The Story of Young Abraham Lincoln | Page 7

clothes. Most o' the time he went bar'foot. Ever wear a wet
buckskin glove? Them moccasins wasn't no putection ag'inst the wet.
Birch bark with hickory bark soles, strapped on over yarn socks, beat
buckskin all holler, fur snow. Abe'n me got purty handy contrivin'
things that way. An' Abe was right out in the woods about as soon's he
was weaned, fishin' in the creek, settin' traps fur rabbits an' muskrats,
goin' on coon-hunts with Tom an' me an' the dogs, follerin' up bees to
find bee-trees, an' drappin' corn fur his pappy. Mighty interestin' life fur
a boy, but thar was a good many chances he wouldn't live to grow up."
When little Abe was four years old his father and mother moved from
Rock Spring Farm to a better place on Knob Creek, a few miles to the
northeast of the farm where he was born.
CHAPTER III
THE BOY LINCOLN'S BEST TEACHER
At Knob Creek the boy began to go to an "A B C" school. His first
teacher was Zachariah Riney. Of course, there were no regular schools
in the backwoods then. When a man who "knew enough" happened to
come along, especially if he had nothing else to do, he tried to teach the
children of the pioneers in a poor log schoolhouse. It is not likely that
little Abe went to school more than a few weeks at this time, for he
never had a year's schooling in his life. There was another teacher
afterward at Knob Creek--a man named Caleb Hazel. Little is known of
either of these teachers except that he taught little Abe Lincoln. If their

pupil had not become famous the men and their schools would never
have been mentioned in history.
An old man, named Austin Gollaher, used to like to tell of the days
when he and little Abe went to school together. He said:
"Abe was an unusually bright boy at school, and made splendid
progress in his studies. Indeed, he learned faster than any of his
schoolmates. Though so young, he studied very hard."
Although Nancy Lincoln insisted on sending the children to school,
when there was any, she had a large share in Abe's early education, just
as she had taught his father to write his own name. She told them Bible
stories and such others as she had picked up in her barren, backwoods
life. She and her husband were too religious to believe in telling their
children fairy tales.
The best thing of all was the reading of "The Pilgrim's Progress" during
the long Winter evenings, after the wood was brought in and Father
Tom had set his traps and done his other work for the night. Nancy's
voice was low, with soft, southern tones and accents. Tom and the
children enjoyed the story of Christian's pilgrimage from the City of
Destruction to the Celestial City the more because of her love for the
story she was reading to them, as they lay on bearskin rugs before the
blazing fire.
Abe was only six, but he was a thoughtful boy. He tried to think of
some way to show his gratitude to his mother for giving them so much
pleasure. While out gathering sticks and cutting wood for the big
fireplace, a happy thought came to him--he would cut off some
spicewood branches, hack them up on a log, and secrete them behind
the cabin. Then, when the mother was ready to read again, and Sarah
and the father were sitting and lying before the fire, he brought in the
hidden branches and threw them on, a few twigs at a time, to the
surprise of the others. It worked like a charm; the spicewood boughs
not only added to the brightness of the scene but filled the whole house
with the "sweet smelling savour" of a little boy's love and gratitude.

No one can fathom the pleasure of that precious memory throughout
those four lives, as the story of Great Heart and Christiana followed
Christian along the path that "shineth more and more unto the perfect
day." While the father and sister were delighted with the crackle,
sparkle and pleasant aroma of the bits of spicewood, as Abe tossed
them upon the fire, no one could appreciate the thoughtful act of the
boy so much as his mother. It would be strange if her eyes did not fill,
as she read to her fascinated family, but that was not the sort of thing
the fondest mother could speak of.
Little did Nancy dream that, in reading to her son of the devotion of
Great Heart to his charges, she was fostering a spirit in her little son
that would help him make the noble pilgrimage from their hovel to the
highest home in