“How was it?” continued the President, now greatly interested in her story. “Tell me all about it.”

“My mother died, and then my brother, and then my little daughter,—my only daughter, the light of our home—and then two sons, and, last of all, my dear husband,” Mrs. Pomroy answered calmly, as only a trusting Christian woman could. When my husband passed away, our little cottage with all its furniture had to be sold in order to liquidate debts.”

“How did you live?” eagerly inquired Mr. Lincoln at this point. “Tell me how you could bear so much?”

“By the grace of God, though I was far from being what I ought to have been. My husband and all the other dear members of my family died in the triumphs of faith, so that I had great reason to be thankful, and—”

“Were you resigned?” interrupted Mr. Lincoln.

“I was not wholly resigned then.”

“Did you feel rebellious?” he enquired, still more earnestly.

“Yes; I knew that ‘whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth,’ but I could not understand it. I did not think that He loved me,—I could not. Finally, however, I was brought into a higher Christian experience, where I could say honestly, ‘The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away, blessed be the name of the Lord.’ ”

“And how was that brought about?” asked Mr. Lincoln, as if he were passing through a similar experience.

Mrs. Pomroy rehearsed how Christian friends interested themselves to take her to a camp-meeting, when her health was entirely prostrated. They thought that the change of scenes and the smell of the pine grove might aid her more than physicians. “And there,” she added, “my soul was quickened, and I was led to see how tenderly God had dealt with me, and that His gracious discipline was suited to make me a more efficient worker in His vineyard, if I only would be true. From that time I have never even doubted that God loves me.”

“Can others enjoy a similar experience?” the President inquired, “or is yours exceptional?”

“It is not exceptional, Mr. President; it is just what God promises to all who are willing to be led by His will.”

“And how can we know that we are led by His will?”

“Through sincere, earnest prayer,” replied Mrs. Pomroy. “Prayer has been everything to me. ‘Let him that lacketh wisdom, ask of God, who giveth liberally, and upbraideth not.”

Much more was said in the same spirit, when the President reverted again to his own great sorrow—Willie dead and “Tad” not expected to live until sunrise,—and the burden of his country’s perils weighing heavily on his heart.

“Prayer can do what armies cannot,” suggested Mrs. Pomroy; “and never were so many prayers offered for a country as are offered for ours, and never so many offered for a ruler as are offered for you, Mr. President.”

“I know it,” answered Mr. Lincoln, deeply moved by the thought; “and it is great encouragement to me. Our cause is righteous, and I do believe that God will give us the victory; but this slaughtering of men is dreadful for both sides.”

Mrs. Pomroy had proposed that he should retire to an adjoining room for rest, promising that she would call him at the least change in “Tad.”