ou can help it," she said, with
a sob, "and you his little daughter's only child!"

Old Mr. Scott rose to his feet. He pulled down the sleeves of his coat,
and gave an adjusting shake to its collar and lapels. Then he turned to
my wife and said: "Madam, let us two dance a Virginia reel while your
husband and that other one take the poker and tongs and beat out the
music on the shovel. We might as well be durned fools one way as
another, and all go to the lunatic asylum together."

Now arose Mr. Kilbright to his feet, and stood up very tall. "Grandson
Lemuel," he said, "I leave not your house in anger. I see well that too
heavy a task has been laid upon your declining years when you are asked
to believe that which you have heard to-day. But I wish you to know
that I am here to ask nothing of you save that you will give me your
hand. I earnestly crave that I may again touch one of my own flesh and
blood."

Old Mr. Scott picked up the portrait and looked at it. Then he laid it
down and looked at Mr. Kilbright. "Young man," said he, "can you stand
there and put your hand upon your heart, and say to me that you are
truly Amos Kilbright, my mother's father, who was drowned in the last
century, and who was brought back and turned into a live man by those
spiritualists; and that you are willing to come here and let yourself be
vouched for by Mr. and Mrs. Colesworthy, who belong to some sort of
society of that kind and ought to know about such things?"

I was on the point of remarking that the Society for Psychical Research
had nothing to do with spiritualism except to investigate it, but my
wife saw my intention and checked me.

Mr. Kilbright put his hand upon his heart and bowed. "What you have
heard is true," he said. "On my honor, I swear it."

"Then, grandfather," said old Mr. Scott, "here is my hand. It doesn't do
to doubt things in these days. I didn't believe in the telephone when
they first told me of it, but when I had a talk with Squire Braddon
through a wire, and heard his new boots creak as he came up to see who
it was wanted him, and he in his own house a good two miles away, I gave
in. 'Fetch on your wonders,' says I, 'I am ready.' And I don't suppose I
ought to be any more dumfounded at seeing my grandfather than at any of
the other wonders. I'm getting too old now to try to find out the whys
and the wherefores of the new things that turn up every day. I must just
take them as they come. And so if you, gran