"Lincoln, I came to love and respect that Indian boy. There was a native nobility in him. But my efforts to make him a Christian failed, for he carried revenge in his heart. I wish that he could know that it was you who did that deed; your character might be an influence that would strike an unknown cord in the boy's heart, for Waubeno has a noble heart--Waubeno is noble. I wish he knew who it was that spared Main-Pogue. Acts teach where words fail, and the true teacher is not lips, but life. The boy once said to me that he would cease to seek to avenge his father's death if he could find a single white man who would defend an Indian to his own harm, because it was right. Now, Lincoln, you have done just the act that would change his heart. But he has gone with the winds. How will he ever hear of it? How will he ever know it?
"When Main-Pogue meets him, if he ever does again, he may tell him all. But does Main-Pogue understand the relations that exist between you and me, and us and that boy? O Waubeno, Waubeno, I would that you might hear of this!"
He thought, and added: "He _will_ hear of it, somehow, in some way. Providence makes golden keys of deeds like yours. They unlock the doors of mystery. Let me see, what was it Waubeno said--his exact words? _'When I find a single white man who defends an Indian to his own hurt, because it is right, I will promise.'_ Lincoln, he said that. You are that man. Lincoln, may God bless you, and call you into his service when he has need of a man!"
When Jasper, some years later, again met Aunt Eastman, she had a yet more curious story to tell about Abraham.
It was spring, and the cherry-trees were in bloom and musical with bees. In the yard a single apple-tree was red with blooms, which made fragrant the air.
"And here comes Johnnie Apple-seed!" said Aunt Olive. "Heaven bless ye! I call ye Johnnie Apple-seed because ye remind me so much of that good man. He was a good man, if he had lost his wits; and ye mean well, just as he did. Smell the apple-blossoms! I don't know but it was _him_ that planted that there tree."
To explain Aunt Olive's remarks, we should say that there once wandered along the banks of the Ohio, a poor wayfaring man who had a singular impression of duty. He felt it to be his calling in life to plant apple-seeds. He would go to a farmer's house, ask for work, and remain at the place a few days or weeks. After he had gone, apple-seeds would be found sprouting about the farm. His journeys were the beginnings of many orchards in the Middle, West, and prairie States.