“Very true, and I presume—Hark!”
A peal of clear, rippling laughter fell upon their ears.
“Why, what does that mean?” said Mr. Moreland, in surprise. “That is our daughter, without a doubt, but she is not alone. Hear! she is talking with some person.”
“Only a friend, I suppose, who has accompanied her to the river to see her off,” returned his wife.
“Well, here they are. We can see who it is.”
At that moment two persons appeared on the bank above them.
One of them was Isabel, truly, but the other was a man. He was rather a singular-looking man, too, as we have already observed several times in the course of our story; a man with lank, yellow hair, a tall white hat, and a sharp, nasal voice, who wore a long, swallow-tail blue, with brass buttons scattered promiscuously upon it! This was the individual who burst upon the view of the voyagers in the company of the young girl.
“Skulp me ef ’tain’t that ar’ clock-peddler, as sez he’s from Maine,” chuckled one of the men.
“It is, or I’m a skunk,” chimed in another.
“Hallo, thar, Boggs,” called a third. “What in the name of the Old Scratch are you doin’ hyur?”