Two Paths: A Story

TWO PATHS. 861

Then her boys understand, and both faces flush crimson. James says, "Mother, you should have let us know," but she shakes her head. "No; there has been no sacrifice that I have felt less. I do not fear work." Then John takes his mother by the shoulders, and, looking straight into her eyes, says: — "Tomorrow, you must get Susan to come back; tonight, I shall take her place." Remonstrance is useless. John declares tnat he hasn't forgotten how to wash-up yet, and, suiting the action to the word, he removes his coat, rolls his sleeves high above the elbows; and, tying his mother's kitchen apron under his arms, begins to remove the dishes from the table. Mrs. Brooks is sure that her best china will be broken, and his clothes ruined in the bargain. However, her predictions are not fulfilled. As John bustles about, he winks at James, who picks his mother up in his arms and carries her to the porch, where she is deposited in the hammock, and held until she promises not to return to the kitchen. They have not been there long when the words of that old melody, which is enshrined in every heart, floats out to them. "Listen," says James, "John seems to find his task anything but unpleasant. Mother." The mother makes no reply, but as she listens to that rich baritone voice singing, "Home, home, sweet, sweet home, be it ever so humble, there is no place like home," her hand covers her eyes to hide the large glistening drops that will not be dried at her bidding. As the last words die away, the singer joins them, and, drawing a chair close to the hammock, says, "Now for confidences, Mother!" Mrs. Brooks takes her son's hand lovingly in hers, and replies,

"My dear, are you really so fond of home?" "Yes; that I am, I wish that you could only understand how I feel," is his answer. "My son, if so, you have extricated me from a predicament.

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862 IMPRO VEMENT ERA

You know that your father's friend, Mr. Leeds, has offered to take one of you boys into his business house, in Cincinnati." "Yes." "And \ ou know that it has been understood that, owing to your seniority, you would be most likely to go." "Yes." "You also know that Mr. Brown is anxious to have you instruct his little son Clarence." "Yes," "Well, do you think that you could be contented to accept this position, and remain at home with me. James hasn't any immediate prospects for the future, and I believe that he would not be long contented to remain away from a city." A shadow passes over John's countenance, but day-light is fast giving place to night, and the mother doesn't see it. The voice that answers her question is firm and clear, as he replies, "Mother dear, I shall be contented any place, if I have you near me. I, of course, expected to be the one chosen to go to Mr. Leeds, but if you are pleased to have me with you, I shall be more than repaid for remaining at home." Turning to James, John says, "We must not dispose of you. though, old man, without your consent. Does the plan meet with your approval?" "I certainly not only approve of it, my dear fellow," James answers, "but am delighted with the arrangenients. It is a happy surprise to me, I can assure you. I, too, enjoy mother's society, and love her dearly, but I'm satisfied that I should be bored to death if compelled to teach." John's lips are compressed tightly, while James is speaking, but not a word does he say when his brother ceases. For several moments, complete silence reigns at Brooks' farm. When a cock, that seems to imagine that it is morning, crows lustily, which once more sets the ball of conversation rolling.

Before retiring, John tells his mother that he has a confession to make, which may change her views concerning his remaining at home. James seems to be aware of what is coming, for he throws one leg over the arm of his chair, and smiles very knowingly; but

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John, nothing daunted, proceeds: — "One evening, while walking in

the park with a fellow student, I noticed a small crowd of men and women who were holding a meeting of some kind. We stopped to listen to their singing, not only because was exceptionally fine, it

but because they were singing a hymn which seemed very odd to us. When they were through singing, we decided to remain and ascertain the nature of their doctrine. I became so interested,

much to the amusement of my friend, that I remained until after the meeting was dismissed, to ask a number of questions, all of which were answered to my entire satisfaction, being substantiated by scripture. This was but the beginning of an end. Can you not guess the result?" "I suppose that you became one of their number," replies Mrs. Brooks. "Yes." "Well, my dear, you know that I've always believed in free-

dom of thought, especially concerning religion. I cannot understand why this should have anything to do with your remaining at home." "No? But, Mother, affiliating with this Church has often prevented children living at home." "Why so, my son?" "Because it is despised by the world, as badly as the true Church was in olden times. Mother, the Cfaurch of which I am now a member, is the 'Church of Jesus Christ of Latter day Saints,' commonly called 'Mormon.'

If a bomb-shell had exploded in their midst, it could not have

caused much greater consternation than John's words. Mrs. Brooks is on her feet, in an instant.

"No, no;" she cries, "in mercy's name don't tell me that! You have been imposed upon. Those people are anything but Saints. Latter-day Demons would be a more appropriate name for them. Say it isn't true." "But, mother," John emphatically replies, "I cannot deny it. It is a fact."

Poor little mother! She throws her arms around his neck and sobs. "How could you do it, my boy, how could you do it?"

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86-4 IMPROVEMENT ERA.

Very gently he put her from him and entered the house, never waiting for his good-night kiss.

II.

After visiting with his mother and brother for a couple of months, James goes to Cincinnati, and John, notwithstanding his having joined the "Mormon" Church, accepts the position of tutor to Clarence Brown, and remains at home. He is very careful, for the first few months, not to mention his faith to his mother; but as time passes, he manages to arouse her curiosity sufficiently concerning his objectionable doctrine, to induce her to read several tracts. Mrs. Brooks is not a petty woman, and she gradually admits toat what she has heard of these "Mormons" must have been untrue. She reads a great deal more concerning their belief than John is aware of, at the time, and finally comes to him one morning, some months after his arrival home, and tells him that she believes in "Mormonism," and should like to be baptized. This is, indeed, a happy moment for him. Mother and son are now in perfect harmony. They would be perfectly happy, were it not that James is not likely to accept the gospel; and, alnO, that letters from him are not received as regularly as formerly. Mrs» Brooks has faith in James, but John knows his brother better than his mother does. He knows that he is easily led, and when the postmaster hands him a letter, one evening, which proves to be from Mr. Leeds, asking him to come to Cincinnati and talk to James, John is not at all surprised. It is as he feared —James has become disinterested in his work, and is out with college friends every night — young fellows whose parents are wealthy, boys who think of nothing but having a good time. John tries to persuade James to give up such companions. "My dear fellow," he says, "a young man who has no higher aim in life than to keep himself amused, is indeed worthless. Give such people the 'cold shoulder.' But James resents his interference, and replies that one is

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only young once, and that he intends enjoying himself, for a short time, and then there will be time to settle down. From mere folly, he goes to greater depths; first drinking a little, then becoming interested in cards and gaming houses; he begins drawing his wages before they are earned, and finally,

when Mr. Leeds puts a stop to this, James leaves his employ and accepts a position as traveling salesman for a cigar firm. When John learns of the change, he once more strives to persuade James to desist. He and the mother are thinking of moving to Utah, and he tries to get James to consent to accompany them. All his efforts are in vain. James laughs, and asks him teasingly, "Have you designs on me, now? Do you think that I would make a good 'Mormon ?' John returns home in despair, but his spirits revive somewhat when he finds that Mr. Brown has offered a very reasonable sum for the farm, and that his mother is disposed to accept the offer. He knows that he has done his duty by his brother; but feels sorrowful, indeed, at leaving him; however, he feels that he and his mother should go to Zion, that they may together labor in the Temple for their dead. So the place is sold, and Mrs. Brooks and John start immediately for the west.

HI.

In a pretty brick cottage, situated in the central part of Salt Lake City, an elderly woman sits knitting. The lady is no other than Mrs. Brooks, who has not changed greatly since we last met her, with the exception of her hair, which is now snow-white. Twelve years have passed since her two boys returned to her from college, and today she is watching for them once more, but under such different circumstances. Every few moments, she lays aside her work, and peers anxiously out of the window. While thus engaged, a fine looking young woman enters the room, holding in her arms a babe, perhaps a year old. She brings the child to Mrs. Brooks, saying, "Grandma, I'm sure that you need a change of work, and I

know that Marion v/ants grandma."

866 IMPROVEMENT ERA.

The old lady smiles, and is about to fondle baby, when she sees that those for whom she has been watching have arrived. Her limbs tremble so that they will scarcely sustain her. Turning to her daughter-in-law, she says, "Mary, take baby; they are at the gate." By the time that Mrs. Brooks and John's wife open the door, John has alighted from the carriage, and is helping a man to do so, whose face is pale and emaciated- As James comes slov/ly up the path, his brother links his arm within his to steady him, so uncertain are his footsteps. Mrs. Brooks cannot speak for several moments, so great is her emotion. She puts her arms around his neck, and he lays his head upon her shoulder like a tired child. John and Mary leave them together, feeling that they should let mother and son spend their first moments alone, as he may have things to say that are meant for the mother's ears only. After a time, they rejoin the wanderer and grandma, and baby Marion proceeds to make friends with her uncle at once. During the next month, everything that can be done is done for James; but one bright morning he asks John to raise him up that he may once more see the sun rising above the Wasatch. As he gazes, the spirit leaves its house of clay, and travels to that "great beyond," "where the weary are at rest." Many, many times during that last illness, Mrs. Brooks censures herself, "Why did I let you go to Mr. Leeds? Why did not I send John? He was always more able to withstand temptation," she says; but James always shakes his head and replies: "Mother, you must not blame yourself. I alone brought about this misfortune which has come upon me. You always taught us, mother, that 'the wages of sin is death.' I heeded not your teachings, but John did. He chose the strait and narrow way that he preaches about; while I, thinking him foolish, chose the broad path, thinking it pleasant and more easily traveled. We have both received our reward."

TALKS TO YOUNG MEN

XI— TELLING A SECRET. If you will promise to read this paper to the end, I will tell you my secret now, and not wait till the last sentence. Oh, you promise? Very well, here is the secret which I have learned: ,

"When you break your promises to others, the penalty of lying rests upon you, although you are not discovered." "Nothing very new about that," you say, in disappointment. True; but neither is there in any secret. The curiosity is the main point, and that satisfied, there is little left. But remember what you have promised. I cannot be with you to see that you fulfil your covenant; but you made it, and if you fail in trying your best to keep it, the penalty of my secret rests upon you, and I am neither the wiser nor the loser. But this little secret between you and me is a very small affair. But, small or not, it is a law between us, and since I have fulfilled my part, it remains for you to keep the covenant, if you wish to avoid the penalty and gain the blessing. Can you realize that this little secret between you and me is like the mighty many that exist between you and the Master of

the universe? Not naming those that will readily come to you as being mentioned in the dec-ilogue, nor numbering the gems of promise in Christ's sermon on the mount, let us take one for consideration. It is a plain, simple secret between the Father and his children. It

is old, and like the contract between us, it contains a promise to the man who will keep it. "Honor thy father and thy mother, that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee."

868 IMPROVEMENT ERA.

You wish to live long, and so you say: "I will honor them;" and besides, you love them, and so you promise your heart once more: "I will honor them." The promise is made. You are under obligations. Now, does your promise mean that you will honor them only when they can discover your action? or does it mean that you will honor them whether they know it or not — whether they are living or dead? I confess they have little to do with it; but you have all. Upon the fufilment of your covenant depends the blessing, and you can't cheat yourself. You know whether you are a deceiver! And upon your knowledge depends your character, no matter what others know or do not know. Some days ago, a young girl went for an outing to a lake resort. "My child," said the mother, "you must not go in bathing." But when mother wasn't near, she went in bathing, just the same, and was brought home dead! But suppose she had lived! The dishonor would have been just as great. When you make a promise, it must be fulfilled, in light or darkness. There are no conditions. I know a mother who trains her boys so that when they promise, she rests secure. "Now don't do so and She doesn't say: so;" she uses the better form: "My child, will you promise me that you will not play in the street while I am gone, but stay in the lot,and not go outside the fence." "I promise," and then the mother rests secure. "Will you promise not to stay out at night, during your absence from home ?" I promise. Sometimes there are great arguments before the promises. That is right; for promises should not be lightly made, but made, should be kept. Here is an illustration from the life of Charles Warren Fairbanks, present senator from Indiana, and the Republican vice-presidential nominee, who was born in a single-room log cabin in north central Ohio, May 11, fifty-two years ago. He was carefully trained to keep his promises. In winter he trudged a mile and a half back country to a district school instead of crossing the half mile of meadows to the Union ville Center town school. The reason for this was told to an eastern writer, some days ago, by his mother who is still living in Springfield. She said:

We were very fearful of town influence, and we sent our children