“Come,” he said, “let’s go and take a look at the prisoners. They’re free now. Thar’s two men and a woman; and one of the men’s got on a plug hat and a white shirt and a swaller-tail coat and a standin’ collar and a dirty choker,” he went on, as they drew near the liberated emigrants. “He looks for all the world like a preacher!”
Just then the face of the man described by the giant—a smooth-shaven, sanctimonious face, that had not been wrinkled with a smile for ten years—was turned toward them, and the big hunter stopped and stood still in his tracks a moment, overcome with astonishment, staring hard at the emigrants, who, with Darke and Wimple, were advancing toward them.
Clancy regarded him with amazement.
“Gracious!” he said, at last, “it’s Elder Tugwoller! And oh, Lordy! thar’s Sally! My Sally, I mean! Oh, Lord! it’s Sally! Sally! Sally!” he cried, and a moment later he had picked her off her feet, and was holding her in his great, strong arms, as if she had been a baby.
She had recognized him when he called out to her, and flew to meet him.
The elder and the other man, as well as the rest of the party, were regarding them with astonishment. Catching sight of the stranger, Leander set Sally down as suddenly as he had taken her up, saying anxiously, as he thought he might have been hugging another man’s wife:
“Are ye married, Sally? Is that yer man?”
“No, Leander,” she replied, throwing herself again into his arms; and after vainly trying to reach her hands around his neck—for she was very short, her head reaching but a little above his elbows—she buried her blushing face, not in the orthodox style in his bosom, but in his fur vestment somewhere below. “No, Leander, I hain’t married. I wouldn’t never marry no man but you! I’ve had fifteen offers since I see you last, and I refused ’em all! I thought we’d meet ag’in sometime, the good Lord willin’!”
“And he was willin’, Sally! Yer mine now, ain’t ye?”
“Yes,” she replied, “your’n allers—till the Bunker Hill monument crumbles to dust!”