There was a certain youth, Otis Sprague, to whom Grandma had been attached before marrying Grandpa; at least, she went to parties with him. (I can’t tell just how much of this is my own romancing, but I convinced myself he was a disappointed suitor.) He left home in the early years after Grandma’s marriage, journeying to Washington county, the home of his ancestors. (I used to make believe he left because he could not bear to see Grandma the wife of another.) Visiting among his kindred, he came upon his uncle, my great-grandfather. As usual, the old man inquired of the traveller what parts he had come from, and then ventured, “Did you ever chance to meet a man, Gear--John Gear?” “John Gear? Why, yes--there’s a John Gear lives in our place. I know him well.” I could see the old man trembling with joy--the long-expected answer come at last! Faltering as he tried to frame the next question, he hesitated so long the young man thought him a little daft: “And did you--has he--is there--did you ever hear tell of Eunice--a child with big blue eyes and”--then he broke off, afraid to question further--she might be dead, or, if living, must be a woman now. Otis had his own reasons, I was confident, for remembering Eunice. He knew just how those wistful blue eyes looked, and how the soft brown hair waved over her forehead. Seeing at once that this meant more to the old man than he could express, Otis answered the unasked questions; told him there had been a Eunice Gear, eldest daughter of John Gear (for the childless couple had later had children born to them). She had married a young mason a few years ago--Crandall by name--quick tempered, but a good fellow; they had two babies when he came away, and he guessed there was another one a-coming. Yes, he went to school with her--took her to a party once. Then I saw the scene that followed--the broken explanations of the joyous father--questions, answers, hurriedly uttered, and the growing eagerness of both men as they supplemented for each other the missing information about the lost-and-found Eunice. Enraged at the Gears, on his return home Otis told Grandma the story of her abduction, and gave her the messages from her father and sisters. After that, one hope dominated Grandma’s life--to save enough money to go to her father. Loving the Gears, her heart yet yearned for the father and sisters she had never known. But her children came near together; money was scarce; means of travel were difficult and uncertain; two children sickened and died; and the years went by with her hope unfulfilled, an infrequent and laboured correspondence being the only link between them. After many years of careful saving, the little hoard was thought sufficient for the trip. The children were old enough to be left with Otis’s sister, and Grandma set out on her long journey.