en-es  The Story of Abraham Lincoln by James Baldwin
Este trabajo es de dominio público en los Estados Unidos debido a que fue publicado antes 1ro de enero, 1923.
El autor murió en 1925, así que esta obra es también de dominio público en países y áreas donde el límite de los derechos de autor es la vida del autor más 80 años o menos. Esta obra también puede ser de dominio público en países y áreas con límites de los derechos de autor más largos que aplican la regla de límites más cortos para obras extranjeras.

1. El hogar en Kentucky.

No lejos de Hodgensville, en Kentucky, una vez vivió un hombre cuyo nombre era Thomas Lincoln. Este hombre había construido una pequeña cabaña de troncos al lado de un arroyo, donde había un manantial continuo de agua.

Pero en esta cabaña había una sola habitación. Sobre el lado contiguo al arroyo había una puerta baja; y en un extremo había una gran chimenea, construida de piedras rugosas y arcilla.

La chimenea era muy amplia en la parte inferior y estrecha en la superior. Estaba hecha de arcilla, con piedras planas y palos delgados colocados en el exterior para evitar que se derrumbara.

En la pared, en un lado de la chimenea, había un agujero cuadrado para una ventana. Pero no había vidrio en esta ventana. En el verano, se la dejaba abierta todo el tiempo. En la época de frío una piel de ciervo, o una tela gruesa, era colgada sobre esta para resguardarse del viento y de la nieve.

Por las noches, o en los días de tormenta, la piel de un oso era colgada en el paso de entrada; ya que no había puerta con bisagras para ser abierta y cerrada.

La habitación no tenía techo. Pero los que estaban en la cabaña, al mirar hacia arriba, podían ver las vigas desnudas y las irregulares tablas del techo, que el propio Mr. Lincoln había cortado y tallado.

No había piso, solo el suelo desnudo que había sido alisado y golpeado hasta que estuvo tan liso y duro como el pavimento.

Para sentarse había solamente bloques de madera y un banco rústico sobre un costado de la chimenea La cama era una pequeña plataforma de varas, sobre la que se extendían las pieles peludas de animales salvajes, y una colcha de retales de tejidos en casa.

En esta pobre cabaña, el 12 de febrero de 1809, nacía un bebé varón. Ya había un niño en la familia- una nena, de dos años de edad, cuyo nombre era Sarah.

El pequeño niño creció y se hizo fuerte como otros bebés, y sus padres lo llamaban Abraham, después que su abuelo fuera asesinado por Indios muchos años antes.

Cuando fue lo bastante mayor para correr por ahí, le gustaba jugar bajo los árboles a la puerta de la cabaña. A veces iba con su hermanita al bosque y miraba los pájaros y las ardillas.

No tenía compañeros de juego. No sabía el significado de juguetes o cosas de jugar. Pero fue un niño feliz y tuvo muchos momentos agradables.

Thomas Lincoln, el padre, fue un hombre de buen corazón, muy fuerte y valiente. A veces sentaba al niño sobre sus rodillas y le contaba extrañas y verdaderas historias del gran bosque, y de los Indios y fieras salvajes que vagaban entre la espesura y las colinas.

Porque Thomas Lincoln siempre había vivido en la frontera salvaje; y prefería cazar ciervos y otros animales en el bosque que hacer cualquier otra cosa. Quizás por esto era tan pobre Tal vez por esto estaba contento de vivir en la pequeña cabaña de troncos con tan pocas comodidades.

Pero Nancy Lincoln, la joven madre, no se quejaba. Ella, también, había crecido entre los rudos escenarios del bosque. Nunca había conocido cosas mejores.

Y aún así era por naturaleza refinada y amable; y la gente que la conocía decía que era muy atractiva. También era un ama de casa modelo; y su pobre cabaña de madera era la casa más ordenada y mejor cuidada de todo el vecindario.

Ninguna mujer estaba más ocupada que ella. Sabía cómo hilar y tejer y hacía toda la ropa para la familia.

Sabía cómo manejar el hacha y la azada; y podía trabajar en la granja o en el jardín cuando se necesitaba su ayuda.

También había aprendido cómo disparar con un rifle; y podía abatir un ciervo u otra presa salvaje con tanta facilidad como su marido. Y cuando la presa era llevada al hogar, ella podía vestirla, podía cocinar la carne para la comida, y de la piel podía hacer ropa para su marido e hijos.

También había una cosa que ella podía hacer- podía leer; y leía todos los libros que pudo conseguir. Enseñó a su esposo las letras del alfabeto; y le mostró como escribir su nombre. Porque Thomas Lincoln nunca había ido a la escuela, y nunca había aprendido a leer.

Tan pronto como el pequeño Abraham Lincoln tuvo la suficiente edad como para comprender, su madre le leía historias de la Biblia. Luego, mientras él era todavía muy joven, ella le enseñó a leer historias.

Los vecinos pensaron que era algo sorprendente que un pequeño muchacho pudiera leer. Había muy pocos de ellos que podían hacer tanto. Pocos de ellos pensaban que tuviera gran utilidad aprender a leer.

No había casas escuelas en esa parte de Kentucky en aquellos días, y por supuesto no había escuelas públicas.

Un invierno un maestro de escuela ambulante llegó por allí. Le permitieron usar una cabaña no lejos de la de Mr. Lincoln e informó de que daría clases de escuela por dos o tres semanas. La gente era demasiado pobre para pagarle por dar clases más tiempo.

El nombre de este maestro de escuela era Zachariah Riney.

Los jóvenes de millas a la redonda se apiñaban en la escuela. La mayoría eran niños y niñas mayores y unos pocos eran jóvenes adultos. El único niño pequeño era Abraham Lincoln y este no tenía todavía cinco años.

Solo se estudiaba un libro en esa escuela y era un libro de deletrear. Tenía alguna lección fácil de lecturas al final, pero no deberían ser leídas hasta después de que todas las palabras del libro hubieran sido deletreadas.

Pueden imaginarse cómo se sintieron los niños y niñas mayores cuando Abraham Lincoln demostró que podía deletrear y leer mejor que cualquiera de ellos.
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1.
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The Kentucky Home.
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There was but one room in this cabin.
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The chimney was very broad at the bottom and narrow at the top.
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In the wall, on one side of the fireplace, there was a square hole for a window.
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But there was no glass in this window.
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In the summer it was left open all the time.
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There was no ceiling to the room.
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In this poor cabin, on the 12th of February, 1809, a baby boy was born.
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There was already one child in the family—a girl, two years old, whose name was Sarah.
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When he was old enough to run about, he liked to play under the trees by the cabin door.
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He had no playmates.
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He did not know the meaning of toys or playthings.
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But he was a happy child and had many pleasant ways.
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Thomas Lincoln, the father, was a kind-hearted man, very strong and brave.
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Perhaps this is why he was so poor.
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But Nancy Lincoln, the young mother, did not complain.
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She, too, had grown up among the rude scenes of the backwoods.
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She had never known better things.
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No woman could be busier than she.
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She knew how to spin and weave, and she made all the clothing for her family.
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For Thomas Lincoln had never gone to school, and he had never learned how to read.
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Then, while he was still very young, she taught him to read the stories for himself.
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The neighbors thought it a wonderful thing that so small a boy could read.
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There were very few of them who could do as much.
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Few of them thought it of any great use to learn how to read.
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One winter a traveling schoolmaster came that way.
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The people were too poor to pay him for teaching longer.
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The name of this schoolmaster was Zachariah Riney.
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The young people for miles around flocked to the school.
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Most of them were big boys and girls, and a few were grown up young men.
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The only little child was Abraham Lincoln, and he was not yet five years old.
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There was only one book studied at that school, and it was a spelling-book.
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terehola • 5941  translated  unit 4  8 months, 1 week ago

This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1923.
The author died in 1925, so this work is also in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 80 years or less. This work may also be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.

1. The Kentucky Home.

Not far from Hodgensville, in Kentucky, there once lived a man whose name was Thomas Lincoln. This man had built for himself a little log cabin by the side of a brook, where there was an ever-flowing spring of water.

There was but one room in this cabin. On the side next to the brook there was a low doorway; and at one end there was a large fireplace, built of rough stones and clay.

The chimney was very broad at the bottom and narrow at the top. It was made of clay, with flat stones and slender sticks laid around the outside to keep it from falling apart.

In the wall, on one side of the fireplace, there was a square hole for a window. But there was no glass in this window. In the summer it was left open all the time. In cold weather a deerskin, or a piece of coarse cloth, was hung over it to keep out the wind and the snow.

At night, or on stormy days, the skin of a bear was hung across the doorway; for there was no door on hinges to be opened and shut.

There was no ceiling to the room. But the inmates of the cabin, by looking up, could see the bare rafters and the rough roof-boards, which Mr. Lincoln himself had split and hewn.

There was no floor, but only the bare ground that had been smoothed and beaten until it was as level and hard as pavement.

For chairs there were only blocks of wood and a rude bench on one side of the fireplace. The bed was a little platform of poles, on which were spread the furry skins of wild animals, and a patchwork quilt of homespun goods.

In this poor cabin, on the 12th of February, 1809, a baby boy was born. There was already one child in the family—a girl, two years old, whose name was Sarah.

The little boy grew and became strong like other babies, and his parents named him Abraham, after his grandfather, who had been killed by the Indians many years before.

When he was old enough to run about, he liked to play under the trees by the cabin door. Sometimes he would go with his little sister into the woods and watch the birds and the squirrels.

He had no playmates. He did not know the meaning of toys or playthings. But he was a happy child and had many pleasant ways.

Thomas Lincoln, the father, was a kind-hearted man, very strong and brave. Sometimes he would take the child on his knee and tell him strange, true stories of the great forest, and of the Indians and the fierce beasts that roamed among the woods and hills.

For Thomas Lincoln had always lived on the wild frontier; and he would rather hunt deer and other game in the forest than do anything else. Perhaps this is why he was so poor. Perhaps this is why he was content to live in the little log cabin with so few of the comforts of life.

But Nancy Lincoln, the young mother, did not complain. She, too, had grown up among the rude scenes of the backwoods. She had never known better things.

And yet she was by nature refined and gentle; and people who knew her said that she was very handsome. She was a model housekeeper, too; and her poor log cabin was the neatest and best-kept house in all that neighborhood.

No woman could be busier than she. She knew how to spin and weave, and she made all the clothing for her family.

She knew how to wield the ax and the hoe; and she could work on the farm or in the garden when her help was needed.

She had also learned how to shoot with a rifle; and she could bring down a deer or other wild game with as much ease as could her husband. And when the game was brought home, she could dress it, she could cook the flesh for food, and of the skins she could make clothing for her husband and children.

There was still another thing that she could do—she could read; and she read all the books that she could get hold of. She taught her husband the letters of the alphabet; and she showed him how to write his name. For Thomas Lincoln had never gone to school, and he had never learned how to read.

As soon as little Abraham Lincoln was old enough to understand, his mother read stories to him from the Bible. Then, while he was still very young, she taught him to read the stories for himself.

The neighbors thought it a wonderful thing that so small a boy could read. There were very few of them who could do as much. Few of them thought it of any great use to learn how to read.

There were no school-houses in that part of Kentucky in those days, and of course there were no public schools.

One winter a traveling schoolmaster came that way. He got leave to use a cabin not far from Mr. Lincoln's, and gave notice that he would teach school for two or three weeks. The people were too poor to pay him for teaching longer.

The name of this schoolmaster was Zachariah Riney.

The young people for miles around flocked to the school. Most of them were big boys and girls, and a few were grown up young men. The only little child was Abraham Lincoln, and he was not yet five years old.

There was only one book studied at that school, and it was a spelling-book. It had some easy reading lessons at the end, but these were not to be read until after every word in the book had been spelled.

You can imagine how the big boys and girls felt when Abraham Lincoln proved that he could spell and read better than any of them.