WHAT JONATHAN FOUND
his pocket and wrote his name with a splendid dash.
"There's my name—about the middle of the sheet—as evidence of my sincerity. I leave my business, my wife, my babies, in poverty. I have got to go. There is something inside that compels me. Now, who'll be the second man of one hundred to put his name down with mine?"
No one answered.
"Who wants to stand beside me and see the glory on that worn old face in the White House, when we stand at parade before him? Who wants to feel the grasp of that big honest hand? I wouldn't miss it for a mint. I want to hear him call us his children. I want to call him by that simple, homely, but glorious name, Father Abraham. I want my babies to know it all. And then, by the God above us, I want to go out and fight for him—die for him—if it must be. Oh, yes! I know. I see, as well as you, the lead-lined boxes at the station. I know! But you know how we bury
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