But we were men, so I thrust one of those rebellious arms in among the strands of the creeper, where her own arm had once been, and laid the other on his shoulder in all friendliness.

This, while he rambled on of the bigness of life, the great future before Arcady of the Little Country, the importance of the _Argus_, which he had just founded, and the supreme excellence of that splendid mechanism, the new Washington hand-press, installed the week before.
His life was builded of these many interests, of her and himself and his country and his town.

In the fulness of his heart he even brought out the latest _Argus_ and read parts from his obituary of Douglas, while I stood stupidly striving to realize what I had long known must be true.
"A great man has fallen," he read, declaiming a little, as in our school days.

"Stephen A.Douglas is dead.

The voice that so lately and eloquently appealed to his countrymen is hushed in--" How long he read is uncertain.