“I am well acquainted with your son, Owen; I suppose I shall not be disputed here, when I say that he is the best fellow in the world. Don’t you know me now?” demanded the tantalizing rebel, who appeared to be very anxious to have his identity made out in the natural way, and without any troublesome explanations.
“Really, I do not,” answered Mr. Raynes, much perplexed by the confident manner of the visitor.
“This is Sue, I suppose?” pursued the soldier, advancing to the maiden, and extending his dirty hand; which, however, was not much dirtier than that which she had so eagerly grasped before. “Don’t you know who I am, Sue?”
“I do not, sir,” she replied rather coldly.
“When I tell you that I belong to the Fourth Alabama, don’t you know me?”
“I do not, sir.”
“And when I tell you that I am the intimate friend of your brother Owen?”
Allan Garland stood by the door; and, of course, it was not he; therefore she could not, by any possibility, conceive who he was; and she said so, in terms as explicit as the occasion required.
“I live in Union, Alabama, when I am at home. Don’t you know me now, Sue?” persisted the perplexed visitor, who, perhaps, began to think he had entered the wrong house.
If the veritable Allan Garland, however little his photograph resembled him, had not stood by the door, she would have been rejoiced to see him, and to recognize in him her unknown friend and correspondent. As it was, she did not know him; and she was candid enough to express her conviction without reserve, in spite of the disagreeable effect which her want of perception seemed to produce upon the mind of the stranger.