We had written to Uncle Nathan, informing him of the day on which he
might expect my arrival; and at the time appointed he drove over to
Fulton, the small village two miles from his farm, where was the
railway-station. As I stepped from the car I eagerly scanned each face
among the crowd to see if I could find any one whose appearance answered
to my ideas of Uncle Nathan, but for some time I could see no one whom I
could suppose to be my unknown relative. I at length spied a middle-aged
gentleman walking backward and forward in a leisurely manner, upon the
platform, whom I thought might possibly be my uncle, and, as the crowd
had mostly dispersed, I mustered up courage, and in a low voice accosted
him with the question. "Please Sir are you my uncle Nathan?" "Your uncle
who?" said the old man, as he elevated his eyebrows and regarded me with
a broad stare of astonishment. "No I'm not your Uncle, nor nobody's else
that I know of," said he, in a sharp crusty voice, then, giving a second
look at my downcast face, he seemed suddenly to recollect himself, and
said in a much softer tone: "If its Nathan Adams you mean he's just
driven round to the other door. Be you a friend of his'n." "Yes Sir,"
answered I, as I hurried away to the "other door" pointed out by the
stranger. From the ideas I had formed of my uncle I was unprepared to
meet the kind, hearty looking man whose sunburned face beamed with a
smile of welcome, when his eye rested upon me, as I walked with a
timid, hesitating manner toward him. He at once held out his hand,
saying, "I don't need to ask if you are my nephew Walter, for if I'd
a met you most anywhere I should have known you were Ellen Adams' son;
just the same dark eyes and happy smile which made your mother such a
beauty at your age, for your mother was handsome if she was my sister;
but I suppose, like all the rest of us she's beginnin' to grow old and
careworn by this time, 'tis the way of the world, you know, boy, we