“There can be little doubt of that,” said Ethan smiling. “And a hearty, joyful blade he must be, judging from his voice.”
Rounding a bend in the road they overtook a strongly built young man with a great shock of yellow hair and the bluest of blue eyes; he bestrode a tall gray horse; and with his head thrown back he trolled forth his song.
“The top of the morning to you,” saluted Longsword.
The song was checked so suddenly that it seemed as though the yellow haired young man had bitten it off short. He gazed at the dragoon in astonishment.
“What’s that?” demanded he.
“The top of the morning to ye,” repeated Longsword, with a smile.
With a whoop of delight the stranger wheeled his gray horse alongside the other and seized his hand in a powerful grip.
“An Irishman, be the hooky!” shouted he. “Faith, then, I’m as glad to see ye as I would be to see me own mother, and I haven’t laid eyes on her these many years.”
Longsword seemed equally pleased, and his hand grip was fully as warm as that of the other.
“It was like a dream to hear the old Shan Van Vogh upon a lonely French road, so far away from home,” he said. “And faith it warmed the heart of me, so it did.”