Susan merrily clapped her hands. “Oh yes, Mother. Our teacher told us a-a-1-1 about Abraham Lincoln today.” “All right, Susan, since you know a-a-1-1 about him, why don’t you start the story?” cried Janie. Susan sat up very straight and tall and in her most important manner began in solemn tone. “When Abra ham Lincoln was just a very little boy, about this high,” Susan held her hand about one foot from the floor, almost tumbling from Mother’s lap, “his mother read Bible stories to him. Our teacher said that she read the story of Joseph’s coat of many colors. She told him how God protected the baby Moses in a basket, and how David met the big mean giant Gol. . . Gol. . . Goli. . . ” “ Goliath, dear,” helped Mother. “ Yes, that’s who it was. And she told him about Daniel in the lion’s den.” “Well, hurry on, Sue! She probably read the whole Bible to him. Now tell us something about Abraham Lin coln!” exclaimed Bill impatiently. “Well, Billie,” explained Susan, “ his mother wanted him to know the Bible, I guess. Our teacher said this was one of the reasons he became such a good president. When he’d roll up in his bear skin blanket at night, he would think about the stories his mother had told him. Guess he was kinda like you, Bill,” and Susan’s eyes shone with admiration, “ ’cause you said last sum mer when you slept in your sleeping bag that God seemed real close.” Bill smiled sheepishly at this sweet rebuke, and Mrs. Brown said, “ Yes, children, perhaps his mother was thinking of Timothy when she taught him those stories, for we find that
Timothy’s mother instructed him in the Word of God also.” “ Oh, may I take the story from here, Mother?” asked Janie. “ Our teacher told us something today about Abraham Lincoln’s mother.” Her mother nodded assent and Janie began. “ The Lincoln family were liv ing in a little place called Pigeon Creek, Indiana . . .” “ Oh, what a funny name,” laughed Susan. “ Did they have pigeons there, Janie ?” “ Probably, Susan, but anyway, Abraham Lincoln helped his father build the very log cabin in which they were to live. There was no school, but he loved to study, and he spent hours practicing writing and reading. That’s another reason he became so great.” With this, Jane cast a knowing look at Bill. “Just think how fortunate we are,” said Mother. “ You children don’t have to worry about not having a school.” “ I’ll say we don’t !” exclaimed Bill with a wry smile. “Anyway, Janie, what does this have to do with his mother?” “Well, everything was going nicely in Pigeon Creek when suddenly a very dangerous disease broke out. It start ed among the cattle and finally spread to the people themselves. There was no doctor for miles around. Mrs. Lincoln took care of many of the sick, working day and night. Abraham Lincoln and his sister Sally prepared the meals, and urged their mother to rest as much as possible. However, she finally caught the disease herself and soon after went to be with the Lord Jesus.” “ However,” said Mother,” the Lin coln children never forgot her teach-
Resolutions
In February
By Jessie Mathiesen
T HE snow blew merrily onto the porch as little Susan came dash ing into the house. Her older brother and sister, Bill and Janie, fol lowed her, stamping their feet to re move the snow from their boots. Mother helped to brush their shoul ders free of the beautiful, clinging flakes, after which she led the gay little parade into the living room where a big fire crackled in the fire place. “ Mother, would we have time for one of your stories before dinner to night?” asked Janie as she and Bill settled down on the thick rug in front of Mother’s big chair by the fire. “ Oh, do tell one, Mother. Please do!” coaxed Susan from her comfort able position on her mother’s lap. “Well, my dears, I believe we’ll have time, but I’ve been thinking perhaps you’d have a story to tell me instead,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. Bill quickly protested this remark. “Not on your life! If Jane told one, it’d be about girls!” “ Why Bill Brown! That’s n ot. . . ” “ Children,” Mother interrupted, “ I thought perhaps you’d have a special story to tell tonight.” “ Oh, I know!” said Bill. “ Mother’s thinking of an Abraham Lincoln story, aren’t you, Mother?” “ That’s right, Bill. Since this is his birthday, perhaps we could have a story of his life. Why don’t all three of you take turns telling it?” Page Eighteen
By Martha S. Hooker
T H E K I N G ’ S B U S I N E S S
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