For the final program
on the last day of school, the boys had built a platform outside the log
schoolhouse. Parents, brothers and sisters, and friends found seats on
fallen logs and on the grass. They listened proudly as, one by one, the
children came forward and each recited a poem or a speech.
Master Dorsey walked to the front of the platform. He held up his hand
for silence. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "we come to the last
number on our program. Twenty-five years ago Thomas Jefferson became
President of these United States. We shall now hear the speech he made
that day. Abraham Lincoln will recite it for us."
Sarah Lincoln, from under her pink sunbonnet, stole a glance at Tom. "I
hope that Abe does well," she whispered.
Abe did do well. He forgot that he was growing too fast, that his hands
were too big, and that his trousers were too short. For a few minutes he
made his audience forget it. Master Dorsey seemed to swell with pride.
If that boy lives, he thought, he is going to be a noted man some day.
Elizabeth Crawford, sitting in the front row, remembered what he had
said about being President.
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