On an unusually mild afternoon in late November, I look out the window of the Springfield-Vandalia stagecoach. While I should be very excited to attend my first session as a legislator, I can't help but think about the embarrassment I suffered a few days ago in the chamber. Judge Green's makeshift hearing. When Berry and I gave Billy Greene our note for the purchase of his store, he assigned it - without informing us - to Reuben Radford from whom he had previously purchased the business. Radford then endorsed our note to Peter Van Bergen, a shrewd businessman, to settle a debt. When Radford failed to pay, Van Bergen filed suit against Berry and me. As I stood before Judge Green, he lamented that he had no choice but to grant the tight-fisted Van Bergen a judgment against my horse and surveying tools. I would have to find money to pay for it – almost four hundred dollars – otherwise everything I owned would be sold at auction. Only my books escaped privilege because Green attributed no value to them; he winked at me as he struck with his hammer. But what good are books when my future is disappearing before my eyes? After nearly thirty hours of jostling in a stagecoach, we are now approaching the Vandalia post office, in the heart of the capital. The few log cabins that emerge from the clouds of dust rising from the dirty city streets are interspersed with a few brick and clapboard houses. John Stuart, my mentor and fellow anti-Jackson legislator, sits across from me. His imperturbable demeanor testifies to his familiarity with the debates which will soon begin. For my part, I expose my inexperience with a line of sweat accumulating along my newly starched collar. At the request of several friends in New Salem, Coleman slipped a... middle of paper ... drop of blood on his finger with my scarf. “Is this better?” I ask. After hesitating, Fannie smiled. “Thank you, Abe. I believe you have the gift of healing. " Looking at Mrs. Herndon through the quilt frame, I said, "I'm in a dilemma and I hope you can give me some advice. Which of these two girls should I marry? » Annie looks at me and starts sewing frantically, looking straight ahead, not bothering to look down at her work. Noticing her long and irregular stitches, I point out her forgetfulness and say: “Why Annie, I think your needle came off by itself. » She jumps from her seat and throws her needle on the quilt. I take his hand. She takes it off. I beg her to sit down. “I was just teasing,” I said. Without acknowledging my clumsy apology, she ran away crying. I stand up, dazed as she disappears around the corner, my heart filled with shame..