tion in describing his abode; and, indeed, the rude hovel was a great advance upon the half-inclosed wigwam in which he had lived during the first year's residence in the wilderness.
But Sally Bush, unlettered as she was, had in her some of the best qualities of a civilized being. She was a natural enemy of chaos and all disorder. She was a woman of high principle, genuine intelligence, and good sense. She, therefore, accepted the dismal lot to which Thomas Lincoln had brought her, and at once set about making the best of it.
She made her idle husband put a floor to the cabin; then windows and doors, welcome appendages in that cold month of December. She made up warm beds for the children, now five in number by the addition of her three. The little Lincolns, even in that wintry season, were half naked, and she clothed them from fabrics saved for her own wardrobe. They had never been used to cleanliness; she washed them, and taught them how to wash themselves. They had been treated with hardness; she opened her heart to them, treated them as she did her own children, and made them feel that they had a mother. Moreover, she had a talent, not merely for industry, but for making the most of everything. She was a good manager, a good economist, very neat in her own person, orderly and regular in her housekeeping. The whole aspect of the home, within and without, was changed; even the land was better cultivated, and Thomas Lincoln was a somewhat less dilatory provider.
Happily, too, she took a particular liking to Abe, then nine years old, utterly ignorant, wholly unformed, but good-humored and affectionate. He became warmly attached to her, and, as she often said, never once disobeyed her, or gave her a disrespectful reply. She soon had him nicely dressed in new clothes from head to foot, and it
