“Your voice sounds familiar to me,” added Tom; and for some reason his chest was heaving violently beneath his suddenly accelerated respiration.
As he spoke, he walked towards the dilapidated rebel, who had not ventured to come within twenty feet of the party.
“Did you say Pinchbrook?” demanded the stranger, who began to display a great deal of emotion.
“Pinchbrook, sir,” added Tom; and so intensely was he excited, that the words were gasped from his lips.
“What’s your name?”
“Thomas Somers,” replied the sergeant.
“Tom!” screamed the deserter, rushing forward.
“Father!” cried Tom, as he grasped the hand of the phantom Confederate.
The soldiers of the party were transfixed with astonishment at this unexpected scene, and they stood like statues gazing at the meeting of father and son, till the final development of their relationship, when the muscles of their faces relaxed, and the expression of wonder gave place to joyous sympathy.
“Captain Somers, of Pinchbrook!” shouted old Hapgood; and the men joined with him in a roar of intense satisfaction, that made the woods ring.