“Wade Ruggles, as I’m alive!” exclaimed the delighted landlord, rushing forward and grasping his hand. Instantly the group closed in, and there was such laughing and handshaking that for a time nothing was clearly distinguished1.
“I was suspicious,” remarked the parson; “but, though you both had beards when you went away, these have grown so much that they have greatly altered your appearance.”
He scanned the other man closely, but before the parson had identified him, several others had done so.
“It’s Al Bidwell!”
“Yes,” replied the laughing Ruggles; “that’s the fellow, but I’m sorry to say that since they made a major-general of him, he’s become a reg’lar dude. He doesn’t go out when it rains for fear of soiling his uniform, and the noise of powder makes him sick, so be careful how you handle the delicate fellow.”
“Well, you do not need to be told,” was the hearty2 response of the parson, “that no one could be more welcome than you; let’s shake hands all around again.”
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It was some minutes before the flurry was over, for the delight on both sides was unbounded and the joy of the reunion great.
One member of the group lingered in the background. Her face was flushed with delighted expectancy3, but with a coyness unknown in her earlier years, she hesitated on the outer edge of the circle. She could not mingle4 with the rush and waited until the flurry was over. The men were scarcely less embarrassed than she, and while not appearing to see her, both were watching her every movement. When the time came that the meeting could no longer be delayed, Ruggles walked to her and extended his hand.
“Well, Nellie, aren’t you glad to see me?”
The crinkling of the whiskers at the side of the invisible mouth showed that he was laughing, and indeed his white teeth gleamed through his wealth of beard. Nellie promptly5 advanced and met him half way.
“Mr. Ruggles, I can’t tell you how glad I am to meet you again.”
He had been asking himself whether it would do to kiss this vision of loveliness. He wished to do so, but was afraid. However, the question was settled by the girl, who, instead of taking the hand, flung her arms about his neck and saluted6 him fervently7, that is as well as she could under the conditions.
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Al Bidwell came forward and was received in the same manner. Then, as the two men stepped back and looked admiringly at her, she said:
“I can see you are the same and yet those beards make you look different; I love to think of you as you were when you bade us good-by and rode off four years ago.”
“We shall be glad to fix up our faces in the old style,” said Ruggles, while his companion nodded assent8. If she had asked them to cut off their heads they would have unhesitatingly agreed to do it.
“No doubt we’ve changed somewhat,” said Bidwell, “but not one half so much as you.”
“As I!” she repeated in astonishment9; “why, I am just the same,” and she looked down at her dress, as if seeking the explanation of his remark; “I haven’t changed a bit.”
“Not in goodness and all that sort of thing, but we left a little girl and now I’m blessed if we don’t find a young woman, and yet it’s the same little girl after all.”
The maidenly10 blush darkened her face and she laughed.
“You couldn’t expect me to stand still all these years.”
“No; though we would have been glad if you had done so.”
The three were standing11 apart, the others with commendable12 112 delicacy13 leaving them to themselves. Nellie laid her arm on the sleeve of Ruggles, and looking up yearningly14 in his face she asked:
“Can you give me any news of father?”
“Being as him and me was on different sides, I haven’t seen or heard a thing of him since we parted in San Francisco, but I hope all has gone well with him.”
She turned to Bidwell, who said:
“Me and him was thrown together once or twice and I met him after Gettysburg, where neither of us got a scratch, which is more than tens of thousands of others can say. Then I seen him in front of Petersburg, where we had the same good luck agin, but in the fighting round there we lost track of each other. Are you worried about him, little gal15?”
“Very much,” she mournfully replied; “never once did Vose Adams come back from Sacramento without one or two letters from him, but he has now done so twice, and I haven’t heard a word. I fear father is dead; if he is, my heart is broken and I shall die too.”
What could they say to cheer her, for Vose Adams made still another journey westward16 with the same dismal17 emptiness of the mail bag, so far as she was concerned. Every one did his utmost to cheer her, but none succeeded. The ............