Such
evidences of care and thrift were so unusual in that northerly region
that I spoke of it to my driver.
"Ah, heem ole Yarnkee man," the _habitant_ said. "Heem work all time."
As if in confirmation of this remark an aged man, hearing our wheels,
rose suddenly in the garden where he was weeding, with his face toward
us. Something strangely familiar in his looks at once riveted my
attention. I bade the driver stop and, jumping out, climbed the log
fence inclosing the garden and approached the old man.
"Isn't your name Edwards--Jonathan Edwards?" I exclaimed.
He stood for some moments regarding me without speaking. "Wal, they
don't call me that here," he said at last, still regarding me fixedly.
I told him then who I was and how I had come to be there. I was not
absolutely certain that it was Grandpa Edwards, yet I felt pretty sure.
His hair was a little whiter and his face somewhat more wrinkled; yet he
had changed surprisingly little. His hearing, too, did not appear to be
much impaired, and he was doing a pretty good job of weeding without
glasses.
I could see that he was in doubt about admitting his identity to me. "It
is only by accident I saw you," I said.
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