My first strong impression of Mr. Lincoln," says a lady of Springfield, "was made by one of his kind deeds. I was going for my first trip alone on the railroad cars. It was an epoch [event] of my life.
I had planned for it and dreamed of it for weeks. The day I was to go came, but as the hour of the train approached, the hackman (a carriage driver), through some neglect, failed to call for my trunk. As the minutes went on, I realized, in a panic of grief, that I should miss the train. I was standing by the gate, my hat and gloves on, sobbing as if my heart would break when Mr. Lincoln came by.
"Why, what's the matter?" he asked me, and I poured out all my story.
"How big's the trunk? There's still time if it isn't too big." And he pushed through the gate and up to the door. I took him up to my room, where my old-fashioned trunk stood, locked and tied. "Oh, no," he cried, "wipe your eyes and come on quick." And before I knew what he was going to do, he had shouldered the trunk, was downstairs, and striding out of the yard. Down the street he went, fast as his long legs could carry him, I trotting behind, drying my tears as I went. We reached the station in time. Mr. Lincoln put me on the train, kissed me goodbye [on the forehead], and told me to have a good time. It was just like him.