"Well, I swear," said the sheriff; "if that are gal ain't coming
in with a flag of truce. She's pluck, anyhow. You ought to give
her three cheers, boys."
The scene which had been enacted on the hill had been closely watched
from the bridge and the town, and Mollie's conduct had been pretty
well interpreted though her words could not be heard. The nerve which
she had exhibited had excited universal comment, and it needed no
second invitation to bring off every hat and send up, in her honor,
the shrill yell with which our soldiers became familiar during the
war.
Recognizing this, her pale face became suffused with blushes, and
she put her handkerchief to her lips to hide their tremulousness as
she came nearer. She ran her eyes quickly along the line of strange
faces, until they fell upon the sheriff, by whom stood Hesden Le
Moyne. She rode straight to them and said,
"Oh, Mr. Sheriff--"
Then she broke down, and dropping the rein on her horse's neck,
she pressed her handkerchief to her face and wept. Her slight frame
shook with sobs. The men looked at her with surprise and pity.
There was even a huskiness in the sheriff's voice as he said,
"Miss Ainslie--I--I beg your pardon, ma'am-but--"
She removed the handkerchief, but the tears were still running down
her face as she said, glancing round the circle of sympathizing
faces:
"Do stop this, gentlemen.
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