He made a wooden door that could be
shut against the cold winter winds. Abe and Dennis gave the walls and
low ceiling a coat of whitewash, and Sarah spread her bright rag rugs on
the new wooden floor.
"Aunt Sairy," Dennis told her, "you're some punkins. One just naturally
has to be somebody when you're around."
Abe smiled up at her shyly. "It is sort of like the magic in that story
of Sinbad you gave me."
The other children were asleep. Abe sprawled on the floor, making marks
on a wooden shovel with a pointed stick. Tom, seated in one of his
wife's chairs, was dozing on one side of the fireplace.
Sarah put down her knitting and looked around the cabin. "The place
does look right cozy," she replied. "What is that you're doing, Abe?"
"Working my sums."
Tom opened his eyes. "You know how to figure enough already. Put that
shovel up and go to bed."
Abe took a knife and scraped the figures from the wooden shovel. He
placed it against one side of the fireplace. "Good night, Mamma," he
said.
"Good night, Abe."
Sarah's eyes were troubled. She waited until Dennis had joined Abe in
the loft, then turned to her husband.
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