacksmith, "Mees-taire Armeentroot, do yo' teenk da veel bee-ah, var-r?"

"Wah?" the blacksmith exploded. "Wah? Weel, Ah suld saiy! Whah yuh ben liv'n', yuh damn' li'l roont?"

"R-roont? I no comprend! Bud veel zee Nort' vight?” "Foight? Yus, loike haill 'n' daimnashun!"

Instantly shoulders were a-shrug, and arms uplifted. Blank wonder and misery, pitiably ignorant, overspread his countenance. 'Sacre! Oh, mon Dieu! Grace au Ciel! Horree-bl'! Hor-ree-bl'! Den yo' favoreet, yo' Mees-taireah, Leen-coon, veel 'e be keel'?"

"No' by uh damsite!" shouted old Amsden.

"An' Mees-taire-ah, Da-vees, veel 'e nud alzo be keel'? An' all zee peopl' zo ver' niz ar-oond 'eer-r? An' yo' Meestaire-ah, Ar-meen-troot, veel yo' nud alzo bee-ah, moordaire'?"

That was too much for the old blacksmith. "See hyar, yuh damned li'l' goslin'. Yo' gang hame tae yuh maw 'n' taill 'er t' poot uh diapuh on yuh." Then with deep scorn added, "Ah ver' mooch feard yo' ged keel' alzo!"

"I ver' mooch t'ank yo', Mees-taire-"

"Git!"

If "Mees-taire Ar-meen-feesh-ah, troot," could have peeked through a keyhole an hour later at the boardinghouse of a certain Mrs. Barnes, he would have seen the "damned li'l' goslin'" mimicking him to perfection, and roaring with laughter.

To Simonson these were busy days. His first care was for his mother, at whose call he had come to New Richmond. To leave Boston with all its advantages, the faculty, and friends he had made at Cambridge, and his already promising outlook for a successful professional career, had been a sore trial; but there had been no alternative. He had pleaded with his mother to come to Boston and make a home for him -but no. With that utterly unreasonable and inexplicable fidelity women, in every other way pliable, cling to brutal and disreputable husbands, Madge Simonson refused to abandon her life partner. Nothing would do but "Sammy" must come to her.

Nor was call or response prompted by an unusual measure of affection. She had never been an affectionate mother to him, nor had he ever felt that adoration for her that most mothers inspire in their sons. She was a woman in distress, always in distress; often vilely tongue-lashed; sometimes brutally assaulted; always neglected; frequently utterly