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Updated: June 13, 2025
This rail-splitter, this postmaster, this flat-boatman, whom he had not credited with a knowledge of the New Code, was talking Astronomy. And strange to say, Mr. Brice was learning. "Bob," said Mr. Lincoln, "can you elucidate the problem of the three bodies?" To Stephen's surprise, Mr. Hill elucidated. The talk then fell upon novels and stories, a few of which Mr. Lincoln seemed to have read.
"I have hopes of you, Stephen," he said. "Do not forget me." Stephen Brice never has. Why was it that he walked to the station with a heavy heart? It was a sense of the man he had left, who had been and was to be. This Lincoln of the black loam, who built his neighbor's cabin and hoed his neighbor's corn, who had been storekeeper and postmaster and flat-boatman.
In an unlucky moment he made bold to lay hold of the parson, but a piece of the broken barriers in the hands of a flat-boatman felled him to the sod, the terrible crowd swept over him, the lariat was cut and the giant parson hurled the tiger upon the buffalo's back.
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