[Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration]

by FRANCES CAVANAH

illustrated by Paula Hutchison

RAND McNALLY & COMPANY

CHICAGO .  NEW YORK .  SAN FRANCISCO

This book is dedicated to my grandnephew

PHILIP JAN NADELMAN

WEEKLY READER Children’s Book Club Edition, 1959

Copyright (c) 1959 by Rand McNALLY & company

COPYRIGHT 1959 UNDER INTERNATIONAL COPYRIGHT UNION

BY RAND McNALLY & COMPANY

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Printed in U.S.A.

By American book-Stratford Press, Inc., N.Y.

A LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOG CARD NUMBER:  59-5789

In writing this story of Abraham Lincoln, the author depended primarily on Lincoln’s own statements and on the statements of his family and friends who had firsthand knowledge of his everyday life.  In instances when dialogue had to be imagined, the conversation might logically have taken place in the light of known circumstances.  Such descriptive details as were necessarily added were based on authentic accounts of pioneer times.

F.C.

[Illustration] [Illustration:  Map of States where Lincoln was born and lived]

1

[Illustration]

There was a new boy baby at the Lincoln cabin!  By cracky! thought Dennis Hanks as he hurried up the path, he was going to like having a boy cousin.  They could go swimming together.  Maybe they could play Indian.  Dennis pushed open the cabin door.

“Where is he?” he shouted.  “Where is he?”

“Sh!” A neighbor, who had come in to help, put her finger to her lips.  “The baby is asleep.”

Nancy Lincoln was lying on the pole bed in a corner of the one-room house.  She looked very white under the dark bearskin covering, but when she heard Dennis she raised her head.  “It’s all right, Denny,” she said.  “You can see him now.”

Dennis tiptoed over to the bed.  A small bundle, wrapped in a homespun shawl, rested in the curve of Nancy’s arm.  When she pulled back the shawl, Dennis could not think of anything to say.  The baby was so wrinkled and so red.  It looked just like a cherry after the juice had been squeezed out.

Nancy touched one of the tiny hands with the tip of her finger.  “See his wee red fists and the way he throws them around!” she said.

“What’s his name?” Dennis asked at last.

“We’re calling him after his grandpappy.  Abraham Lincoln!”

“That great big name for that scrawny little mite?”

Nancy sounded hurt.  “Give him a chance to grow, will you?”