At Saltair: The Bishop’s Love Story

AT SALTAIR. THE BISHOP'S LOVE STORY. BY SUSA YOUNG GATES. He was a shy man, was our bishop. You might be surprised to hear that, for he was so dignified, so proud, and so very sedate, that few people knew him as he really was. But he was shy. His mother was dead these many years, and, as to that, so was his father. And it so happened that he boarded at a quiet restaurant, instead of rooming with a family. Oh yes, he was single, quite single; single-minded, was the way my James spoke of him. He had a great big heart, had our bishop, and it was chock full of the milk of human kindness. My James used to wonder, when I'd speak like that, how it was that that same milk had not curdled or gone sour in all these years, for our bishop would never see thirty again. James puts ten years on that, but James is so contrary like. All the same, as the school children say, our bishop was a grand, dignified, noble gentleman, and I always love to hear his full, firm voice, with a peal like our English church bells, get up in our fine, new pulpit and give out the hymns, and in general conduct the Sunday night meetings. I have quite a job with my James on a fast day, for when our bishop takes the babies in his arms to bless them, James keeps on a growling in his beard, "First Timothy, chapter three, verse two," until I am quite beside myself. "What's ailin' of you?" I asked him one day, after we'd got home from a meeting where there'd been a big batch of babies to bless.

"Oh, I'd like to know how a man can give a father's blessing when he's never had the ginger to be a father himself," said James. "Well, then," I told him, "you can learn some things. There's men that have fathered children, that's never been fathers themselves,and there's many fathers by accident, that's no more fit to be called fathers than the swine of the field. You just go 'long, James Atwood, and don't be setting yourself up as an almighty judge, for 'taint your calling." James looked at me kind of mad like, but he's no hand to stay mad, so he kind o' sputtered a little and then asked me, "Do you think a man can manage a ward family when he's had none of his own?" "He does as well as you'd do, James Atv/ood, I make no doubt, married or single." "Why don't he speak up to some of our good girls, and get him a wife?" "There may be several reasons. But one thing I'm sure of: If our bishop had a girl who was half smart, and would do a bit of the courtin' herself, like as every proper girl does, he'd been married this many years." James laughed and laughed. "Do you think, Fanny, that all the girls is like yourself, and will do as you did, just aboufc do the poppin' yourself? You know well, as I never popped myself, I never had need." Of course his teasing words bothered me a bit, but I only said, "Well, I can tell you one thing, that the bad theatres and novels nowadays makes our girls expect a romantic courtin'; the constant dreamin' about a man that has no natural modesty nor shame left, bein' robbed of it all through his wicked knowledge of the world, is spoiling our young men as well as the girls. Girls stand a mile off from a chap, expectin' him to act like a play actor, a thing no decent lad could do. You know yourself, James Atwood, that you was as plagued and as modest, come our wedding day, as I was." "Maybe a little more," laughed my man. But I loved our bishop, and so did all the ward, even to my

Al SALTAIR. 757 James, in spite of his teasing. For he was a grand, fine speaker, and he knew almost everything. When our ward had its day out at Saltair, James got away from his work,and we took the family and went along to the great wooden palace by the salt sea. It always makes me think of our country fairs, as well as of Brighton, when I go out to Faltair. There's everything to see, and things going on every minute. I like best, though, to get away out on the upper porch by the water and smell the sea, which takes me back to old England's shores. It was a grand day; and our bishop was here and there and everyv'here, helping everybody to have a good time. When is came supper time, I sent James to ask the bishop to sit at our table, for I felt honored to have him break bread with us. Right behind us, all the young people of the ward, and a lot of their gizzling, gazzling friends from all over the city, were gathered spreading out their picnic. I was sorry I was so near them, they made such a noise, and acted like bedlam let loose. By and by, I saw some of the boys coming from the bar with a lot of beer bottles. And I heard the girls giggle and shout as they got near. But one girl, a tall, black-haired, red- cheeked girl, said quietly, but her voice was like a needle, "What's that, boys?" "Oh, it's only a lifcble beer. You know we're at Saltair, and every one drinks beer at Saltair." "No they don't, you know they don't." "Well I saw Mrs. Melville, and she's a Relief Society president, and her husband, drinking beer here," said one of the lads. "You were mistaken, For Mrs. Melville herself told then. me abouc the circumstance, and was only ginger ale in quart it bottles. But it's no matter to me what anybody else does, I'll not do wrong, when I know it. You boys and girls can do as you please, but if yoa drink beer, I must go away." "Dog Tray doesn't want to be hanged," sneered a young man.

The girl gave him a look that I expected to bring a blister on his cheek, and then all the girls, led by one brave soul who dared to be right, gave cry, and drove the boys back with their beer, to where it came from. When I looked around, there sat our bishop close to me, and his face was as red as a carrot. When I could, I asked James who the girl was, and he whispered to me that she was the girl up in the Twentieth ward that our bishop had paid some attention to. I was pleased when I heard that, for she was the right stuff. Only I was anxious to know if she had been either froze up by an over cautious mother, or made frivolous and batty by too much theatre and freedom with the boys. I hardly feared the latter case. But I thought I would find out. So after a while, when I saw the girl leaning over the western rail and watching the sunset, I stepped up and said, "I used to know your father, my dear. He stayed at our house many a time when he was on his mission in England." She shook hands with me, and I saw her eyes were very pretty and brown, as she spoke kindly to me. "It carries me back to England, some way, does Saltair. I love it, out here. The blue water smelling so salt like, and the misty clouds sailing over the islands yonder." She nodded, and I said slyly, "It's a beautiful place for sweethearts, if they know how t^ behave proper." She looked at me strangely, and her cheeks grew pinker than ever; but I went on, who "I don't like girls as is forward and pert, and especially allowmen to kiss or make free with them. But when a girl knows a good man loves her, and she likes him, it's not a bad thing to give him a bit of a hand squeeze, or a sweet word, or even a fond glance of the eye. And it's a main help to a shy man as has never been used to being free with the girls, and who's modest and pure himself." She looked very queer. And her eyes were first angry, and then they filled up with tears. Then she said quietly.

" AT SALTAIR. 759 "I don't know, I'm sure, what you mean, by saying such things to me. But I don't think you intend to offend me." ''Not at all, my dear," I said heartily, "you are all right, and so am I. Never mind. As the scriptures say, a word to the wise is sufficient." And with that, I up and left her. It was long past dark, and James was begging me to go home, but I was in quite a stew over our bishop, for I could see he was just walking and dancing with the rosy-cheeked girl nearly all And it was like reading a book to watch them. the time. was passing a far corner of the west pavilion, when I heard I the deep tones of our bishop; he was raying, "I do honor courage. Especially when it's the courage to do what's right." And I knew they'd been talking about the beer, and I just couldn't help standing a minute; it was like shutting up the book at the best part to go away now. Then she said softly, but sweetly, "Girls admire courage, too. Generally they admire physical courage most in men." "What kind of men do you admire?" I heard the tone of his voice, and I'm sure she noticed it, too, for she said with a daring little laugh, "I think I admire a man just like you." He stood quite still a moment, and then he said, "Are you a coquette?" She answered gravely, "I could not be that." Then he said, so softly I could scarcely hear, "Do you know how long I have admired you?" "Tell me how long," she breathed. "From the first hour I saw you. But I did not dare show yoa how much; lest you could not understand, and return that feeling. But today, tonight! You are different. What has happened?" "Oh, a dear, motherly soul undertook to tell me some things, today, about life in general, and — "And what — tell me please." "Oh, lovers in particular."