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!"