"There was a Chapman family—are they still in Nyack?"
"They're there—but its not sayin' much for Nyack. They went to New York proud, and as folks thought rich, for Chapman had his finger in schemes enough to get other people's money; but he com'd back poor as a crow, they say."
The stranger's mind seemed to have been relieved of some great anxiety by these answers, and he at once became more cheerful and talkative. He at the same time avoided saying anything that might discover who he was.
This caution excited the boatman's curiosity to such a pitch that he resolved to make a bold push to uncover the stranger.
"Wouldn't take it amiss, would you?" said he, "if a man like me was to ask what your name was? Needn't mind if there's any cause o' keepin' it a secret."
The stranger smiled, hesitated, and stammered in reply: "Hanz Toodleburg is my father."
"Well, well! Just what I expected. Didn't say nothin' you see; but I thought as how you was him," exclaimed the boatman.
"I have been over three years away from home," interrupted the stranger.
"Then you are Tite—the old man's son," resumed the boatman, "well, well!" Turning to him who pulled the bow-oar: "Stop pullin' a bit, Tom," said he, "stop pullin'."
The man now rested his oar, and rising from his seat, extended his hand to the stranger, saying: "There's a hard old honest hand that welcomes you safe back. John Flint is my name—called old Jack Flint generally." And he shook Tite's hand again and again. "A heap o' people round here reckoned how you was dead—they did. I can't tell you how glad I am to see you, my boy. Its fifteen years since you and me sailed comrades on the sloop. Bin all round the world an' aint above shakin' the hand of an old fellow like me. That's what I like." Again and again the old boatman shook Tite's hand, and gave expression to such sentiments of joy as showed how true and honest was his heart.