During this time Mr. Kilbright's interest in his grandson seemed to be
on the increase. He would frequently walk past the house of that old
gentleman merely for the purpose of looking at him as he sat by the open
window reading his newspaper or quietly smoking his evening pipe on a
bench in his side yard. When he had been with me about ten days he said:
"I now feel that I must go and make myself known to my grandson. I am
earning my own subsistence; and, however he may look upon me, he need
not fear that I am come to be a burden upon him. You will not wonder,
sir, that I long to meet with this son of the little baby girl I left
behind me."
I did not wonder, and my wife and I agreed to go with him that very
evening to old Mr. Scott's house. The old gentleman received us very
cordially in his little parlor.
"You are a stranger in this town, sir," he said to Kilbright. "I did not
exactly catch your name--Kilbright?" he said, when it had been repeated
to him, "that is one of my family names, but it is long since I have
heard of anyone bearing it. My mother was a Kilbright, but she had no
brothers, and no uncles of the name. My grandfather was the last of our
branch of the Kilbrights. His name was Amos, and he was a Bixbury man.
From what part of the country do you come, sir?"
"My name is Amos, and I was born in Bixbury.
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