[To the music outside, the voices of children begin to sing the words of "John Brown's Body." At the sound, Link's face becomes transformed with emotion, his body shakes and his shoulders heave and straighten.]
No!—I—won't—set!
[Wresting himself mightily, he rises from his chair, and stands.]
Them are the boys that marched to Kingdom-Come
ahead of us, but we keep fallin' in line.
Them voices—Lord, I guess you've brought along
your Sunday choir of young angel folks
to help the boys out.
[Following the music with swaying arms.]
Glory!—Never mind
me singin': you kin drown me out. But I'm
goin' t' jine in, or bust!
[Joining with the children's voices, he moves unconsciously along the edge of the woodpile. With stiff steps—his one hand leaning on the hoe, his other reached as to unseen hands, that draw him—he totters toward the sunlight and the green lawn, at back. As he does so, his thin, cracked voice takes up the battle-hymn where the children's are singing it:]
"—a-mold'rin' in the grave,
John Brown's body lies a-mold'rin' in the grave,
John Brown's body lies a-mold'rin' in the grave,
But his soul goes—"
[Suddenly he stops, aware that he is walking, and cries aloud, astounded:]
Lord, Lord, my legs!
Whar did Ye git my legs?
[Shaking with delight, he drops his hoe, seizes up the little flag from the woodpile, and waves it joyously.]
I'm comin', boys!
Link's loose agin: Chipmunk has sprung his trap.
[With tottering gait, he climbs the little mound in the woodpile.]
Now, boys, three cheers for Cemetery Ridge!
Jine in, jine in!
[Swinging the flag.]
Hooray!—Hooray!—Hooray!
[Outside, the music grows louder, and the voices of old men and children sing martially to the brass music.
With his final cheer, Link stumbles down from the mound, brandishes in one hand his hat, in the other the little flag, and stumps off toward the approaching procession into the sunlight, joining his old cracked voice, jubilant, with the singers:]
"—ry hallelujah,
Glory, glory hallelujah,
His truth is marchin' on!"
[THE CURTAIN.]