"Waked up, hev ye?" he exclaimed. "Wa'al it's about time. I've looked
back from time to time an' I wuzn't at all shore whether you two gen'rals
wuz alive or dead. Sometimes when the wagon slanted a lot you would roll
over each other, but it didn't seem to make no diffunce. Pow'ful good
sleepers you are."
"Yes," said Harry. "We're two of the original Seven Sleepers."
"I don't doubt that you are two, but they wuz more'n seven."
"How do you know?"
"'Cause at least seven thousand in this train have been sleepin' as hard
as you wuz. I guess you mean the 'rig'nal Seventy Thousand Sleepers."
Harry's spirits had returned after his long sleep. He was a lad again.
The weight of Gettysburg no longer rested upon him. The Army of Northern
Virginia had merely made a single failure. It would strike again and
again, as hard as ever.
"It's true that we've been slumbering," he said, "but we're as wide awake
now as ever, Mr. Driver."
"My name ain't Driver," said the man.
"Then what is it?"
"Jones, Dick Jones, which I hold to be a right proper name."
"Not romantic, but short, simple and satisfying."
"I reckon so. Leastways, I've never wanted to change it. I'm from No'th
Calliny, an' I've been followin' Bobby Lee a pow'ful long distance from
home.
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